wings and things

Three girls flying

Yesterday I tried to insert this picture and accompanying article into my metaphor post because I thought it fitted well with that theme, but it ended up being too small, so here it is again. This picture is of my beautiful niece and her friend and the words are by my mother … read on

And who is the third girl you ask? My mother, of course, who has winged her way through widowhood, cancer, hearing loss and now an eye problem, with flying colours!



Ages ago, I discovered that I had massive wings. However, like the wings of many of our birds, mine don’t provide lift-off.

I can’t fly away.

I can’t fly at all.

My wings are more like curtains, behind which I hide Son’s grief and anger, Husband’s fear and confusion, and my own despair. In this blog I have occasionally lifted corners of my wings to reveal these things, but I have tried not to do this too often.

Now my massive wings are molting – just like King peacock’s feathers – and they no longer look like wings; they look skeletal.

They are skeletal. My wings have become featherless, shredded curtains, impossible to hide behind.

Husband has to go back into hospital tomorrow. And this time he might not be coming home again.

So, today, the remnants of my massive wings fell off and blew away in the breeze.