Memories I can no longer share

I didn't have a good relationship with my dad. He was a disciplinarian of the Victorian kind and I a rebel of the 60's kind. But a good memory I do have is one reminiscent of this time of year.

When my children were small we lived in a tiny terrace cottage. We had one of those long thin gardens that apart from the odd low fence were open in regards to other gardens in the row of terraces. Each bonfire night, traditionally, we had a small bonfire at the end of our garden and the usual sparklers, fireworks, sausages and baked potatoes for our small family gathering.

On this particular occasion my dad was recovering from a heart attack and was off work. He arrived at about six in the evening with two little 'guys' that he had made for my two small sons. They were made out of old sacking and stuffed with old cloth and he had drawn faces on them and each was attached to a stick that they could hold. I was deeply touched by this gesture and the time and effort involved.

My youngest son was about a eighten months and my eldest was about three. Because of his ill health my dad stayed inside with my youngest son who was scared of the bangs. I remember him standing at the kitchen window with my son in his arms watching the fireworks through the glass and the pleasure and excitement that my boys had with my family that night.

My parents are both dead now and my sons were too young to remember and their dad and I divorced a long time ago.

As the years pass I realise that one of the saddest things about divorce is there is no-one to share those memories with. There is no-one there to say 'do you remember such and such that we did, do you remember that holiday or that Christmas'. I think it is probably sad for my boys too. There is no longer a shared family history. I try to keep the memories alive but it is not the same.

Those were some of the happiest times of my life and I feel bereft because I cannot share the memory of them with my sons and their father.