It must have fallen out of the bag…thank goodness I came across it and not another. How would I explain it? I knew I should have packed and carried it on my own. Seeing his handwriting, faded and familiar … still hurt, and yet I have kept every one of them. The memories of our time, the yearning as if it was just yesterday, longing for his words to reach me. Still remember the dread of impending goodbye, for even then I knew it would not last. Hovering between pleasure and trepidation, I grasped those fragile days with gratitude and hope.
This particular letter – oh I think the gods are having a joke on me. How cruel that it had to be this one. Not at my age do I need to be reminded of my losses, this one especially. The creases on it, when I had crunched it up in anger, in sorrow then smoothing it open knowing this would be the last and oh, how precious it was, and is!
I need to gather myself before facing them, put on the brave face – the one that has seen me through the past 45 years in this family. Oh don’t get wrong, I love them all but at times, I could have done without, for they are also the cage that have bound me here, the reason for my greatest loss, my greatest sacrifice. Oh I didn’t realise how much it can still hurt.
But the show must go on…