Dear Rose # 33 - The Evolution of Grief: From Shaggy Carpets to Pink Skies

Rose is an amalgam of us - women in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond who are looking for somewhere they are seen, heard and listened to.

Dear Rose,

My favorite memory of my dad is lying together on the shaggy carpet in front of his Marantz stereo, listening to U2 or The Rolling Stones and talking about our favorite smells. His was the freshness of rain and mine was the smoky residue of a lit match. Or maybe it was the other way around? It doesn’t matter, because the real memory is the feeling of being safe and loved.

I don’t think of my Dad every day anymore. It’s been almost twenty-eight years since he’s been gone; I’ve lived longer without him now than the time I actually knew him.

But I think of him tonight because it’s a clear, still, pink-sky evening—the kind I loved most with my friend and my dog, who both left so recently. These were the perfect nights when we’d bundle up and drive down to Emu Point to marvel at the sky and the water becoming one. Barney would prance while Sara and I prattled, and everything would be perfect for a while.

I miss them so much on nights like this, and I wonder if I’ll ever recover.

And then I remember: I don’t think of my dad with sadness anymore. I just remember how safe I felt, lying on that shaggy carpet, talking about our favorite smells.

Love, Em xx