On Monday evening we gathered around Dad's house for supper. My brother and his wife, all three of my kids and Ben's lovely young lady. The only one missing was my daughter Tasha's fiance, Dan, who had to work.
Dad roasted a couple of unfortunate chickens; unfortunate for them I mean, fortunately for us they were delicious.
We sat out on the patio and talked as the sinking sun set a luminous orange glow into the broken clouds above. The sky was promising rain, and against the gloaming of the clouds the moisture in the air set off a lovely triple rainbow arcing skywards from the eves of the houses; a beautiful streak of colour defiant in the face of the setting sun and encroaching dark of the night.
A transitory pleasure, the camera on our phones couldn't capture it to do it justice.
A transitory pleasure, the camera on our phones couldn't capture it to do it justice.
Up until my mid-twenties, I used to view my life in five year cycles. Change is rapid when you're growing up, and keeps up the pace whilst you're still young. Every five years I'd look back and muse that I wouldn't be able to recognise myself or predict my situation had I been able to look forward and see myself from there from five years previous.
Schools changed, homes changed, countries changed, friends changed, pets changed, jobs changed. Very little remained constant.
Change has slowed down. I've been in the same house now for twenty years, and have been fortunate enough to hold the same job now for a little bit longer. I've been with the same lucky girl (yes, I kid myself, I'm fully aware I am the lucky one in this equation) for even longer than that, although married to her for a little less, if still a bit more than twenty years (don't ask me to put an exact number on it right now)
On Monday evening, Dad settled down to supper with his children and his grandchildren. Our dogs wrestled for space amidst the forest of our legs beneath the dining room table. It was a picture Mum would have been fondly familiar with.
On Monday evening, at the turning of some unwatched hour across the course of that night, it became five years since we lost her.
Five years on, and so much has changed. And some things have stayed the same.
I am reminded of how lucky we are to have each other.
On Monday evening, Dad settled down to supper with his children and his grandchildren. Our dogs wrestled for space amidst the forest of our legs beneath the dining room table. It was a picture Mum would have been fondly familiar with.
On Monday evening, at the turning of some unwatched hour across the course of that night, it became five years since we lost her.
Five years on, and so much has changed. And some things have stayed the same.
I am reminded of how lucky we are to have each other.
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