There is No Sun.

I lost my father to leukaemia in 2012. The grief will always be with me.

The sun shone, always, warming my life with its constancy. I took for granted that it was there. I basked in its light, and I grew under its care.

Then, one morning, the sun was no longer there.

The cold began to seep into my veins, freezing my mind into inactivity. I would have wept for its’ passing, but I found myself unable to do so. Even my tears were frozen, choking themselves half in, and half out of my horrified eyes. The light was gone, the warmth was gone, and everything that I had previously selfishly enjoyed was no longer there.

My sense of loss was great, but still I continued as normal. I managed to walk around, work, interact, as normal. You can do those things in the dark, you know? It was the cold emptiness that permeated my being which was the most obvious change.

I could do everything I did before the day the sun went out, but it all seemed just so much less interesting. Nothing looked the same, because nothing in my life was lit by the presence of that great orb anymore. That generous, warm glow had enfolded me in its brilliance until this point in time, and nothing had prepared me for how bleak the world would become without it there.

 Why had the sun gone out? I wondered and wailed, bereft.

 It is unreasonable that it was turned off! Who was powerful enough to have done it? Was there even something or someone who could have done it? Who is to blame? Questions like this rampaged through my mind. I felt angered at the absence of the greatness I had experienced. Why did I not appreciate it when it was there? Shouldn’t I have enjoyed its presence more, whilst I still could have?

Probably!

But it is too late now!

It hardly seems fair, yet, still, my sun was gone.

I cannot cry, for my loss is greater than any crying expresses. I just seem bewildered, trying to adapt, knowing it will never shine on me again.

One day, when the shock wears off, I may actually mourn my loss, but not yet. I am still reigning my being in, into some sense of order, trying to make sense of it all.

One thing now remains constant: there is no sun.

© Catherine Knee