My Dad

Last night I dreamt about my lovely Dad, and today I feel as though I have been with him again. The dream was so very real and vivid; I could see the lines on his face and the twinkle in his eye as he smiled. I was slightly annoyed with him, as he’s had a pint of beer too many (which he often did) and was repeating himself (which he often did), but nonetheless I was absolutely thrilled to see him. Dad died in 1979, so his memory including his facial expressions and personality must be firmly embedded in my mind and being, and I couldn’t help thinking when I woke this morning with a smile that the imprint will be gone forever one day. His actually image that is. Although so many of the children of his five girls look like Jim Murray, if not exactly then they are the owner of his ears, or his deep set Irish eyes. Not morbid, just fact!

Oh Dad, you really did miss so much. What you started when you emigrated from Ireland over 70 years ago couldn’t have been dreamed about. I can’t tell you everything here, but you would have laughed more than cried. And do you remember how you used to brag about us all? Well you would’ve have had plenty of that to do, let me tell you. So for today you are a recent memory in my mind and I feel like I was with you last night. Tomorrow will be a different story. Always loved. Always missed.

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