Elisabeth Dakers L5N
Leaving Home.
The day had finally arrived, all the planning, all the worries were all going to be over. The packing process had started a few weeks before; maybe we should have started that job months ago. There was never going to be enough helpers. The children’s rooms had been the hardest, bags for charity, boxes for storage and everyday necessities to keep with us. All were supposed to have been labelled but on checking a bag-marked charity yesterday we found the dogs lead and our passports. That prompted us to empty every bag and box and this was time that could have been used more efficiently. It was whilst emptying and checking a large egg box I came across an old photograph.
I remembered the frame from when I was a child. It had pride of place on the mantle piece. My mum was proud she had given my sister a wedding fit for royalty; her and dad had worked hard to save the money to pay for the reception at the local golf club. There had been arguments for weeks before due to the stress and tension, mum looked beautiful in her two-piece suit she had bought on our shopping trip to London. She had paid more for that ‘mother of the bride outfit’ than she and dad had paid for their first car. Her hat could have come straight from Ascot. She insisted buttercup yellow was her colour how we laughed at that yellow feather that arched over her head. Looking at this picture now it looked like a halo. I felt a sadness looking into that photograph, how innocent we all were back then. It seemed strange looking into my dads eyes, I could imagine them twinkling as the camera flashed. How I missed mum and dad.
