Her childhood had haunted her all her life. She was 87 now, and she knew the end of her life was coming closer. This was the second cancer she had had in two years. She was waiting for a second – hopefully – lifesaving cancer treatment.

Most of her adult life she had thought that as you got older one’s childhood would cease to hold one in such a tight grip, but in contrary, once she had turned 75 or 80 it once more tightened its grip on her. It was almost as if her father’s ghost had been haunting her. When she was out shopping for clothes she could almost hear his voice: ”That skirt looks awful! Don’t buy that top; it’s ugly!” And when she bought something she never really knew if it was because she knew her father would have liked it, or if she bought it because he would have hated it. Her own taste in clothes had been long forgotten. She simply had no idea how many of her garments she actually really liked. Her taste was garbled, forever  mixed with the judgemental voice of her father.

Inspired by The Daily Post: Childhood




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