My father passed away on Saturday morning, August 20th, 2011. He went peacefully in his sleep at 97 years young. Yes, a long life lived between Guyana and London, UK.

RIP Joseph Ethelbert Poyer, fondly known by all including my siblings and I as, Bertie.

After his health began to deteriorate, which was just months ago in October/November last year (2010) we had been caring for him at his home. He had also been in hospital for varying periods since then and up to two Fridays ago when the doctors let us know we should get him home. It was where he wanted to be and I’m glad we were able to grant him this. There were moments when I felt really proud of my dad, for hanging in there as his heart condition worsened. I was with him when he came out of hospital for the last time, and we spent nights there, keeping a vigil in his last week.

It’s been a tough year when I look back, juggling my life and my fathers, what with everything else living is about. But it’s been the Right thing to do and as my friend said when I was in the midst of coping (and not coping) day to day; she said it was a special time. I have seen and felt every emotion. He is yet to be buried, and as we make these plans and grant his last wishes I am present to the incredulity of his not being here and that strange difference, the grief, and of course the sadness. I am also aware of a new view of life. My father’s legacy and what that is for me (which I can’t quite articulate right now) and… it’s like my father has passed away yes, but he has not gone. He’s still here. I see the impression of my dad that my son carries. I see him in my sister, I see better who my mother is to me, and who my brother is. My father is in me. I guess he always has been, only now I have this perception of it, as in I profoundly understand the meaning behind the things he would say and how he related to me and my family as well as his friends, and it’s all such an unexpected revelation. In this moment, I feel grateful. Death is life.