Against Wind

In my room I’ve got an entire album of photos of Dad. It feels rather weird to have so many images of a person who’s no longer alive. We’ve got Dad on video too. I think it’s a bit scary listening to his voice. My dad had a really deep voice. Maybe watching videos of people who aren’t here any more, or who’ve passed on as Grandma puts it, should be made illegal. It doesn’t feel right to spy on the dead. In one of the photos I’m sitting next to Dad in the yellow leather sofa in the living room. It looks as if he’s saying something nice to me. We’ve still got that sofa, but Dad no longer sits in it. In another picture we’ve settled down in the green rocking-chair in the conservatory. That picture has hung out here ever since Dad died. I’m sitting in the green rocking-chair now. I’m trying not to rock because I’m writing in a large exercise book. Later on, I’ll enter it all on to Dad’s old computer. There’s a tale to tell about the old computer, too, but I’ll come back to that later. It’s always been strange having all these old pictures around. They belong to a different time from now.