Memories are made of this

Happy Memories.......runner up story printed in Prima magazine

Dad, you got around with a small collapsibe cane, which you inserted inside your jacket; beside a silver Braille fob watch hanging on a fine chain.

Standing on tiptoe I would slip my head beneath the curtains of our home, expectantly awaiting your return, Seconds later I'd share my triumphs and disasters of the day as I sat proudly on your knee.

Meanwhile, Mum, you felt your way around our neat kitchen, whistling as you made our tea. Your fingers inside the plastic mugs as the tea flowed swiftly from the spout.

Whilst you had been blind from birth Mum-you,Dad had lost your sight as a young man living in Coventry before heading alone to London with your battered suitcase and dreams of a normal life, while your family looked on with trepidation and pride.

A constant warmth and love shone inside and outside our home. On warmer evenings and weekends your bedroom window would be the post from which you, Dad, eavesdropped with your tape recorder- its reels whizzing, capturing our innocent mischief.

Later, you Mum, an accomplished pianist, would entertain us with games and noisy activities. Bedtime stories followed, delivered from Braille books, weighty and large. Your fingers raced magically across the brown stiff pages until one by one we slept and you crept away.

The sad full stop came when dad died suddenly in his mid thirties. No longer would I stand beneath him whilst he played his accordian. His Grundie tspe recorder and tangled reels gathered dust in cardboard boxes, where our voices curled and twisted never to be heard again.

Catherine, your eldest granddaughter now teaches, James, named after you, Dad is now a daddy himself. Caroline, our youngest, flourishes.
See how much warmth and love still shines inside and outside our home, because you both had the courage to see the light- even in the dark.