I have this black and white photograph of my father and I in my bedroom. It was taken when I was heavily pregnant with my first-born on one of the most beautiful beach in Seychelles.That was actually my last stroll with my father by my side. I am forever casting my eyes up and looking at this photo, sometimes I smile, sometimes I am angry at him for deserting me and many times I have been blinded by tears. Today in exactly 100 words I share what came to mind when I looked at this photo this morning.I was the voice of my father.
Out Of Time
Thursday afternoon in the scourging sun the Cathedral’s colourful stained glass windows glisten. The building has an air of welcoming someone important. Wearing the best suit in my wardrobe I wait. I see so many familiar faces looking at me. There is something different about them today, everyone look glum. I am the only one smiling. Here they come; my three daughters and my wife emerging from the car of a dear friend. Their faces pained. Holding on to each other they stare. I want to say: “I love you” but I have run out of time. It’s my funeral.
Three years on I am still missing him. I would like to think that he was smiling that day which symbolises that he is at peace and in a happy place…well I hope he is! And I also know that he did love us no matter what and I wish we had more time.