Land of My Fathers'

It was September 2012, which meant that since father first started replacing rotten timbers in the roof of the caravan—work that I had picked up on after he died—it was now as sound as could be expected, considering its age; and so my attention turned to decorating the interior. It felt like allot had happened since his death on 21 September 1987; 25 years had passed and it seemed like a long time, and yet, no time at all.

He died of a heart attack, alone in a caravan parked beside the ruined cottage he was born in. A circular route from cradle to grave, but why had he seemingly allowed himself to die, when he could if he had had a notion to, been so easily saved? This question puzzled me but, as in the fullness of time all facts pertaining to a situation come to light, in the fullness of time I came to understand why he had made that choice.