Simple treasure

Today we found a box yet to be unpacked. Two years since moving into this house and there are still numerous boxes lurking in corners of wardrobes and cupboards. This one was special. Amongst the books and pens, knickknacks and kitsch, I discovered my Filofax. Beautiful royal blue and full, the battered corners proving how beloved it had been. I opened it with bated breath. How could I have let
it become redundant? When did it get looked over by a sleek, slender piece of electronics, void of any emotional attachment?   Thumbing through the pages I see names of people who who were a part of my daily life and gradually disappeared.  Reading the notes about meeting up with people who are no longer with us,  my eyes well up.  Somehow seeing the names written there in my scrawled handwriting makes me want to speak to those that I lost touch with a decade ago.
On the last page a plastic cover with a picture of my father, taken at my wedding, a year before he passed away. Love, sadness, guilt comes over me at once. I never got to say; goodbye, I love you, I’m here.  My own fault of not flying back straight away. I wouldn’t allow myself to think the worst. Nothing bad could happen to him, he was invincible. My anchor and rock. My excuses; I was in the middle of final exams  and he was going to be fine, it was a mild heart attack, an extra few days would be OK. Any idea that it would be anything different was removed from my mind.  The following night ; the call that I should come home, urgently.
I have stopped waiting for closure – the wound can’t heal; he is gone and everything I wanted to tell him remains unsaid. The regret never goes away and as an antidote I am over expressive with my children. I kiss the photo again and close the filofax reminding myself that as long as you love someone, they are always with you…..

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