For My Father
Sunday afternoon tick-tocked to the sound of lawn mowers and children’s voices; behind drawn curtains time sighed and slowed to the ordinary sadness of carpet corners.
You dozed and woke to thank the nurse, long gone, who’d helped you shave; and once called my mother to an imagined phone call.
Last this, last that and time began again as the ambulance crew spoke softly down the stairs. I think you thanked them too.
Afterwards we left memorial umbrellas on trains and one night abandoned the car across the drive at a commemorative angle. It was the least we could do.
M J Lewis©2015
Goodness, I hope we’re going to get some cheery stories this week here at Friday Fiction. I saw a doorway, transitions…You get the picture.
Thanks as ever to our host Rochelle, to Roger Bultot for the photo and to all who take the time to visit.