I gathered them up and put them,
in a place they could be hid,
and just to make sure they couldn’t escape.
I covered them with a lid.
They are my sweetest treasures,
invisible to your eyes,
yet when I look upon them,
their richness makes me smile.
No thief in the night can steal them,
from the place that they are hid,
and when I am feeling broken,
I gently lift off the lid.
It happened again last night, it must be this time of year,
that prompts a rummage through my unconscious,
and in amongst the rubble, finding a flicker of a thought,
pounces, and drags it forth,
to present, like a cats favour lying at my door,
sadly unwelcome but understood.
The original post below, which prompted the one above, is from 24 December 2014, and can be found here.
I had a dream of you last night,
I heard your voice, I saw your face,
and it woke again the yearning,
from it’s quietly slumbering place.
That desperate sense of needing,
which years have mercifully worn away,
the savage grief dispersed,
through life’s anaesthetising day.
And even though they carry sorrow,
I long to dream of you again,
to feel that fierce connection,
as you quietly say my name.
It’s that time of year – the week before Christmas. Are you feeling it yet? Facebook reminded me how I felt back in 2014, when I wrote this post.
Raspberries and Strawberries,
picked fresh from the bush,
the smell of fresh cut hay,
on a summers evening hush.
A thunderstorm with lightning,
flashing in the dark,
the mouth-watering aroma,
wafting from bbq’s in the park.
All of this says Christmas,
in the place that I call home,
my island state of Oz land,
what means Christmas where you’re from?
When Autumn blows,
when Winter snows,
when Summer slows,
when Spring plants grow,
I remember you.
You were my seasons,
and I was content,
to let you be my reason,
for taking the next breath.
Years have turned,
some dreams have burned,
and I have learned,
some memories do not return.
Each tiny part that disappears,
diminishes throughout the years,
the picture that I hold so dear,
and fills me with a desperate fear.
Will one day come,
under this sun,
when all that was our total sum,
dwindles down to none?
Don’t let the moments go by unnoticed, they are what make up your life.
I muse on my past
remembrances glow softly
channeled through my pen
Your memory calls
through empty rooms in my heart
tears and cheer echo
there was something in the look in our photo
and I cannot recapture it
the memory of the shape is gone
and I am lost
a glorious technicolour film in surround sound
reduced to a screen play
stark black and white words on paper
It does not come close to explaining
they way I feel now
this loss is overwhelming
with no hope of recovery
If I could stack up my memories
each one a thin slice of life
would they add up to much
or simply be such
as a bland playing card of no worth
my treasures are mine for no reason
a laugh, a tear or a sigh
their value is in how I made them
and their price
only measured by me
a memory is only a window
on a sliver of time that has passed
but as life’s river flows on
to still hear it’s song
some shutters must be closed in haste
I know that they wait in the gloaming
jewelled lights covered in dust
some day a hand will brush gently
heart open, soul smiling
and let them shine once again.
Today my youngest daughter turned 18. Yes, she was born on April Fools Day, and yes it was my “due” date too – so no fooling me when she finally decided it was time.
This got me looking at baby photos, and that got me thinking about how the love I had for both my daughters when they were little feels totally different from the love that I have for them now. It’s almost like they are completely different daughters, and in a way I guess they are. Then I could not imagine how they would grow, who they would be when they reached adulthood, and now I cannot get my head around the fact that they started out so small.
Don’t mistake me – I love them both, fiercely, intensely, proudly, and without limitations, at whatever age they are – I just can’t seem to make the two, memories and current reality, connect as one whole people in my mind.
I never had a “picture” of who my girls would be when they grew up, I was just content to go through the days with them, being the best parent I could be (and there were some days when I know that I fell short of that goal). Like all parents I hoped that they would grow up happy, safe, know that they were loved, and able to love in return, without too much sadness in their lives. Although there have been sad times, the illness and death of their father at a young age, and a few other small hiccups, we have come through with a strong bond, the ability to be silly and laugh and an unending store of hugs and love.
Still, there is a small part of me that wishes those earlier daughters could still be as they were, and mourns their loss. The rest of me rejoices in the chance to share my life with my daughters now.
There are times I despair of ever understanding how my emotions work.