I lost you that day in the forest. You reach for the ground or for my hand, and the sun, or the rain, is in my eyes. When I look up, my hand catches air. Your eyes are brown or grey or green. Your voice I confuse with the softness of leaves. Silence is not silence because the birds have stopped singing and the words you left me with took forty-two years to say. Let me fix you where I can see you, for a second or two, holding my hand, and the stick you are throwing for the dog that is running, for the dog that has gone and will never come back.
I lost you that day, or the day after that. What did I know? I laughed, I think.
In memory of my father, Duncan Glasfurd, who was killed when I was a child.
Words: Guinevere Glasfurd
All images and films copyright Alastair Cook 2014.
And with thanks to Alastair for creating such a beautiful film.
Beautiful and so touching .
How unfair life was on you both. I’m pleased for you that you are finding ways now to remember and create new memories to anchor to your father with.
Thinking of you