The mist has rolled in, silent and insistent. It’s crept under locked doors and into private spaces, obscuring what was. I want to return to when the sun shone every day; when he was strong; when I could call out “Dad can you fix this?” But for the first time in our lives, he can’t. So a fog has settled on the household. Continue reading “It can’t be fixed”
Spending time with my elderly parents is more adrenaline pumping than a roller coaster ride.
Sandwiched between every airport goodbye and hello are millions of family members who cope with living apart. Continue reading “Dry Eyes”
As kids we grew up in the shadow of the Korean War but were protected from the details
My red shoes (the replacement ones) are no match for mum’s black canvas tackies with their neatly tied laces. The rhythm of her rubber soles racing down the corridor wakes me. I follow to help but am not quick enough off the starting block and when I do eventually run up alongside she refuses to pass the baton. It’s then I realise this is not a team relay but an individual marathon. Continue reading “Following Her Footsteps”
My dad has a thing for bathrooms, not that he spends hours preening himself in them or that he is incontinent, it’s just that he likes tarting them up. And at the youthful age of 88 … Continue reading “Defying his age”