Even though it's been several years since my lost Aunt carried my dad's typewriter from her car my joy will never dissipate. How she hugged me and shared with me how she'd carried this black, heavy, battered typewriter case around the country. I don't suppose she thought much about us over the years. Whenever I hurried to keep pace with my dad, destination Coventry, she was either at college or at work.
All those years had gone yet memories remain; memory's which either unite or divide us in a similar way as class seems to do.
Joan's employment as a Casting Director in programmes such as The Bill and Coronation Street hadn't, it seemed, stopped her from being a lovely kind but firm lady. One person united us and our differences; my dad James Hopper Nesbitt was her brother. I was soon to discover that she loved him just as much as I had always done.
I hadn't been able to check back all the tears as I took the lid off of the typewriter and slipped in a sheet of paper before typing two words...
Hello Dad. At last he was back where he belonged with me; so much so that I could almost see him tapping along the street with his white stick.
I hope you are happy with the world we have created without you; somehow you don't feel so very far away now.