Monday, 26 December 2016

DIARY: A Second Burial: A Ring Lost

Today something very sad and slightly profound happened. 

My dad Steven didn't have an easy life. I have nothing left from him, only his thick gold wedding band, inscribed inside in his own handwriting: my Moms name, his name, their wedding date and a very funny looking heart with an arrow going through it. It always reminded me that even though things went wrong for him, even though his marriage didn't work, that at one time he truly loved my mom and wore the ring with pride. 

When my Dad passed away we travelled along the African coast to a beautiful place called Ramsgate. We found a beautiful and natural lagoon and scattered his ashes there in the salty water. I still go there via Google maps, and hover over his resting place. 

In Avoca NSW - is my special spot - a shaded beach with a swimming area dappled in shade where my family go to swim. It's "our" spot and I think of Dad whenever I'm there. 

For the past ten or more years, my husband Francis has worn my Dad's ring - proudly - and I have loved seeing it on his finger. It fitted well. Size and colour. 

Today, without any rhyme or reason, the ring left Francis's finger and settled into the soft sands of the lagoon. Gone forever. 

I will never see my father's handwriting again, or feel the weight of the gold ring in my hand. 

It feels poetic. 

The special spot will now be even more so, as I will no doubt think of him every time we go there. 

This song has played non stop in my head since we got home - I've cried my heart out and felt as if I lost my father all over again. Francis is very very saddened as well. 

Daddy, I've said Hamba kahle Baba wami (Go well, my Dad) to you in the rippling waters of Ramsgate, but I say Sahla kahle Baba (Stay well, Dad) to you at our special spot. You were the White Zulu, more African than your white skin spoke of, this song is from you I'm sure 💗

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