Heirlooms and Memories

With her shoulders rounded inwards and her spine curved, Sasha could almost hear her mother’s admonishing voice, despite her passing away six months ago. Crystal clear, almost as if they were beside each other: Sasha, sit up straight. Shoulders back, tummy taut, head up.

On cue, Sasha followed her mother’s advice. But before too long, the weight of her concerns made her sag again.

What was she going to do now? No job, an eviction notice, no mum, plus the trust fund from her mother’s side of the family was unable to be opened until she turned 28. Six years. Such a lot could happen in that time frame.

Only days until Christmas and she was not looking forward to it. Never before had she felt so lonely, bereft. Her best friend’s family had kindly offered for her to spend the day with them.

‘Don’t bring anything, dear,’ Mrs Morcombe had said the week before, while she and Rona helped themselves to drinks from the fridge.

Sasha knew that Rona’s mum loved to feel virtuous, but still…it’s rude to turn up on Christmas without gifts.

Rising from the table and shaking off her sadness, Sasha moved to her bedroom where she kept her mother’s chest, filled with heirlooms and memories. Kneeling in front of it, she unlocked it with the key that had always remained in the lock. Sasha felt a wave of nausea wash over her as the scent of her mum rose as the lid opened.

She rested her head on the chest; her crocheted baby blanket felt soft and warm, reminding her of her mum’s embrace. With a deep sigh, Sasha moved the blanket aside and began her search. There was bound to be something; Mum had always kept a stash of gifts. The woman never liked to be caught short or commit a social faux pas. Planned for every little thing.

Minutes passed while Sasha was confronted with her mother’s belongings. No secret stash of gifts, but there was an unopened bottle of scotch that would do for Mr Morcombe. Right at the bottom, underneath doilies and antimacassars, and photo frames and perfume bottles, Sasha found an antique compact. Perfect for Rona’s mum. Nothing suitable for Rona, but she’d understand surely.

Standing upright, her knees creaked. She stretched, felt giddy and light-headed. But deep within, Sasha felt the best she’d had for six months.

If only there was a way to access that trust fund early. Sasha would put that on her to-do list for January.

Photo by Anuschka Milovanovic on Unsplash