Memories

I have a massive wood hutch that is part of the dining room set that belonged to my mother. The table and chairs are at my Dad's house.

The hutch is the guardian of my keepsakes, many from childhood.

I am in the process of packing, so I have to empty the beast of my treasures before The Comedian and his brother-in-law come to move it on Saturday.

Of course I've been stopping to look through some of the stuff.

Bad move.

Note to self: Stop looking at this stuff because you will lose your fucking mind.

I found the proofs for my high school graduation photos (I never ordered any as we couldn't afford them), my acceptance letter to university along with a scholarship letter for $1,400 (that was a lot back in 1994) and a Christmas card from 1984, the year my mom passed away.

The Christmas card was from my Grade 3 teacher from Malta. We had gone there because my mother wanted to die surrounded by her family. That teacher knew the situation and took it upon herself to look after me and make sure I was doing okay at school.

She was kind enough to send me a card after we had come back to Canada, which was about six months later.

I don't think I ever wrote her back. But I was nine years old, and I had just lost my mother. I suppose my teacher would have understood.

That card has set off a waterfall of tears. I've been bawling my eyes out for the last half an hour. I decided to stop and blog because I needed something to distract me long enough so I can calm down.

....breathe....