by Maree Reedman
I had no idea my fatherwas a celebrityuntil we went on a cruise.Strangers stopped me to ask, How is George?Dad grinned from his walker,gave a royal wave.At the nursing home,staff patted him as they glided by.You are so lucky to have a father like George.His old neighbourstook him to a café every Saturdayand when his bank managerlearnt of his deathshe came out from behind the counter,sat next to me and cried.Years ago I listened for his footsteps on the stairsI waited for him to enter my sickroom, but he never did.I searched for him,only finding shadows in his shed, his army green radio on the window silland the carboygasping like a fishcaught in the silence.
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