It’s been a year since Sofie died.
Twelve months adjusting to her absence.
A full 365 days of missing her.
She’s still very much a part of our lives, so much so that she inspired one of the eleven poems I submitted for my term assessment in December.
The collection I pulled together for term four of my creative writing course had a melancholic tone, which, I guess, speaks to my frame of mind. But the single most affecting (at least for me) is this rumination on the inevitability of a fundamental force that pulls things together. It was also the first poem I really got stuck into and the first to feel complete.
Lacking scientific method she played with physics nonetheless. Unable to tell where her ball would ricochet or rest. Without care for uneven slope, she scrutinised the semaphore of squirrels, Unaware of time as the glamorous rodents flew from peril. Everything as pattern not purpose — even the stubborn tug to the pub by rote. Pathways woven by repetition, made habit for her, and memories for us. Lives leashed together by moments we thought would never end. Now her ashes carpet a creek bed, held by gravity in her forever home.
Although she hadn’t properly played physics for a while (losing interest in her favourite things was a big part of how we knew it was time to let her go), I have vivid memories of Sofie watching her ball drop over and over. And now, thanks to this GIF, I can share that experience with you.
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