Legacy...

What is a Legacy and how do we find it, where do we leave it? or how can we achieve one?

Well... there are a few ways, but my story was not one of I would have chosen.

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1. Every story needs a beginning...

 

I was 12 years old when the news came that my father had died. I had returned from school to find the house bustling with people and activity, many strange almost official vehicles lined the road outside my house. As I entered the door,  my uncle quickly took me aside and sat me down in my Father's favourite chair.   "Max, I have something to tell you" he said, his eyes locked on mine. "There was an incident at your Father's work, an accident, your Father, he....." , His closed his eyes and his head dropped to face the floor.    "What happened?" I asked eagerly, my chest got hot and tight, my skin began to feel warm. "What happened Uncle Tom?"   My Uncle stared at me, his eyes filling with tears,  "There was an explosion, he didn't get out in time" he said in a low cold tone.  I stared in disbelief, my eyes twitched as I tried to process it. In the corner of my eye I could see my Mother stood in the doorway, a man in a suit placing his hand on her shoulder as she wiped her eyes.   "Mum?" I said. She looked over at me, a small wry crooked smile on her face and she held out her arms. I pushed myself up and ran towards her, embracing her tightly, the tears in my eyes stinging me as I unloaded my sadness. As that memory fades, all I can hear was her saying 'shhhhh, it'll be alright'    From that point on, most of the memories surrounding my Fathers death move like a VHS tape on fast forward, blurred from view. I remember family member after family member patting me on the head, smiling in a somber way and handing me gifts. Funny thing that, when your sad people give you gifts to lift the mood. What they don't realise is that when it comes to the natural moments to receive a gift, whether it be your birthday or on seasonal holiday, all it does is remind you of what you've lost.   I cannot fully remember the funeral, choosing mainly to see my Father during happier times, re-living old memories of us playing rugby in the garden, wrestling on the beach or watching a movie on the sofa eating popcorn and bugging Mum, the days that followed the funeral seemed to blend into each other until the day it all changed.      

 

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