Lost things ❤️

  

Lost things

Lost, what a peculiar thing

It can mean misplaced, forgotten, left behind

Or it can mean death, destruction, despair

The new pot of hair pins always looks so proud on my bedside table. Overflowing with little black pins. Within weeks the level will have dropped to half - pins lost to the washing machine, the side of the bed, the car, my handbag. Lost in plain sight

Whilst sliding remaining pins into my hair, I stare at my reflection. Half pondering how best to capture hair pieces for my intentional 'messy bun'. Half considering what I have lost before.

Straight to the jugular, I think of the five babies I have 'lost'. They may have been no bigger than those hair pins. They may have been tiny, to some not quite a baby, but they all had names, estimated birthdays, I had checked their star signs. I had imagined their faces, their first birthday cakes. All those plans and dreams, lost. The pain and emptiness that comes with that kind of loss still lingers on. Perhaps that's because I choose to hold onto that pain, as it's my only reminder they were here. Instead of reaching my arms they remain forever young, like the lost boys from Peter Pan.

Another gut punch. I also lost my Mum. She lost her memories, her understanding, herself, her voice. Until, she lost how to breathe. All I could do was hold her hand, talk of unlost times. Try to walk her back into her new world. I think perhaps she wanted to stay lost.

After living in that land of lost for so long, I too, began feeling lost. The floor is made of shifting sands, the air is dense and swirling. There are no solid entities to place markers on. Breadcrumbs dissolve away. I realise I have lived in lost for a very very long time. Growing up with no family to use as a base, no backstory. No grandparents with photos of me grinning in my new school uniform. No parents evenings. Alien.

I have been here a long time, perhaps I've wandered into a part of lost not many  find. I began to separate into tiny pieces, joining the swirling wind, moving deeper into lost. Then a light appeared, small at first, it flickered and grew, until I couldn't ignore it. I stopped disbanding and moved towards it. It was made from my children, they created this door for me, their calls, their laughs, their cries. They created this door for me to transport me back into their world, where the ground is flat, height markers line the walls. That stubborn spaghetti stain still on the floor, the air is filled with "Mummy, I need you!" "Mummy, come and play!" Once more.

The time I spent in lost was one I won't forget. Occasionally I return for an hour or two, but I'm solid now I make my own floor. The wind whips around me, but takes nothing, it just reminds me to return - I need a jacket.

Every day a little piece of me returns from lost, stronger its sides more defined. It slots back better than before, it won't come loose again. Family traditions, walls of smiling faces, routines, meditation, new plants, woodland walks, cuddles, good morning kisses, new opportunities, things to look forward to, Craig and my children as anchors make the world of lost small, and further away.

I hope my children never learn of the world of lost. If they do my arms will reach through that portal and pull them back into a hug. They will never be lost like me. Captain Hook will have to look elsewhere.

I smile, slide my hand into my jacket pocket. Oh look, a hair pin. ❤️