I hadn’t been to a museum for ages. I remember my mother holding me by the hand, guiding me around, explaining, scolding for touching, indicating pencil lines, flashes of colour, the meaning of life in vivid brush strokes.
I approached the entrance nervously. I opted for the handset, the one that talks in your ear, explains every move you make, tells you where to stare, what to see.
There was a box to leave it as I left. I didn’t. I kept hold, hoping, that once more, my mother would speak to me, tell me what to do, where to look.
Awww. Very touching.
I enjoyed this poignant little story. Well done.
Well done. A very nice piece of writing. You nailed that feeling/wish for “one more day with my . . . . “
I liked the story. I still talk to my dead parents in dreams. It seems perfectly natural.
Authentic and touching.
Sweet. Lovely memory of a parent and evocative telling of wanting to be with them again as a child.
Poignant..left a lump in the throat..
Lovely. Poignant… and challenging to museums on a budget, I think.
Pulls at the heartstrings.