By definition, it’s not a club, as such – it’s actually just me plus a pair of overpriced running trainers. However, the actual club itself, ‘The Dead Dads’ one – well, there are sadly not enough badges or certificates to fulfil that proliferate membership and every year, as Father’s Day comes around, I remember afresh how understandably shitty it can be for those getting to grips with the monumental gap that having a dead Dad can leave behind.
So, first thing’s first – grief isn’t something that goes away. I’m seven years down the line and it still lingers heavy, adopting many guises, 365, 24/7.
However, every June, the spotlight gets thrust on that now empty, solitary chair and as the scent of a bittersweet candle corners you to celebrate them, you may still be struggling or detangling feelings of anger, guilt and loneliness.
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