tea for two

When did we stop talking? If there are memories, then why do people stop remembering them, or is it the hurt of the memories, and we bury it. Is it forgetting, 'as we get on with life.' {I have never forgotten, and never will}. I know it is painful. It is painful for the loss. It is painful for the time that goes on. It is painful that we stop. Stop talking.

Or is it that we stop listening?

My mum hated tea. And I mean hate. She had a beautiful tea set. One that comes with the cute milk jug and sugar pot. It sat in my kitchen window. One day a lady yelled from downstairs, and told me she had just the thing for my teapot. She had found a tea cozy at Vinnies; a little nanna jumper.

I love tea. I love it more that mum hated it. Why? Because it makes me remember her. It helps people talk. That lady spoke to me. And others did when I posted this image on my facebook page via instagram.

I believe you have to roll with your feelings. I am very happy. But I also miss my mum. When I am doing huge, I miss her. I miss her not being here and telling me that she is proud of me. I miss that I could not sit down, and make her a pot of tea, and for her to ask me what the hell I was doing! I miss having coffee with her. A simple coffee. I know she would love going for coffee where I go every morning. She would give those guys a giggle. I miss her cheeky and very witty sense of humour.

Today I tell you more about my mum. Today I talk.

My mum hated tea. She did not like coconut. And she made one awesome roast pork, and roasted vegetables.

Almost five years. Five years since I held her hand.

I still hold it.