So it seems

It is a time of wondering if your children ever come to a place where they will forgive you the things you have done in their lives.
It would be nicer if they could 'understand' the things that were going on at the time of their remembered hurt, but that is not necessary if they are not interested.

I wonder if they will remember the nice things too, one day, the days of hot summer's, cool drinks and warm bathtimes.

Will there ever be a time, like I have come to, where the good outweigh the perceived wrongs and indifferences. That there is a beautiful space whereby the memories linger and shimmer in the cosmos, of loving arms and sweet powdered smells of 'home'.

I hope the ancient smell of stewing apples, raw flour and bubbling stews waft through their minds nose and conjours up days of rainy school afternoons and the rush of heat enveloping the legs as they entered our old kitchen.

We may not have had all that the times could offer. Not the new shiny floors of designer houses, or the clean smell of newly laid carpet. We could not offer separate bathrooms, personal tv's, holidays overseas or the shiny surface of a gleaming kitted out kitchen. But we gave them a belief in us, in them and in love.

We did not offer hopes of god, or an afterlife; not of privilege or of a sense of right. We gave them the awareness of the need to recognise the poor and disenfranchised and the hope that through them they will be raised to equality along with the rest.

Our love for each other did not extend to garden parties, new clothes or fake tans, but to games in the dark lit only by candles when the power went out. To times of swimming in the sea and tickles on the floor.

Books were read and songs sung, and "Mary Poppins" reigned supreme along with Ninja turtles and "Charlie is my darlin' ".

The smells of my childrens chilhood haunts me and the tug of tension as we made 'ends meet' whilst believing in a mum around for all occasions and a dad who would walk out of work to meet the requests of his children.

Their father's job never came first.
Their mother's job was their well being.
Their job was to grow and develop and to become strong and sure and independent of our wishes and those influences that pounce from religious doorways and social superficialities.

My knuckles are aching and my knees are wearing, but my heart through the love of a good man is strengthened every day and wiles away memories of my babies.

He said:
"I wonder if they know that time ticks away, on and on."

I said:
"I wonder if they will forgive us one day".