ILLUMINATION
Published in

ILLUMINATION

The Last Lullaby

a guitar with fingers strumming on it.
Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Staring at my daughter’s reflection as she primped herself, brought a wry smile to my face. The bedroom mirror showed me how grown up she was, and that my job as her father was greatly diminishing if not over. The warm, noon breeze that blew through the upstairs window waved her veil and carried her perfume scent my way. White Diamonds, like her mother used to wear.

--

--

--

We curate and disseminate outstanding articles from diverse domains and disciplines to create fusion and synergy.

Recommended from Medium

A migrant’s dilemma — What colours do you wear?

“The good ice”

3 Truths I Learned About Myself as a Cancer Dad

Welcoming Y2K: The Night Before

The Only Child (and Her Sister)

It’s All About Symone Danielson, M.D. & Sisters

The stages of grief: four months

Ode to a Matriarch

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Vuyo Ngcakani

Vuyo Ngcakani

writer, husband for 26 years, father of 3, grandfather of 2

More from Medium

Forgiveness Is For You

My teddy bears brother, Steve

Strength When Losing Everything

The Spiral Effect