Always something there to remind me.
Maple leaves falling in Autumn always bring echoes from another life for me. A life that was cut short with no warning.
But I survived and came home to England with two beautiful little reminders of the life I’d had in their father’s country. There have been 31 Autumns since I returned and my sons have grown into fine, strong men with babies of their own. Canada is nothing more than a bitter sweet memory because I never went back.
But there is a third souvenir from my old life. When my parents came to see me in 1978, I lived on the leafy Rusholme Road in Toronto. One day my father picked up a ‘helicopter’ that had spun down from one of the beautiful Sugar Maples on my street.
He put it in his jacket pocket and forgot about it.