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Skeletons in the closet

Our bedroom is full of ghosts. Not actually spirits of people that are no longer walking amongst us but more of memories of the past. Things get shoved to the back of high cupboards and hidden in boxes, often on purpose because I don't want to make that difficult decision to throw them away. Photos, little notes, memorabilia are mixed in with scraps of pretty paper that I can't bear to get rid of. I am totally going to be the kind of old lady who has a jar of string in the attic labelled, "String-too short to be of any use."


This is a box full of all sorts, happy and sad memories, old dreams, junk and reminders of painful moments from the past, all under a pile of books and crafty magazines. Today I thought it was about time for a little sort out.


I'd forgotten about this adorable photo of my little "wild child". Charlie was such a little cutie.


Photos really do take me right back to that very minute. My lovely little Josie who only ever slept in her buggy, never tired of eating sand and refused to wear anything that wasn't pink, even when she was building snowmen.

For all these happy moments, there is still the time when my life changed. There is one ghost in our bedroom, a haunting memory of our baby Jack and that sadness is something that will always be in every corner of my mind.

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