|holding on. recycling the christmas beer bottles into candle holders|
This Christmas I realised that consumable gifts from my sons trouble me.
Cause a right old conundrum.
I have a bottle of blue sparkly nail varnish that younger son gave me when he was, probably, 8.
So, 17 years ago.
It has been opened and a little bit used but my instinct with these treasures is to preserve.
The idea of, you know, using them, using them up causes a flutter of panic in my heart.
Am I alone in that.
|letting go…..the beauty in this dirty roasting dish….but not before taking a photograph|
I fancy that it stems from the desire to hold on tight to the most precious gift I was ever given......the boys themselves.....the brightest lights in my skies.
Though children leave your body at that moment of birth they never truly depart; you carry them in every cell of your being until such time as those cells break apart and you return to stardust.
They move away geographically and emotionally and the divide becomes wider as the years progress.
It is the natural order of things and a sign of a job well done.
But it hurts.
A teensy bit.
|holding on…to vintage quality street tins to decant plastic packed quality street into|
And so those use-uppable gifts and every other gift become symbols of the thing that I wish to preserve and savour until my last breath.
My hoarding, faithless nature will not allow me to use those things.
To use them up is to destroy the symbol.
To destroy the symbol is all kinds of voodoo scary.
On some kind of subconscious level you understand.
I am not big on voodoo or witchy stuff or even superstition.
|holding on….by virtue of a photograph|
While younger son was home we spoke about words.
Choosing one, overarching word for the year.
Or maybe more than one.
It might not be a word.
It might be a phrase.
I have instead an overarching action; burning these flower candles one at a time by the side of my bed.
A very new and radical action that shows trust in love and gratitude for all of it everywhere, past and present.