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The small cracks in the ceiling and the dry pieces of paint peeling off the walls outline the four sided living room I call home. The gold colour of the brocade curtains are only visible where the rays of sunlight escape through the gaps between the curtains. I peer through my foggy glasses where the ray of sunlight makes out the details of the young girl’s hair clip adorned with red ribbon roses and glass beads which held her fringe up from covering her eyes. Her dark long hair flowed over her shoulders with the gentle breeze. She looked like she was in her early twenties- beautiful yet playful. The beauty of her smile captured in the black and white photograph.

I fondly stroke the photo, as if I still remember that day from 50 years ago. I skim across at the many other untouched framed photographs sitting besides the picture of the girl on the shelf, as layers of dust have slowly accumulated over the weeks.

“Eleanor” I try to say but my words remain silent. I try to force a smile at her, but the sense of melancholy in the atmosphere hold it back.

“Are you okay, Dad” asked my son, Robert Fitzgerald. Having just remembered that I wasn’t alone in the room.

I nod to reassure him, that I’m fine.

Robert’s thin eyebrows rise to a slight angle showing a sign of disbelief. A small smirk escapes, realising that it has been something Robert has done since he was eight.

Although I know that, inside, the burning pain in my heart is eternal. I feel a tingling desire to reach out to Robert, to embrace him with the warmth and comfort that I haven’t felt in months. Which could possibly wipe away the all the pain. But the protruding coffee table between us, made this desire seem unreachable.

“After mum died, these past few weeks haven’t exa...

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...otos, I reach out to the hair clip adorned with red ribbon roses and place it on the top of the pile. I clutch onto all the memorable items which has created the many never-to-be-forgotten stories in my life.

Robert is definitely a compassionate and tender son. Would it be wrong to do this to him? To act cold-heartedly towards my son, hoping that Robert himself will agree to choose the easy way out. Am I willing to let love be a weakness?

Upon entering my bedroom, I shuffle under the covers of the bed, where I lay all my possessions beside me.

My total happiness comes from embracing the past, which allows one to connect and belong, from one’s own memories. As sometimes it may feel like it is too much work to establish a sense of belonging in the world, fearing for the pain and despair from losses.

This is the only place where I feel safe to connect with others.