The smallness of the list was heartbreaking. Already, the record of my father’s last weeks had filled several small, black notebooks: his last Christmas, his final trip into ward 18 at Frenchay Hospital, the last time I saw him when, with an attempt at a normal smile, he told me that he loved me.
Tag: thanksgiving
This year, I’m having a quiet one by myself (though quite why I felt the need to order a 12lb turkey is anybody’s guess). As we draw to the end of a terrible year, there is still so much to be grateful for. I am alive, for starters.