She was like my Mum as well as a great friend, but she has
moved on now, new land and new people to mother, nurture and receive gratitude
in the most public way. I was too quiet, too private and to independent.
But I so miss those hand written letters from her. I would
hear the post box tapping as the post man carefully placed his mail through the
opening box in my front door, not wanting to chance his fingers being removed
by my wild crazy dog Blue!
Blue is my protector. He is tall and slender with the
biggest teeth ever and the loudest bark. He will kill anything in sight that
will hurt me.
Those letters I would run from one end of my bungalow to the
other. I would see among the brown envelopes on our doormat a pretty pink
envelope, or one with some kind of wild flowers on it. The stamp from abroad
would be another clue to say who it was from.
Before opening it, I would take in as much as possible the
hand writing, for the address, with the knowledge that my second Mum had spent
time writing that to send to me. She had taken time out to think about me for a
moment.
As I would sit on my favourite chair next to the fireplace, keeping warm by the log burner, I
would read my winters away and in summer, I would sit on the window seat with
the sash windows open, just enough for me to breathe in the summer air and hear
all of the blackbirds in my garden, which is a haven to all nature, as I have
every kind of bird food, hedgehog houses and food for them too, not to let my
dog out there as he will devour the cat food I have for the hedgehogs, not to mention
the worms?
Anyway, the words would sound so sincere. I did believe in
them.
Eating each letter of every word, by the end of the letter,
I would be full of words and beautiful colourful descriptions of my second Mums
garden! The flowers in her wonderful country. Sometimes it would be cold here
with rain pounding down on my sky lights of our bungalow and sunshine would pour
from the pages of perfect almost poetic writing.
The curves of the handwriting were art in itself.
She read my heart. Even though miles were between us, she
read me like the morning newspaper she had just picked up that day.
How did she know?
I never knew how, but I so miss that telepathic connection
we once shared.
As I could tell when she was not happy too. We were so
close, and I thought I could trust her.
How wrong was I?
Trust? What is that word?
What does it stand for?
Total, respect, united, safe, togetherness?
Well that is what it should spell out, rather than
Terrible, rebuff, used, sold and thrown away, as that is how
I feel!
I have no letters from her anymore, no phone calls and she
no longer makes her annual visit to see me. No birthday or Christmas cards
either. A mutual friend of ours says she has a “New project.
She taunts me with tales of what my second Mum does with her
new daughter. How much sunshine will be in the heart of that girl, but how sad
and alone will that girl feel when she is dropped for another?
My heart will forever hold a place for my second Mum but I
do realise that my Number one mum will always be the true one in my life!
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