How well we have been loved

The shortest day has passed. With it the weather has stayed cold and wet, finally a true Melbourne Winter! With the grey skies comes the task of cleansing... Sir is packing up the memories and throwing out the junk. And boy, how much is there? Lots and lots and lots. Sometimes too overwhelming to think about, but always with the old saying "How does one eat an Elephant?" in mind.

The heaviness of possessions, the decisions that are made on the basis of worth. Whose worth? What would Sir take from here to remind her of her mother? So much anger in Sir's early twenties about the quality and quantity of love... and now, when the physicality of maternal love is no longer, unearths a treasure.... words and words and words and letters and letters. All saying the same thing. And how well does Sir know now that she was loved? Very very well.

Odd always to look back on the person one once was. Feisty, bouncy, difficult, prickly, razor sharp. Is Sir still that person? Is there ever a lost past? Why do we keep the letters of the dead and shred the letters of our first love? There is regret... yes, at not knowing, not realising, and now too late the picture of who Sir was... in lots of ways just a spoiled brat. Thank goodness Sir knows this now.

But it is never too late. To unfold the memories of the past and absorb that feeling of being encased, accepted and cherished. To have been so loved is a gift, and in its self with the act of cleansing feels light and good.