I dag skriver jeg det tøffeste innlegget jeg har skrevet noen gang. Først var jeg redd for at dette ville bli for privat, men jeg bestemte meg for at det er bedre dere vet hva som har skjedd.

I går, søndag 27. november, forliste en båt utenfor Stord i Hordaland. I den båten var min far. Han ble funnet etter 10 minutter og det ble forsøkt førstehjelp, men det var for sent.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

~W.H. Auden

Lagre