'Mam, are you okay?'

 

My daughter’s voice pulls me back to reality.

 

I blink.

 

And just like that I'm back in the room.

 

'Sorry pet, l was away in another world' 

 

Yet, I could still hear my brother’s hands at work.

 

The beauty of his life overshadowed by his horrific death.

 

It's time for me to remember you as you were among the living.

 

I want to see your hands at work.

 

With a pencil in them.

 

As you measure before the cut.

 

'Measure twice cut once' 

 

That's what you useta always say.

 

I can see you now.

Bent over at the bench with your wavy chestnut-brown hair falling forward into your face as you hold the piece of wood steady in your hands. 

 

I smile a quiet smile.

 

Because like all men at work your crack is playing peek-a-boo as your beltless blue jeans slip slightly below your behind.

 

But this doesn't distract you from the job in hand. 

 

As one hand holds the yellow recoiling ruler in place while the other lifts the pencil to make a new mark.

A small lead tick.

Then another.

You pause a moment.

 

Check once more.

And again.

 

Until your hands move with quiet certainty.

 

The stubborn knots don't even deter you. 

 

You leave a trail of sawdust at your feet.

 

Like breadcrumbs for anyone who happens to stumble upon your place of work before the cleanup. 

 

And you always leave your workspace spotless.

 

Neat and tidy by the end of day was always your moto.

 

Tools back in their homes.

 

And the floor swept.

 

Ready to begin again fresh.

 

It was as if you were never even there.

 

But you were there because you made the cut. 

 

'You know where you get your talent for drawing from?' I  say as I watch my daughter sketching at the table.

 

She doesn't respond.

 

Too deep in her drawing.

 

'You remind me so much of my brother, your uncle.'

 

Still she ploughs on with her purpose.

When I was little, my brother loved drawing more than anything, especially horses. He could sit for hours with a pencil and a piece of paper, carefully drawing their legs, their manes, and the way they moved. I useta to sit beside him and watch. Sometimes he would let me try, and he would gently show me how to start with simple shapes before adding the details and shades. One time, my school had a drawing competition. I really wanted to enter, but I didn’t think I was good enough. Your uncle sat down with me that evening and helped me. He drew a beautiful picture of four horses and we coloured them together in the bright colours of the rainbow. I won.  I will never forget his kindness in helping me. 

 

'I think a littlle bit of his talent lives on in you and in your sister and brother as ye seem to have inherited his flair for the arts.'

 

'What did you win?'

 

'Oh, I think a bar of chocolate and bag of Tayto'

 

'That's not much of a prize' says my daughter.

 

She is missing the point for the prize is in the making of the piece together as that time is priceless today. 

 

 

....✍️