Edward leaned forward and squeezed his father’s arm. “I know, Dad. Can’t you write a book or something? That would keep you focused, I’m sure.”
Something of what Edward said struck a chord. Mel involved himself with Samoa. He wanted to know everything, past and present, of his homeland. He wanted to leave his family with the knowledge of just where they came from.
His findings caused a bitter disappointment. Modern Samoa seemed to have turned its back on the traditional Royal leadership, and had instead installed a European Governor. His family lay scattered to the winds, and nothing would ever be the same again. So he wrote his memoirs of the time he was there, with poignant recollections of his parents, of the magnificent feasts and the freedom of just living in Samoa at that time.
But his greatest happiness had been in Australia, in his life with Angelina, the love of his life.
On the eve of his 71st birthday, Mel put himself to bed rather early. He hadn’t been feeling particularly well for a while, but never complained. He had been having strange visions, and his headaches lately made it hard to think, to work out a reason for his visions.
He woke through the night with a consuming headache, and then he suddenly made sense of it all. He was going to be with Angelina at last. She stood beside his bed, hand outstretched, with that glorious smile on her lips.
As Mel reached to take her hand, he glanced down at his body, now racked with pain. He had outgrown it. Nothing lasts forever.
Nothing Lasts Forever Page 13