Memory and a Mystery

I’m surrounded by stuff at the moment.

Stuff from simultaneously decorating (& swapping)  2 childrens bedrooms.

Where did all this rubbish carefully chosen and looked after stuff come from?   I swear I haven’t seen most of it before.

Stuff from school as everything they have produced this year is spewed out of their classrooms and into the house.

And stuff that just seems to grow and accumulate of its own accord.

I cant move for stuff.

But

When Mum died and I had to clear out her room,  there was very little stuff left.

A big part of her Alzheimers was paranoia coupled with the irresistible compulsion to destroy her own property.

Letters

Clothing

Photos

Jewellery

All the stuff that she had tended for years,  that had lovingly been moved with her from place to place

Gone

And you know what?

It’s absolutely fine

At the end of the day it’s just stuff.  Stuff that was tied up with her story and her memories.   Not so much mine.

Except.

In her wardrobe

One item that stayed pristine.

Clean.

Not attacked by scissors

Or bleach

Or

image

vinegar and lemon

I would guess  this was from the late 50s or early 60s.  I certainly never saw her wear it.

But the fact that this survived and was cherished when everything else was lost speaks volumes

An

image

d it will be cherished still.

Even if it is just stuff.

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