Inspired by Remember My Name by Sam Fender.

The streets of Newcastle were bright and bustling, lining the coast grandly. The sea rhythmically washed over the stones that scattered the beaches. The chill of the air filling the city but not taking away its charm. A city filled with camaraderie, history but all I could see is you. You, the cornerstone of our family, with Northeastern pride woven into who you are, who you were. The way you’d say, “How are you, bairn?” a Geordie twang in your voice, the way you’d brag about your hometown proudly. But now you’ve gone, leaving us with just a memory, and a name.

Before you left us, the house was bright, cheerful even. Every room filled with floral cushions, every door with detailed scarves hung from hooks. Pictures of familiar faces would fill the shelves and frame the walls. Even though we lived miles apart, Newcastle to down south, the phone calls, letters, postcards were regular. The visit’s less so, but when we would arrive after the long drive, we’d race out the car to see your bright smile at the door waiting for us. You’d greet us with a big hug, tell us we look older, taller, and how you had missed us. Grandad would hang back letting us have our moment with you.

This time, it was different. The journey up was long, and strangely quiet. The four of us, usually laughing and singing, were silent, all trapped in our minds. We walked through the front door of the house you’d always lived in, and my heart sunk. This house was no longer a home. The lights were dim, the rooms were vacant, and you weren’t there. The pictures of the people you loved still smiled down at us, but they were met with solemn faces.

As the hours passed by, I felt more and more restless. I wandered aimlessly from room to room, memories flooding in like waves. I noticed how your chair in the living room sat empty, how the dining room usually filled with laughter, Dean Martin’s music, plates full of food, now lay bare, the chairs neatly pushed under the table. The garden, where you planted flowers and tended to them through the seasons, was looking bleak, the petals were wilted, weeds beginning to creep in. Wind rustled through the neglected flower beds, knocking briefly on the summer shed you’d spend hours sitting in, just gazing at your work fondly.

Grandad sat silently in his armchair beside yours. He didn’t reach for the worn-out chessboard, nor did he start his usual teasing about how he’d finally beat us at a game. He was almost silent, lost in thought. He stared blankly at a picture of the two of you, on one of your holidays, younger and happier. Then he looked around the room, like he was taking it in for the first time. “This house is no longer a home.” He muttered, under his breath hoping no one had heard. He was right though, the home you had once made where the grandchildren could play, it wasn’t the same anymore. It wasn’t the same without you.

I needed to leave; the house was beginning to close in on me. My feet took me to the beach in Tynemouth, to the lighthouse you loved. The beach was quiet, like it missed your presence too. The waves beat lightly against the white lighthouse that still stood tall. I could picture you here, smiling with a coffee in the place you felt peaceful. You’d be telling us why you loved the Northeast, calling us “pet” wrapped in a brightly coloured scarf. I thought of the times you’d bring me and my sister here to build sandcastles, chasing us along the path, us laughing until we cried. I stayed at the lighthouse until the sun began to set, and the sky was filled with pink and orange hues that you would’ve loved.

And when I finally returned to the house it felt a little lighter. And although your absence left behind an emptiness, a void that could never be filled, the memories of you were brighter. So we all sat in the living room, rummaging through boxes, reliving what once was. Looking at your pictures, the letters you wrote, the scrapbooks you made. We reminisced of films you loved, quotes you lived by, the flowers you grew. It almost felt like you could’ve been there. And as the months passed, things got easier, and the house got brighter again. We planted new blossoms in the garden and filled the rooms with the cushions and scarves you loved so much. We walked along the beach and took shells you would’ve liked. We visited Grandad more, still beating him at chess games. And while you weren’t there to greet us at the door, I carry your memory in everything I do, and every time I return to the North, I gaze at your lighthouse and think of you. I remember your name.