Welcome to Français Facile, Easy French. Enable the translation feature for a better understanding of the story. This movement of water from the leaves takes me to a distant past, where memories flow like incessant waves.
Some bring a smile to my lips, others bring tears to my tired eyes. I had a wife, her name was Sarah, she was sweet, beautiful and her smile warmed the darkest days. Every morning, she lit our home with an energy that reminded me why I worked so hard.
We had three children, boys and a girl, and every moment spent with them was a blessing. But the day was filled with hard work. I wanted to give my children everything I never had.
While I worked, Sarah ran the house with unparalleled devotion. She prepared nourishing meals, helped the children with their homework, and made sure our home was always filled with laughter and love. The years passed and the children grew up.
They started exploring the world, forming friendships and spending less and less time with us. Although I understand their need for independence, it leaves a void in my heart. Sarah comforted me by telling me that he would always come back.
He loves us, she whispered and I believed her. But one day everything changed. Sarah fell ill.
At first, it was just a temporary weakness, or at least we thought so. But the weeks turned into me and his health was irremediably declining. I stayed by her side, day and night, preparing meals that she could no longer swallow, telling her stories.
To try to revive its shine. But her smile was slowly fading, taking care of the children. She said to me one evening, her voice cracking with fatigue.
They still need you. That night she closed her eyes for the last time. The silence that followed was deafening.
My heart broke into a thousand pieces and our house, once so vibrant, became cold and empty. I hoped that my children would fill this void and stay by my side to rekindle some warmth. But life called them elsewhere.
Their visit becomes rare and calls them even more. One day they sat down in front of me with serious faces and said, “Dad, you can’t be alone. Would it be better for you to live in a retirement home?
» I would have liked to protest and tell them that my place was here. In this house where every wall carried the sound of our past happiness. But seeing their eyes, I understood that they had already made their decision.
So, with a heavy heart I worried. Today, I find myself in this place they call themselves, the haven of the golden years. It's clean, calm, but with a tranquility that weighs on the soul.
I spend my days looking out the window, lost in memories of a life that seems so distant. And yet, every morning, I wake up with the hope that one day, my children will return, that they will remember their father and everything he gave them. Life in what they call the golden years follows a monotonous and unchanging routine.
Every morning, I am awakened by the pale light of day, filtering through the curtains. A nurse gently enters my room to help me get up. She is immovable with a professional smile that hides obvious fatigue.
She puts a cup of tea on my bedside table and helps me put on my slippers. After breakfast, a cold toast and a bowl of lukewarm coffee, I sit down near the window. The view overlooks a small garden.
The flowers are pretty and well maintained but the whole thing remains frozen for the sake of life. I look at the other residents, each lost in their own thoughts. A few are undisputed at times but most remain silent.
Their faces are marked by time with masks of forgotten history. I hold in my hands a notebook that was given to me. A kind nurse told me.
Write down your memories sir? Will this do you any good? At first I didn't know what to write.
My hands shook over the blank page and the words seemed to escape my mind. But little by little the images of Sarah, the children and our once warm house returned. Every evening I scribble a few sentences, fragments of a life that I fear one day I will forget.
There is also a little boy, the son of a nurse who sometimes comes to see me. He is like a ray of sunshine in this grayness. Hello grandfather, he says to me with a radiant smile.
I tell him stories from my childhood, the village where I grew up, the fields , the river where we swim. These eyes light up and for a few moments, I find a bit of life again. But once he leaves, the emptiness returns.
I often wonder if my grandchildren even know that I exist. Do they know my name? Have we never heard of the love I have for them?
It's a question, but I don't have an answer. One day, as I watched the rain pound against the window, a nurse came into my room with a cordless phone. “He’s your born fissé, sir,” she said.
My heart jumped. With trembling hands, I held the receiver to my ear. Dad, the voice was familiar but distant.
Yes, my son, I am here, replied, I am short of breath. How are you ? he asked quickly?
Well, I wanted to tell him so many things. He spoke to him about my loneliness, my endless days, this unbearable emptiness. But he interrupted me.
I'm sorry, Dad, I'm very busy, that's how it is. I just wanted to check that everything is okay. Yes, everything is fine, whisper, swallowing my pain.
I'll try to stop by and see soon. Add it before hanging up. I stood there, still combining it in my hand, staring into space.
The words soon echoed in my mind. I knew they were empty, promises that life is given. Yet I clung to this fragile hope.
That night, I prayed to my notebook and wrote a letter to each of my children. I reminded them of the moments we had shared. The laughter, the dreams, the sacrifices.
I hoped that my words would cross the barrier of time and revive in them the memory of the love I had for them. The next day, I gave the letters to a nurse. Can you post them for me, he asks ?
She nodded with a warm smile. Of course, sir! She says?
I spent the next few days near the window and listened to every car noise. But the hours, then the days, passed in silence. Every evening I looked up at the sky, murmuring a silent prayer.
Sarah, if you can hear me, tell the time become. The days stretch with exasperating slowness. Every morning I wake up with a fragile glimmer of hope.
But reality quickly catches up with me. The hours repeat like the same desolate melody. Breakfast at eight o'clock, walk in the garden if the weather permits.
Lunch at noon and a long wait before the evening meal. Despite everything, I keep my eyes glued to the window. Hoping to see, a car stopped in front of the house.
Every engine noise makes me jump. But it's never for me. The delivery person or visitors from other residents follow each other.
And I stay alone with my thoughts. One afternoon, the nurse brought me an envelope. Sir, here is a letter for you.
She said with a smile. My heart is racing. But hand trembles when opening the envelope.
My son's familiar writings are obvious. Dear Dad, I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Life has been busy with work and kids.
But I think of you often. And I promise to come see you very soon. Emma and Liam can't wait to meet their grandfather.
With love, Marc, I reread his lines again and again. My heart lightens somewhat. A promise is a promise.
And I dare to hope that he will hold it this time. Every evening, I mentally recite his words. Warming up at the thought of seeing a familiar face again.
One morning, while lost in thought, I hear footsteps in the hallway. They are in more of a hurry. More energetic than those of the usual staff.
My heart leapt in my chest. The door opens slowly and I see him. Marc is there standing in front of me, a shy smile on his face.
Dad, I came. He said softly. Behind him, two children stand, slightly nervous.
Émaïliam, he presents, pushing them slightly forward. I hold out my arms and they approach, handing me drawings. One depicts a house surrounded by flowers.
The other, a smiling old man. It's you, grandfather, who is proudly there. My heart filled with a joy I hadn't felt in years.
I hug Marc, with tears in my eyes. We spend hours talking, catching up on lost time. He tells me about his work.
His life, his children. And I tell him about my days here. Of this garden where I often get lost, in my memories.
When he finally leaves, my heart is light, I will come back soon, Marc promises, shaking my hand. I choose to believe in these words. And this time, a gentle warmth warms my soul.
The next day, I sit at my usual window. But this time, I don't look with sadness. I hold Emma's drawings and the book in my hands.
Life seems a little less cold. And for the first time in a long time, I look forward to tomorrow. The sun rose gently over the golden dawn garden, painting the flowers with a golden light.
This morning was different, a new energy floated in the air. I woke up with a strange feeling of serenity. Life, long dominated by solitude, suddenly seemed to take on a brighter tone.
Since the visit of Mark and his children, the days had acquired a new flavor. My son kept his word. He had returned, this time bringing my daughter and my youngest.
He had gathered around me in the small living room of the retirement home. Laughing, sharing memories, is creating new moments to cherish. My grandchildren were running around the garden, squinting with laughter that I hadn't heard in years.
For the first time in a long time, I felt surrounded by human warmth. During a quiet moment, my daughter prays to my hand. Dad, I'm sorry I left you alone for so long.
We should never have been so far apart. I will gently hold his hand, with tears in my eyes. You are here now, replies.
That's all that matters. As the day stretched on in an almost timeless sweetness. I understand that this moment was a rebirth.
Loneliness had given way to rediscovered love. The past could not be erased, but it had paved the way to this precious moment. At dusk, as the sky burned with tindor and purple, I felt a deep peace.
I looked at my children and my grandchildren. And for the first time in a long time, I felt whole. Life had been marked by losses, but it had also given me this moment when everything seemed possible again.
That day, I understood that happiness resided in shared moments, in bursts of laughter and simple gestures of love. And it was with this certainty that I closed my eyes that evening. The heart was heavy and the soul at peace.
