Eleven years ago today I originally shared this image, titled ‘The End of Time’.

Back then I did not write or share the story behind the image. I could not. Today I will tell its story.

Growing up this was our family clock which stood proud on the kitchen mantelpiece, struck its gong once on the half hour and rang the full count of hours on the hour. Once a week my dad would wind both springs and adjust the time. I do not recall it ever stopping in his healthy years.

The sound of that clock’s chime is one of my fondest memories of home.

In dad’s last bed ridden days we would visit regularly and I often found the clock had stopped. This both saddened me and made me angry. I would always leave with the clock wound, the time set right, and give an admonished plea to someone to please keep it running.

On this evening, eleven years ago and a day, I captured this image of our family clock as an idea about how little time we had left with dad and that it would soon be over.

He died peacefully the next day, eleven years ago today.

I miss you dad.