First visit

It’s my friend’s first visit to her father’s home since he died. A visit she is making on her own. A visit she was dreading. And her message just now was that she felt his presence. Understandable as she will find him in every corner of that home. A presence there for so many years. Memories must be coming thick and fast.

It’s a moment I dread. Not yet.

I try to make each visit matter. To leave nothing unsaid. To make sure they both hear that I love them. Regret is not what I want to feel. A harsh word that can’t be taken back. An irritation shown.

Even so it will be impossibly hard. That I know.

Not yet.

But for B it’s already happened and her world will never be the same. Moments come when she thinks of something he’d be interested to hear and then she has to remember all over that she’s not going to be able to share things with him Like yesterday. I saw the pain sweep across her face.

My friend.

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