They had all arrived for their father’s funeral, from all the far flung countries that our young people go to find work.

The house had been full, even joyful.  Stories of their childhood, of their happy home had been told, and different versions of events.

She stood at the gate, watching Dennis, the last of her family to leave, getting into the taxi. She expected to see his hand waving to her from the rear window, like when he was a child.  She waved until he was out of sight. The taxi turned the corner, and he was gone.

She sat in her chair, looking out through the French doors, as the early afternoon sun moved up the garden. In her mind, she saw him at the airport.  She stood at the large windows as he boarded the plane.  She could see him putting his hand luggage above his seat, and imagined tears in his eyes.

She didn’t know how long it would be until she saw any of them again.

Josephine Nolan