Tuesday, June 6, 2017
It has been more than a year since my cousin Paul died, and there is still a heaviness in my heart. In 1966 Paul arrived back in England and came to our house with Cleo and Martin. He skipped and jumped on the lawn at Swan Street, Stourbridge, with his odd accent (Aussie!) whopping at the snow that was falling. He had come back from Australia to the UK and had never seen snow. Every Christmas the whole family assembled and the cousins - Shelley. Kevin, my brother David and myself, would have a blast with the old 'uns, opening our presents, playing games, and watching the Queen's Speech. Paul was always a live spark, even then. As we grew older, we went our separate ways. Paul moved to the States. I moved to Devon, then Hereford, and Paul would visit with Dee and the kids.. Many years later, it was Skype that brought us together again. One of the last messages he sent me was Paul expressing concern about our ageing parents and what was going to have to them with our parents living back in the UK. Little did sweet Paul know that his mom and dad would outlive him.
