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<\/a><\/p>\n Thatcher, an American Ph.D student at Cardiff University, has written More than you were <\/em>as a response to her father David\u2019s death, in 2013, from a drugs overdose. Not knowing the deceased does not make the collection any less impactful. In fact, the poems deal with Thatcher\u2019s grief in a multitude of ways from constructing her father\u2019s obituary through to cleaning out his apartment.<\/p>\n In the opening poem, \u2018First Drafts\u2019, Thatcher explores the process of writing a suitably respectful piece for her father \u2013 and how, after she\u2019d \u2018read hundreds of them\u2026\u2019 she didn\u2019t want her father \u2018to look bad next to the other obituaries\u2019. Further in the past is \u2018Day One\u2019 \u2013 and the room being \u2018like molasses\u2019 is poignant: time takes on a new meaning. It\u2019s not something that can be imagined, or easily understood.<\/p>\n Interspersed throughout are ten \u2018lessons\u2019 \u2013 learning points, often focusing on what Thatcher learnt from her father, or has realised since he died. In \u2018Lesson #3\u2019, David Thatcher told his daughter that \u2018some things were never mean to be loved.\u2019 In \u2018Lesson #5\u2019, he kills eels, en masse, and explains this as a kind gesture. But learning is not just restricted to the \u2018lessons\u2019. In \u2018There\u2019, Thatcher realises how much her father was to her \u2013 \u2018the everything in that room\u2019. The disconnect of the nouns \u2018expert, alchemist, front man composing lasagna\u2019 show how much he meant to her \u2013 and how much fathers mean to many of us. In \u2018Anticipation\u2019, the focus is less positive \u2013 waiting for something that never comes. Thatcher was desperate for \u2018the taste of cinnamon\u2019 chewing gum but such desire was futile. It is fascinating how the adult memory can hang on to glimpses into the yesteryear of childhood. If only all responsible adults followed through with their promises.<\/p>\n Thatcher\u2019s poems are short, often one-stanza affairs, each one conveying strong emotions that only the bereaved can ever fully understand. \u2018Shaking hands at a funeral\u2019 is reminiscent of Seamus Heaney\u2019s \u2018Mid-Term Break\u2019 \u2013 the main difference being Thatcher writes about death\u2019s impact on an adult, whereas Heaney wrote as a child. But the fall out (\u2018death would strip me, leave me barren, like winter\u2019) is the same. The tragedy of getting older, with funeral attendance being the norm, is clear in \u2018Multiples\u2019. In \u2018Sharing\u2019, a warmer sense is felt \u2013 where Thatcher debates where to scatter her father\u2019s ashes, listing beautiful potential locations in her adopted Wales.<\/p>\n What really rings true in this collection is the contrast between what was<\/em> and what could<\/em> have been. In \u2018Out\u2019, there is a strong element of wondering \u2013 with reference to \u2018bottles of Bud\u2019. One can\u2019t help feeling empty with the thought of wasted opportunities. But this doesn\u2019t stop Thatcher reminiscing \u2013 particularly when it is the anniversary of her father\u2019s birthday in \u2018When you sneak up on me\u2019. The longevity of grief\u2019s impact is evident here, as it is in \u2018Echo\u2019 with its sense of finality \u2013 with \u2018Everything being paid up.\u2019 After a loved one dies, there is a lot to organise, alongside the grieving and emotions. Even though such jobs can be unwanted and tempting to ignore, their completion leaves a sense of everything being done<\/em>.<\/p>\n Towards the end of the collection, Thatcher reflects on the present day. In \u2018On learning to help myself\u2019, she uses the analogy of \u2018luck\u2019 \u2013 and that she doesn\u2019t have to rely on this in order to have a good life. Finality is confronted in \u2018Your estate has closed\u2019 \u2013 and in \u2018Resilience\u2019, accepting the truth (and internalising the loss) is tackled. The concluding poem, \u2018Finding You\u2019, sees Thatcher returning to one of her father\u2019s old haunts and the impact a guitar has on her. It is a reminder to us all that the small things in life can cause the strongest emotions.<\/p>\n Having recently lost my own father, albeit in very different circumstances, More than you were <\/em>hit home. The collection should be read as a whole, such are the effects of grief. Thatcher candidly writes about the myriad ways that a parent\u2019s death can affect a child \u2013 and no matter the situation, her writing is beautifully executed and deserves to be absorbed slowly, with consideration and a sense of peace.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Matthew Tett<\/strong> is a freelance writer and teacher based in the south-west of England. He is Reviews Editor for NAWE\u2019s Writing in Education<\/em> and writes for various publications, including the Cardiff Review<\/em>.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nLosing a parent is hard and when it happens, it\u2019s tough. It brings a glut of unexpected emotions and without a doubt, More than you were<\/em>, Christina Thatcher\u2019s debut poetry collection, deals with the death of her father in a beautiful, heartfelt way.<\/p>\n