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The Flood My Family Will Never Forget
Luckily, they lived to tell the tale
Tears streamed down my face as the water pushed me sideways. A scream escaped as my hand slid out of Dad’s palm. He grabbed it again and held it so tightly that it hurt. I coughed as the brown water splashed my face and wet my hair.
The thud of my heartbeat filled my ears as I was pulled forward. My new white sandals dragged along something hard under the water. I panted as I stared ahead at dry land, wishing the water would stop pushing at my tummy.
I cried for it to stop.
— extract from my mother’s journal, 1978.
1998
My eyelashes fluttered as I looked up at Mum from the living room carpet. I sat alone with my legs crossed next to the well-lit Christmas tree, my brother and cousins long gone. Their playful screams echoed from another room while my eyes studied Mum’s face, replaying the words she read from her journal over and over in my head.
She rolled her eyes at Grandad. I waited as they bickered playfully. Once there was a lull in the conversation, I asked,
“Grandad, tell me again.”
He smiled and lowered himself onto the floor next to me before launching into his version…
