Hope Springs

Today is my sixty-first birthday.  My father died sixteen days ago. Last year, I visited him at the Extended Care Unit where he lived for a year and we looked for snowdrops.  I am confident every year  that I will find a snowdrop in bloom on my birthday.  It is my sign that however dark and cold it may be at this time, there are brighter days ahead.

I am 61 years old. I have had a father for all of my life.  He lived a complete life and enjoyed every part of it.  He followed his dreams and, as he grew older, encouraged his children to do the same. I left for Paris last year at the time of the snowdrops knowing that I could possibly return to a world without Dad. But I came back and we saw the geraniums  together and later the autumn leaves.  I returned from my most recent trip with M. Là-bas 16 days ago and Dad died that night. Just before the new snowdrops. My dad was a gardener and liked me to wheel him in the hospital garden to look at the flowers and the greenhouse.  I know that somewhere he is watching for the first snowdrop.


  1. I just discovered your lovely blog and am reading it for the first time. I am so sorry about the loss of your Dad. My Dad is 90 and very precious to me


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