It makes me question value.
What is more valuable to me,
something tangible that costs a pretty penny,
or memories, which are priceless?
I own very little of real value,
but I do have some items which to me are priceless.
One is a leather writing case.
This was given to me by my sister,
before I left for Australia.
It is black in color with a zip.
Every time I open it,
my senses are assaulted.
The touch and feel of the leather,
and the smell of it and old letters.
Letters of news and love,
sent by my family to me when I lived in Australia.
Picture messages sent by young family members,
birthday and wedding cards.
Letters and notelets that were left on my pillow,
by my own children and those I minded over the years.
Also within this case,
are letters and cards from my Dad.
Priceless as he is no longer with us.
Yes this case I would want to rescue.
But if I could get just one thing
is this the one?
What about my twenty seven year old diary?
I began to write in earnest,
six weeks after my Dad died.
I was drowning in grief,
and those early entries are so raw,
that they pain me to read them to this day.
So much is contained in this diary,
that it has extended into a second one.
This diary is not a daily diary.
Entries were written haphazardly.
Describing and documenting in great details,
the ins and outs of my life.
My engagement, and life in Australia.
My marriage, moving house, pregnancies and births.
It details my joys and sorrows,
times of great happiness and desperate sadness.
A lifetime of happenings,
a myriad of emotions.
For many years this diary was my secret friend.
The one I turned to when times were rough.
Is it this diary I would rescue?
Or is it the two frames that hang in the kitchen.
These are very large,
and they contain hundreds of photos,
cropped to form a collage.
These photos are a visual diary,
of the twenty years of my life,
that was motherhood.
So many memories are held within those frames.
Every day I look at them,
I see something different.
The first frame documents the first ten years.
The happy faces of childhood.
The young exhausted faces of two parents,
as they struggled through the early days of parenting.
The growing, changing bodies of our children.
I hear their shouts and laughter,
as I see them on the swing,
jumping on the trampoline,
or splashing in a paddling pool.
I smile as I see them gathered on my husbands lap,
dressed in pyjamas, listening to a bedtime story.
I ache a little when I see them in a high chair,
or peeping out of the back pack I carried them everywhere in.
I won’t even begin to express my thoughts,
as I see them smiling broadly,
posing for their first day at school, photos.
In the second frame, time has marched on.
It begins with the home birth of our youngest,
but it also documents the change in family.
Now there are teenagers to look at.
Young adults looking out at me.
By looking at these two frames,
I get to relive twenty years of mothering.
It only takes a moment.
No words are required.
It never fails to make me smile.
A great visual reminder to us and our children,
of what we have shared together.
So there it is,
I have not one thing I might rescue but three.
Which would I choose?
I honestly do not know.