Photo: Sue Vincent
“He never would’ve been out there without his hat.”
Elizabeth shook her head in suppressed exasperation. Of course her mother would find fault.
The older woman perched on the edge of the folding chair that Elizabeth and the fresh-faced health-carer had dragged over for her. The flickering episodes of weakness and disorientation had grown more frequent since Grandfather died. Perhaps it had been the shock of finding him, as her mother had, slumped against the edge of the bathtub. Perhaps it had been the letting go that followed endless years of caring for an increasingly ailing parent. Perhaps it was her mother taking on the role of family invalid.
The doctors certainly did not seem to know.
Or know the difference.
Not that Elizabeth could not understand the wish to let go. She could. Very much so.
Caring for her increasingly moody mother gave her a taste of what it had to have been like for her mother to endure the constant worry over and never-ending bitterness of a man who could no longer do what had sustained him. The amicable if somewhat taciturn grandfather had turned into a fussy, verbally cruel, bed-bound tyrant. Her mother’s father had to have become insufferable.
A little like her mother was becoming.
“They should’ve made a hat. It’s all wrong without a hat.” Her mother scowled.
The figure on the hill leaned into the wind. Impossibly lithe and utterly determined, it embodied how Elizabeth the young child had known him. As far back as she could remember, Grandfather never missed a day of what he’d called his “constitutional.” Rain or shine or wind or hail or mist or blazing sun, her grandfather would leave on his solitary afternoon walk, returning — like clockwork — when the sun had disappeared behind the hill.
Elizabeth would wait for him, her child’s body pressed against the stone fence that bordered the estate, and watch his shadow edge on home, his walking stick as part of him as any limb could be. At some point his tweed pants would materialize at the bottom of the shadow, and in another step or two the rest of him would unveil into certainty.
By the time he’d reach the gate, his windblown face would hold a smile for her. He’d nod a welcome, compensating with it for the long wait, for the yearning that he’d take her along (he never did, nor had he taken any of his children before that), and for the fluttery worry that perhaps the shadowed figure was not Grandfather at all, but in fact an elf or ghost or some trickster’s apparition.
She gazed at the silhouette on the hill, its stride frozen forever in the time before a stroke changed everything.
Hat or not, this was how he’d want to be remembered.
“He’d stuff the hat in his pocket when the wind was high,” she whispered, her voice full of sudden sorrow. “He’d pull it out and put it on a step before he reached the gate.”
Her mother’s mouth opened in preparation for automatic argument, but then the wrinkled corners turned down as a quiver shook her chin.
“He did,” her voice a child’s in elder’s clothing. “It is exactly what he’d do.”
Elizabeth squeezed her mother’s shoulder and the older woman placed a trembling hand over her daughter’s.
“It is perfect, then,” her mother murmured. “I’d forgotten. Take me home, Lizzy. Let us allow him his constitutional in peace, now that he can once more go about it.”
For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto Challenge
much liked
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Much glad! 🙂
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WOW, a heart-grabber for sure.
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Thank you Fleur! 🙂 I’m glad this spoke to you, and thank you for reading and commenting! Na’ama
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Most welcome–my pleasure 🙂
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🙂
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It is perfect. Nice work.
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Thank you, Chris!
“Perfect” is beyond praise — my gratitude!
So glad you’ve enjoyed this!
🙂
Na’ama
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So much imagery woven into sadness and loss.
Very well written
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Glad you liked it! Thank you for reading and commenting! I though the photo was exquisite! No wonder it evoked imagery and feelings! 🙂
Na’ama
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Very true,
I could almost be that man if my wife didn’t haul me in by the belt from walking out in wild, wet weather.
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🙂 Well, hopefully the wild, wet, weather will abate … or … you can consider wearing suspenders instead of a belt … 😉
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(Whisper) I like the wet and windy weather…but these days I’m not allowed to go out and play in it as much as I used to ☹️
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Ah, I can relate, in a way.
I like misty, cool, wettish’ weather. There’s a mystery to the wet air, and the Fair Folk are almost tangibly in evidence. 🙂
Can’t play much in it anymore myself, though I still like it when I can.
I hope you’ll be ‘allowed’ to play enough in it to keep your soul comforted.
Na’ama
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I can still watch through the window…..Ahhhhh 🤗
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🙂 Windows are a good thing! 🙂
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That raised a tear, na’ama…for all sorts of reasons…
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Dear Sue, I guess that’s a good thing – as writing goes – and I hope it was not a painful thing, as experiences go. It is a fantastic photo, you know!
Hugs,
Na’ama
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Not all tears are bad…especially when reading 😉
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In the words of Gandalf: “Not all tears are an evil….”
🙂
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Gandalf always has the right words…
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🙂
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🙂
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🙂
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Thank you, Sue! 🙂
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A stunning tale beautifully written 💜
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Thank you, Willow! 🙂
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💜💜
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🙂
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