The Wednesday Poem #48 - The Empty Chair

The Empty Chair

Sunday Lunch.

It's so unfair.

I want my Dad.

Not an empty chair.

Copyright Roger Tichborne 1988

My Dad

My Dad passed away in 1987. I didn't realise for a year. Sure I went to the funeral, but I didn't really get my head around the fact that he'd gone. I thought he was indestructible. Fathers day in 1988 was one of the first times it really struck me. The Missus' Mum invited me around for lunch to celebrate fathers day with their family. 

I'd bought our family home from my Mum shortly after Dad died, Clare had left early as I had said I had things to do. To be honest I didn't want to go and only agreed to be polite. Before I left, I opened a can of Guinness (one of my Dad's favourite tipples) and poured it into two glasses. I sat and had a conversation with an empty chair. Then I asked him if he'd mind if I finished his drink, as it would be a crime to see it go to waste. I got no answer, so I figured he didn't mind. I scribbled these words on a piece of paper and stuck them into my "songs in progress" shoebox. It has sat there ever since. 

I then realised I was late for lunch. On arrival at the in laws, I was given the skunk eye, as they'd all been waiting for me before starting lunch. I explained that I'd been busy. When we got home Clare noticed the two empty glasses and asked who I'd been having a drink with. I couldn't (or didn't want to) give a satisfactory answer, so she simply assumed I'd been boozing with a mate and as such was being even ruder than she at first thought. We had a row and didn't speak for a couple of days. There are days when nothing is right in the world. I've hated Fathers day ever since. I was going to post this on Sunday, but felt it was disrespectful to all of those celebrating your Dads. God bless them all.