From the tantalus

We all have those special places for keeping buttons that we mean to sew on later, or stamps that are too interesting to throw in the bin with the rubbish. During my childhood the tantalus was one such spot. The bottles were rarely filled with alcohol except at Christmas, but it was a nice object and took pride of place in the middle of the dresser next to the dining table. All manner of items would be locked away, and so they resided for year upon year. I was lucky enough to become the keeper of the tantalus when my mother died, and it has been kept, mainly unopened for around 14 years, until today when I decided to see what was there to take me down memory lane.



I could be accused of being over sentimental, but I was surprised and a little upset by some of the things that I found and had forgotten that I had. The Dutch flag was one that she had brought over with her when she came to England way back in the 1940s after the war to be with my father. The small photo booth picture was from just before she started to decline with the lung cancer that was to take her life. The wristband was from her oncology appointment, 3 years before she died and the Ritalin (empty) was obviously some medication that she was taking to help her to cope with the anxiety of her illness. This small arrangement is not only a reminder of her past, her appearance and her suffering, but an acknowledgement that no matter how tidy a person you are (and make no mistake my mother was such a woman), small vestiges of the past squirreled away can leave a big impact on those who are left behind to remember you. Take heed you compulsive, neurotic types a little slippage now and again is not a bad thing.