2 years without you.
Feels like 2 months on some days;
Feels like 2 decades on others.
He told me that you had 2 days left to live;
You were dead just under 2 hours after he said that.
Your 2 children were there with you when you left;
So was your 2nd ex-wife.
Relief and devastation: 2 sides of the same coin.
At the pub, you always sat at Table 2: it was your table.
Still, if I arrive at the pub and someone is sitting at Table 2, they immediately move elsewhere out of respect.
So now I sit at Table 2, in your chair, with 2 pints of Carling (one for you, one for me) and 2 double SoCos (one for you, one for me), waiting for your friends, our friends, your son, my brother, and all the other people left that I call family, to gather together here at Table 2 in your honour. We’ll drink to get drunk and remember the laughs and good times we had here, wishing desperately that you were here in person but knowing with absolute certainty that you are here in spirit.
2 years without you but you never really left.
Forever and a day Papa, I love you xxxxxxx