A serious (or grave) communication.

Yesterday I received a letter from my dad.

I was a tad surprised, he died in 1981, but still it was nice to hear from him after all those years.

Ok, it wasn’t exactly addressed to me, it was originally written to my Aunty, an interesting woman who, surprisingly, tells me in her accompanying letter that her favourite cheese is an extra-mature cheddar from the isle of Mull.

I’m glad she cleared that up for me, I was loosing sleep at night wondering.

As far as my dad’s letter is concerned I am torn.

I feel like a school kid heading home with the end of term report – tempted to sneak a look to find out what judgement lies within, and I feel like I am holding a bunch of last autumn’s brittle dry leaves that will just crack and turn to dust if I open them.

Even though I know the letters are not about ME I am not quite ready to turn that page.

I’ll go do that now.