Saturday, April 11, 2009

Three years

If my mother was still here, maybe I would be visiting her this weekend. She would bake some "English muffin bread", and when we were ready to eat breakfast, she would clear off the table and put the stainless steel utensils down on the place mats. I would eat until I couldn't anymore, and then she would try to put something else on my plate. No, Mummy, really, I can't.

If my father was still here, he would want to spend those first moments of the visit with Husbandly One.... I have no idea why he fixated on My Love so strongly, but he did. (Did I ever tell you that the last phone call my father ever made was to Husbandly One? And that he had never ever telephoned Husbandly One even once before?) Then Daddy would have hugged me and my son, then gone back to his book while his harem (me, my Mum and my sister) made dinner. You must understand that my father wouldn't leave the dinner to us girls because it was Women's Work, but because he loved to sit back and listen to His Girls, loved to know that he was surrounded by the loud mouthed, yappy chicks he loved. Eventually, he would have wandered over to the stove, and pointed out something we were doing wrong. Whatever it was, he would have been RIGHT, the bastard....

Oh, how I love my mother and father. And oh, how I miss them. I still believe they will walk in the door and tell me there was a huge misunderstanding, that they are sorry we had to go through so much needless pain, but they are home now and we can stop being so silly as to grieve for them. I still believe.

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