Related Stories
-
The Heroic Parish Priest of Ballyporeen – Fr John Michael O’Shea 1871-1942
-
From Conna to Queensland
-
Private David Condon, Kiltankin, Ballyporeen (1894-1917) killed in action at the Somme
-
The Red Deer of Killarney
-
Bygone days of Barnane Walk, Fermoy on Munster Blackwater
-
Christmas tales from Rathcormac
-
Christmas shopping in Fermoy – some memories
-
Word renowned composer pens a ‘Song For James’
-
Community effort makes COPE sensory garden a reality
-
Can you name them? Perhaps from the Fermoy area?
-
A sneak peek into how pups become guide dogs
-
A history of Galtee Castle at Skeheenarinky between Cahir and Mitchelstown
Eleven forty five, just 15 minutes from midnight and Sarah was still trying to get the last few items into the blue suitcase. Twenty five years she had been packing and unpacking for him, as he went on his various trips and tonight she wondered if this were the last time.
He had said it would only be for a few months and then he would be home, but deep down she knew that once he went this time, he would not be back. There was nothing to keep him here now.
Somehow it had crept up on her first the small overnight bag, change of underwear, clean pyjamas, toothbrush and fresh clothes for the following day. Then had come the weekends away, where a greater array of items had been required. Gradually the overnight bag had been discarded for a larger more sophisticated holdall and longer spells when he didn’t come home.
At first when he went away, there would be the constant phone calls and texts but as time went on even these weren’t as frequent.
The day he had come home all excited and said that his next big trip was a full week away with the guys, her heart had sank. She was losing him and there was nothing she could do about it. Sarah had known that this day was coming for a long time, but still when it was now staring her in the face, she was finding it hard to accept it.
Pushing the last few pairs of clean underpants into the corner of the bag, she couldn’t resist the urge to take out the soft knit blue jumper and bury her face in the fabric, even though it was freshly washed it still smelled of him, that fresh sort of fruity smell that always lingered for days after he left.
A tear slowly rolled down her cheek and disappeared into the jumper, leaving a slightly darker blob on the light blue wool, like an island in the middle of the ocean. That’s what Sarah felt like, an island adrift, he no longer needed her, he was now more or less self-sufficient.
How the years had changed him, there was a time when she knew his schedule, would remind him of appointments, and make sure he had the relevant items with him when he left the house. She was always up early in the morning if he had an early start, to ensure that he had a good breakfast before he set off.
But over time he had grown more confident and now seemed to be able to manage everything on his own. He had told her so too, on a few occasions when she had been badgering him about something or other and it had hurt her to realise that she was no longer the centre of his universe as she once had been.
Placing the jumper into the bag, she pulled the zip around and lifted the bag onto the floor by the door, ready for the morning. There beside it was the other assortment of items he was bringing with him.
“Oh, I must remember to ask him if he photocopied his travel documents,” she thought, then chided herself for being fussy. He could manage, he was an adult after all.
As she closed the door behind her and headed to her bed, she smiled through the tears. Yes, she would survive, because she’d done a good job, he was ready. She now realised it was probably time to let her son make his own way in the world!
var _gaq = _gaq || [];
_gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-27142231-1']);
_gaq.push(['_trackPageview']);
(function() {
var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true;
ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js';
var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s);
})();
/* * * CONFIGURATION VARIABLES * * */
var disqus_shortname = 'AvondhuPress'; var disqus_identifier = '45449'; var disqus_title = 'The Parting';
/* * * DON'T EDIT BELOW THIS LINE * * */ (function () { var dsq = document.createElement('script'); dsq.type = 'text/javascript'; dsq.async = true; dsq.src = 'http://' + disqus_shortname + '.disqus.com/embed.js'; (document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0] || document.getElementsByTagName('body')[0]).appendChild(dsq); })();
(function () { var s = document.createElement('script'); s.async = true; s.type = 'text/javascript'; s.src = 'http://' + disqus_shortname + '.disqus.com/count.js'; (document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0] || document.getElementsByTagName('body')[0]).appendChild(s); }());
blog comments powered by Disqus