Big grief

Lorin Clarke on the feelings that engulfed her in the days after her father's death.

- Lorin Clarke

Nine days after the sudden death of my father, I went to collect his mail from the post office box he kept in the city. It was the least of my worries and, like everything at the time, it was happening in a hurry, on the way from something and late for something else. My mother, my sister and I were in crisis mode then, responding only to the most urgent things – and there were so many. Media requests, memorial service arrangements, visits from friends and family. Months later I would realise that, during this period, I had completely failed to pay for parking, anywhere, ever. In a city known for its zealous parking officers, I had pulled up wherever I chose and leaped towards my next task, like a hero in an action movie commandorolling into a fire.

Inside the post office, when I told the person at the desk that I was there to collect the overflowing mail from the mailbox belonging to my parents, his hand went to his mouth.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s all we can talk about.”

As we spoke, this kind man telling me how shocked they all were to hear that John was gone, a drifting tide of Australia Post staff moved towards us. They had known Dad for years. They couldn’t believe it, they told me. They were so sorry. He was here a couple of weeks back, they said. Dad knew the names of the woman at the next counter’s kids, she told me, asked about them every time.