Mothers & Daughters

Mothers give us life; shape us into the people we become. They hold our hands and our hearts, whilst they guide us through life’s obstacles. Mothers try to protect us, keep us safe and out of harm’s way. Mothers remember their mistakes and try to prevent you making the same ones, but will be there with the tissues and emotional support when you do. They will never tell you ‘I told you so’ but will always tell you ‘I love you’.

Daughters bring us joy, laughter and unprecedented love. We try to protect them, look after them, and encourage them to become all they can. We try to motivate and guide them in becoming the women we know they can be. In doing so, we sometimes have to step back and let them make their own decisions, trusting we gave them the strength to make the right ones. It is hard to witness the tears, when you would stop the world for them. Daughters can break your heart with a word, but we will always be there for them, to help them pick up the pieces.

A Mixture Of Success And Failure

Life is like a mixture of success and failure. 

People who are really successful in life, also have experienced their share of failures. 

It is just that instead of remembering the failed times, they just concentrate on their success.

It is important to learn from your failures and move on.

Real Memories?

I often think about my childhood, memories are all I have left.

I remember certain moments in graphic detail, the sights, sounds, smells and emotions.
There are some details I have blocked, painful memories, repressed them for my sanity.
I often wonder about my memory, it is reliable, can I trust it?

Are the images I recall vividly real? Did I remember it correctly or has it been coloured by my imagination?

I can recall games with my brother, us youthful and lively, laughter piercing the bright sunshine, green grass glistening with morning dew. I am about three years old, my brother seven. I have a brilliant blue bucket trailing behind. It is shaped like a castle, but there is no sand in the garden. My brother sat on the front step, pretending to be grown up, imitating my mother and grandfather, sucking on a chocolate cigarette.

I can recall this memory as clear as the crystal glasses from my wedding day, so it must have happened.
Right?

Well, this is where I get confused, because when my mother passed away I acquired the family photographs. In one of the black bags that contained every snapshot of our childhood, in a number of photograph albums, was a familiar scene.

I recognised the bucket, the boy on the step. Now I'm wondering whether I saw this picture and that formed my memory or whether it just happened to be taken at the exact moment I recalled?