A little autobiographical story.....please feel free to critique.
The day I lost one of the greatest love’s a daughter can ever know is etched in my mind and I have no doubt that although years may pass and fade that day will remain with clarity.
The sun had shone brightly on that day and I, with my 2 children, had spent it at the beach. We played ball games, dug holes -our Alsatian Ricky won the prize for that game, and we buried each other up to our necks in the sand. We cooled off with frequent dips and races in the chilly Atlantic Ocean. I had unwound with a good book and lay back dreamily absorbing the scenery: the beautiful azure blue of the sea as the sky reflected on it. To my right reared the imposing Giant’s Causeway and to my left the picturesque houses along the Portrush to Portstewart coastline rose along the hill and in the distance the rugged coastline of Donegal. It was an idyllic day.
The day I lost one of the greatest love’s a daughter can ever know is etched in my mind and I have no doubt that although years may pass and fade that day will remain with clarity.
The sun had shone brightly on that day and I, with my 2 children, had spent it at the beach. We played ball games, dug holes -our Alsatian Ricky won the prize for that game, and we buried each other up to our necks in the sand. We cooled off with frequent dips and races in the chilly Atlantic Ocean. I had unwound with a good book and lay back dreamily absorbing the scenery: the beautiful azure blue of the sea as the sky reflected on it. To my right reared the imposing Giant’s Causeway and to my left the picturesque houses along the Portrush to Portstewart coastline rose along the hill and in the distance the rugged coastline of Donegal. It was an idyllic day.
My
husband had gone home on the previous Sunday evening after a fraught weekend
with us. Relationships were not good. I was to stay in our mobile home with our
2 children and dog for the summer and my husband was to come back next weekend
bringing my mother to stay with me.
After
dinner on that unspoiled Tuesday my son went into town with his friends and my
daughter Kate and I went to the family disco on the caravan site. I left a note
on the table to let my son Geoffrey know where we were, knowing he would join
us when he returned. The night was going really well and I self-indulgently
lounged in the cosy chairs sipping my diet coke with ice and lemon watching
kids, full of zest, having a blast with their holiday friends.
My
peace and enjoyment was suddenly shattered when I saw my husband walking
towards me. How like him to come all this way to check on me. Anger rose within
me. But before I could argue with him
for spoiling such a superb time, what he said to me jolted me and my anger
dissipated into fear and panic. Mum had collapsed, she’d had a stroke, was in
hospital, all the family were there and Jackie, my oldest sister, was on her
way from Scotland.
Once
packed, although I have no idea what as the following day there was no clean
clothes or underwear, we raced away from the caravan park; bombing down the
road with sincere urgency. In less than an hour the children and cases had been
left at home and I tumbled out of the hospital lift to be met at the door by my
aunt Adeline. She tried to prepare me for what to expect but I doubt that there
was anything she could have said or done to lessen my shock.
In
the lonely yet crowded side ward mum lay in the bed so frail and gaunt, looking
as if she had shrunk in only the few days since last I seen her. Her body heaved, shook and rattled with every
laboured, rasping breath. Her hand that so surprisingly gripped mine felt like
bone covered only with fine filament of skin. Instinctively I knew her so short
life was ebbing to a close, unlike her previous stroke no prayer would restore
her to health.
These
were to be my final moments with mum, the last chance to say I love you, to say
thanks, to say goodbye.
