A Memory

February 2004


The Cathedral Coffee Shop


I look at my dad's face.

I look at his beautiful face; every line and all of the soft fleshy folds of his worldly skin. I look at the outline of his lips, so much like mine. I examine his ear, its outline, every undulating curve and the soft fleshy lobe.

I feel so quietly desperate; I have to mentally imprint every detail of his face and soul into my brain so that I can hold on to him forever and ever.

My eyes complete their journey and arrive at their destination. I stare and stare at my dad's blue-grey eyes, as clear as water or a liquid sky, as they gaze intently into the distance past me. Something in my subconscious is wondering if they are seeing anything at all or seeing nothing but only feeling.

My eyes feel transfixed as I reluctantly move them away to take in my dad's soft fine white hair. Smooth baby hair. Soon there won't be much of it left.

I pull my gaze away from my dad's face, as I turn my head to echo his to look into the distance to see what he sees. The late afternoon February sky is cold and grey and the clatter of crockery being herded and washed in the background pulls me back to the reality of the moment.

I look through the window again and up to the lamp post in front of the grey sky, just outside, and scrutinise its shepherd's crook curve, every detail of its stylistic ironmongery, the curve of the fish...

I am thinking of a time ahead, heaviness in heart, knowing I will look at that lamp post again some day; the shepherd's crook will still have the same curve and the fish will still be leaping but it will all be different and mum and me will be alone. I feel sick and alone inside - and desperate to hold on to this moment forever.

I look back at my dad and feel relief.

Relief because he is here, here in his blue cardigan zipped up to the neck, with the cuffs of his sleeves turned up once or twice over his thin wrists, revealing his familiar silver watch.

He looks so cosy and I am so comforted by his presence; I want to throw my arms around him and give him a big cuddle and hold on to him forever and ever.

But I don't.

I am too scared to share, with him, my fear, my desperation, my anguish. I don't want to cause him any further fear or sorrow. I don't want him to be weighted down further with worry. I want to protect him from all things bad. I feel so helpless and powerless and it only intensifies my feelings of pain.

Finally, we make a move, the three of us.

We leave two empty coffee cups and my dad's half-drunk, now cold contents unfinished. The sight of his unfinished cup makes me ache with sadness. I look at my mum and see myself in her. Everything that I feel inside is mirrored in her face and green-grey eyes. We glance at each other with an unspoken unison.

I look again one last time through the glass at the sky, which is no longer grey. It is twilight now and the afternoon is disappearing. The bulb of the lamp post has just illuminated a soft white glow and we leave...