Memories

I realised recently that I had not written down my thoughts for quite some time. In November of last year I found myself in quite a difficult place mentally, contemplating the state of the world and my own personal life. It felt like I had discovered the downside of working on such a personal project, sometimes the less pleasant side of things have a tendency to rise to the surface.

I wrote a very lengthy piece about my thoughts at that time and reflections on my past, none of which I would want to publish now. It was too personal, too consumed by the more difficult aspects of my childhood. Things that I have purposely tried to distance myself from because there comes a time in your life where you can either remain trapped and defined by your past or try hard to let things go and move on. My childhood was not entirely awful, not by a long shot but it was severely marred by the domestic abuse my family suffered at the hands of my Dad.

I no longer see my Dad, but last year Covid meant that I could no longer see my Mum who resides in a nursing home. The feelings of sadness that I frequently feel for my fractured family were somehow intensified by revelling in the happy moments from my childhood. Further heightened by daily reports of rising death tolls, families ripped apart by the virus, the grieving relatives of those lost telling their stories every day on the news. And my parents were perfectly fine, living there lives just a few miles down the road, but they might as well have been a million miles away. It did and still does break my heart. But that is marginally better than dealing with the psychological damage of interacting with my Dad so it is something I have to live with.

The reason I’m saying any of this in relation to my project is it feels more important than ever to hold on to the good bits of my early family life. Studying my personal treasure has reminded me off so much I had forgotten. Really wonderful memories of childhood, the worlds I created, getting lost in play and imagination. It’s too easy to let the bad stuff obliterate everything. It’s easy to remember the days disrupted by my Dads temper, it’s not so easy to recall the days or weeks that went by where nothing significant occurred to leave an imprint on my memory. My research gave me a link to those moments at a time when the reality of my current family situation threatened to overshadow all that was good.

In between photo shoots with my Nana on my kitchen windowsill.

As I’ve studied and worked with these objects I hold so dear, all of which have slowly infiltrated my home, and surround me as I write, I am reminded of the power of things and the feelings of connection they can evoke.

Sindy awaiting the rest of her new hair in my hallway.

In recent years my Dad has taken much away from me, but my memories are mine to keep, he cannot touch those. And despite his faults he had a good side, he could be funny, supportive and incredibly kind. No one is all bad, but he was damaged, and it is that side of him that took hold.

I would rather remember the good in him than contemplate the man that he has become. I know there is an element of rose-tinted glasses there, but the reality is just too painful right now and if that makes things more bearable then so be it. Sometimes you just have to do what you’ve got to do to get by.