Room sniffing

Happy New Year friends! I hope everyone’s pumped for 2013.I find the first week of a new year is my favourite; It’s hot, there’s no work, and I haven’t failed my resolutions yet. This year I resolute(?) to write at least 12 posts again. It’s not an inspired resolution, but I’m so chillaxed right now that I’m using the word “chillaxed” without quotations.

Today I went into what was my Nana’s room in the last months of her life. I miss my Nana, and complain of it often to anyone who’ll listen. Her scent is still in the room; her things and her smell. I feel sad knowing that each time I sneak in there to steal a sniff of her I’m losing the potency by diluting her scent with fresh Sam, but time will also steal that. I can beat time if I use the power of the present (I’m on to you… time; if that is even your real function!)

I suspect Mum’s the same. It’s been almost 2 years since Nana died, and the room is unchanged. A closed off room we pass every day but don’t enter. It’s there and it’s not there. The Schrodinger’s cat of Canberra; though when you do open it she’s still alive, in a way – Unfortunately not in a literal way; in more a “her memory will live on…” sort of way. So it’s not really a Schrodinger’s cat at all…

There’s this idea that we have three deaths. The first is our physical death, when our body dies. The second is when we are consigned to the grave, and the third death is when our name is spoken for the last time.

I suppose it’s fortunate that I have a super common name. :P

Anyway, while trying to acquire some olfactory nostalgia in my Nana’s old room, I came across some postcards sent to Nana from my Mum when we went overseas when I was very young. I saw them and thought, “I better not look, it’s addressed to Nana,” but then I thought, “it’s a postcard, if the postman is allowed to read this then there is no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to too!”

My ego was expecting such sentiments as “Samantha is a delight; she is by far the finest daughter one could ask for,” and, “children are the greatest joy of one’s life!” Nope. “The kids are tired and fighting,” and, “this is hard,” were the more the idea. I felt a bit sorry for my mum (and my ego).

Then I realised, Nana wasn’t just my rock; she was my Mum’s rock too. In fact, Mum was there first so she might've even had more of a claim on Nana than I did. Though Nana wasn’t Mum’s Nana, she was Mum’s Mum, and I know what a powerful relationship Mothers and their daughters can have. Since losing Nana, Mum and I have found rocks in each other. (We should probably get that checked out…)

It’s funny that all of those years I went down to my Nana’s house to complain about my Mum; Mum was doing the same thing about me. To be fair, I was a shit teenager. In fact, I used to go to my Nana to complain about myself as well.

Anyway, point is that Mum and I are cool with each other now. Our parent/child relationship was testing at times, but we’ve come to an understanding about each other and both really appreciate one another as adults. Or at least, I know I really appreciate her. My Mum makes a really great friend; I’m blessed to have her. I just hope she doesn’t mind that I have a room sniffing habit.

Mum, your daughter is weird! (This message also applies to Dad.)