REVIEW – Dandelion (A Play by Patrick Jones) @ Y Galeri, Caernarfon
My Nain would sit in her chair on a Sunday and wait… She’d read the paper, watch a bit of telly, do a few chores around her ‘Sheltered Home’. Sunday to someone who had been retired for nearly 30 years is just like any other day really, only it was a day that I would visit her. There was nothing regular, nothing set in stone, just that I’d visit her ‘most Sundays.’
Taid had died in 1993, she nursed him for over a decade after he survived lung cancer. A stroke got him eventually, ending a ten years of being in pain, but he, like my Nain lived for those he loved.
On the Sundays I didn’t visit, Nain would heave herself up out of her chair and peer out of the window every time she heard a car pull up. I know this because every time I drove up I’d see her head pop in the window and she’d give a wave. I could’ve phoned to say I wasn’t coming, but nothing was set in stone… Only now seven years on (or is it six…?), I still feel so guilty for not letting her know when I wasn’t going to visit. I was more afraid of disappointing her on the spot than I was of leaving her in hope…
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