The Letter Came on a Thursday

The Letter Came on a Thursday

The letter came on a Thursday

It sat in the pile like it belonged

A plain envelope

his solicitors name in the corner.

I opened it slow

as if anything might still change

but no.

it was real

he was gone

and everything was mine.

he’d left the house

the car.

the money, I used to say he didn’t have

left it all like peace offerings

for a war we never called by name.

I made tea,

walked through rooms I hadn’t seen in years

touched the frame with our old photo

me and my Dad.

I didn’t cry,

just sat sipping tea.

just breathed.

The grief didn’t come loud

it came with the sound of keys

a silence I couldn’t give back

and the weight

of getting everything

too late.

I wanted to share his life with him.

I would have loved to know my father

instead he was a man I visited with mum.

Just once a year, just for my allowance

he was kind.

he made me laugh.

bought pressies sent them by post.

yet he dressed like he was poor.

One day he said

I promise child, you will be rich soon.

I thought he was just playing

good, I said

then I shall take you shopping

he laughed

I did too.

little did I know. He meant it.