She Ran Away !

The pain has gone

but the memory will never die.

We could not sleep,

sit still,

talking to friends brought tears ,

and every phone call raised hopes

only to end in despair.

After 48 long hours

we began to consider

the unthinkable:

then finally,

after 3 impossibly protracted days,

our daughter was found,

safe.

And after  the relief

came the anger .

How could she?

Why?

The reunion was the most bitter sweet of hugs,

elation, relief, fury, confused and blended

an emotional  cocktail

Which quenched the thirst but not the pain

Only time healed the pain,

but today, as I watch her mother with joy

our two cherished grandchildren,

even the memory is dimmed.

On Reflection

“We didn’t used to have one of you”

my first words to him

aged three

Welcome home Dad

“Look after your mum for me”

his last words to me

aged fifty six

And in between

my memory fails

a misty melange of

garden golf, marriage fights

desperate acts to please

and occasional

uncomfortable

peace

But to my shame no clear picture remains

and I find myself wondering

with some discomfort

how much

and what

our much loved three

will remember of us.

Of  Scout and Archer.

I’m always tired on Thursdays when we’ve been to see

Those third  generation

Energetic

Screaming, laughing girls

I did not know what ‘grandfather’ would mean

What unexpected pleasures lay in store

My friends had shared their  exhilaration

But somehow I had been

If not a disbeliever

At least a doubter

Its not just the snuggles

And the hugs

And the giggles

Nor the sudden kisses

Nor those wide expressions

Of joy and trust

But it is the wonder

When those little hands

Sink into mine

And I examine the years between us

The  sense of harmony

When we spot their mother’s smile

Or their father’s eyes

It expands our understanding

Of family

It gives purpose

To living

And I can’t wait till Thursday.

I wish I could  remember more.

Through misty memories

Old family photos

And tales half told

I  half remember Dad

“Like Fred Astaire”

..they said

“Not the man I married ,”

Mum said,

When he returned from the war.

Tall and slim with pipe …

Putter in hand in our back garden…

Occasionally we would garden together,

Down past the swing:

It was safe down there,

His territory.

These are the images I remember

Clearer then the man himself:

Mum I remember:

We were hers!

He would bring her flowers

“We can’t afford them!”

On family holidays

There was an uneasy truce:

He tried to dance,

To serenade her,

But her hurt was too deep,

The  holidays short

Mum and I would have our cosy tea together

Dads warming in the oven

For solitary consumption

Before retreat to the RSL

the new Safe territory

As he lay, dying,

He whispered

“Look after your mum for me” .

And her emptiness, her loneliness,

Was now complete

He had  loved her so but knew not how to show it:

And spent what we didn’t have in vain attempts.

She was left with the pieces.

Oh what a  bloody war.

“Make yourself at home” they said,

and I did,

but it wasn’t.

The Airport had been  a shock:

my brother

my only brother,

my oldest living friend,

older, greyer, slower.

We laughed easily as we always had,

shared sometimes surprising memories,

tolerated  differences more readily,

enjoyed comfortable silences.

But the distance between us was

the distance between us.

My  sister-in-law and I

were  in some ways

strangers.

There had always been tensions,

but unspoken we both knew this,

and an early rambling walk

in a spring blossomed park

engendered new life between us.

Their ‘children’ I knew

a little

through rare visits,

irregular festive communication.

They were warm, welcoming,

full of questions about our ‘children’:

But  my brother and I were the link

and I pondered

what would happen

between them

when we were gone.

To their children’s children

I was a curiosity.

Safe, good for a snuggle

and a book at bedtime,

but destined to be a question mark

in the family  album.

“Will Pop’s friend come tomorrow mummy?”

No.

Our farewells were

not awkward

but incomplete

with the ‘when’s’ and ‘what if’s’

silently hovering .

It had been good;

Very good:

But suddenly I am home,

where I want to be.

They are as far away as ever.