Tuesday, May 17, 2011

The river

He grew up in these parts, the trees hugging the river, the river strongly pulsing past their home. He knew the call of the birds and adored the different wild animals that also called these woods home. He remembers his mother made them bacon and eggs with sunny toast and cinnamon buns every Sunday. The sweet scent of cinnamon enchanted you under your blankets, and drew you out from under it. Mom’s voice would softly follow with love that breakfast is served. These memories he knew so well, the smells, the taste, the joy.

Many years after mom passed away dad could not hold off the cancer on his own anymore and he passed away one cold winter morning. No one really cried, there was only silence it ran all the way down the river. No bird had a song and none of the other forest creatures called their mates. Their father was buried and the cold winter wind cut through their souls. He felt he had to cry, to mourn, but nothing. He remembers the day his father came home from the hospital, moms eyes stained red from all the tears. Dad had cancer, as teenagers none of them fully understood what that meant. They all cried together, more because mom was upset, more because dad was scared.
Death is such a weird thing, you cry, you feel alone; you wish you could see that person one more time. Death has a funny way of stopping conversations, of making brothers and sister’s common ground fall away. They did not see each other anymore, because mom did not cook anymore and dad did not make you feel guilty as this might be his last Christmas. So now they don’t talk, now they do not want to see each other anymore.

None of his brothers and sisters wanted the old family home. The roof had one to many leaks and the moss growing up on the rocky walls was just too much of a reminder the parents they loved were now gone. Danny was a high powered attorney and could not care less for the memories they shared in that house. Sharon travelled the world and never had time for anyone but herself. Milly and Martin, had families of their own, they had schedules to run.

He decided to move to the house and start renovating the beaten up house, he did not have a schedule, family or anything important he had to do. It would take a very long time before this house would resemble its former glory. David wanted it to look as lovely as it did when he was a child. He would one day bring up his own family here and be as joyful as he was in his youth. He never had it easy, he always had to fight his way through everything; maybe this was what he needed to just be himself again.


Every night he sat in the kitchen eating his meal. The silence that the house brought with it each meal was sometimes daunting; there were no other lights in the area, only the river raging at the foot of the house. Only his kitchen light against the darkness that was creeping closer. If only he knew what that house had in store for him later, if only he knew he would change forever…..

6 comments:

the walking man said...

That does seem 6to be the way of siblings once the parents pass...the drifting away into their own lives. Well written. Nice structure good vibe to end on.

Drizel said...

Thank you very much, a bit of a different story for me to write.....:)

laughingwolf said...

well said, etain...

mom, sis and dad all dead now, only me left in that family, though sis' two kids and my three remain of the next generation...

Drizel said...

Thank you Wolf. So sorry to hear, hugz. :)

Lunette de soleil Dolce&Gabbana said...

this is a great post,thank you.

Drizel said...

Thank you Lunette:)