I'm glad I'm a hoarder. I just found a bus timetable in my drawer, from our trip to France in the summer. Our last family holiday all together. The memories have come flooding back. It was a funny holiday, a very happy one. We lost you in Arcachon. At the time it was funny, oh how stupid Dad is, he missed the train. It was only when we got to the train station in Bordeaux that we started to worry, when we got the staff to call Arcachon station and make an announcement over the tannoy and no one responded. When we got back to the hotel room and you weren't there. It was two hours til the next train, and those two hours were two of the longest of my life. Just waiting to see if you'd turn up. A million things ran through my mind; I was crying, petrified that you'd collapsed somewhere. When the two hour mark ticked by, we were all together in your hotel room. Not saying much, but all thinking the same things, calculating how long it would take for you to get back to the hotel, calculating what time we'd have to start getting seriously worried by. And then the door opened. And there you were.
I wish the door would open right now. I really miss you Dad. I hate this.
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