Okay, so it hasn’t been soon, and things aren’t normal(ish) just yet – I have a lot going on in my head, more than I’d been paying attention to this last while. And there’s the hard task of letting go of my material past, ie., my mother’s stuff. Oh, none of the big stuff, the furniture, things like the dining table and sideboard that were part of the household before I was. For one, I haven’t the room, and hopefully, a sibling is going to re-jig their cave and take them; I really do hope so, so much of my life was lived at that table, so many memories.

No, for me, it’s about the small things, particular kitchen utensils, an old tablecloth, jars and tins, mum’s recipe tin, plants, knickknacks, the troll (an original Dam Troll doll from Denmark, she’s pretty scruffy now, but I was happily surprised that not one of my siblings wanted to take her in). We hadn’t even started through the old family photos when I came back up, and there’s the Christmas decorations (plenty will just go, but I predict, at least, heated negotiations over certain cherished pieces).

So many bits and pieces tied to our lives by memories of bygone times, childhood, teens dashing into our twenties and disappearing away, later returning more regularly, with a wiser appreciation, some time in our thirties. And always there was mother moose (dad went to the great pasture some years ago), our bedrock, everything gravitated around her, not that I particularly realised it, but without her, all the pieces seem to be floating off aimlessly. I want to grab everything, hold it all still, keep some semblance of how things were, it’s too soon to let it all go; but mum’s gone, life is moving on, hanging on to stuff won’t change that.

What a maudlin piece! I promise my next post will be lighter, brighter, with plenty of musical notes from the last month. I shall leave you with a picture of the troll, already settling in here. Good night!