keeper of all the secrets

You can tell me anything.

I’ll not repeat it. Honestly, I’ll not tell another soul.

Of course, it’s not that I’m wonderfully discreet; I simply won’t remember.

My good friend, Kileen, cannot remember a face. I’m always hazy on details. Between us, we can cobble together a version of our social lives in the 80s and 90s, amidst squeaks of returning memory and much  hilarity.

remembering

There have been times when I was told deep, deep, never to be repeated secrets. I buried them, and when, months later (as is the way of great melodrama) I was allowed to talk of such things, I’d genuinely forgotten I’d been told. It was usually the experienced Kileen who helped me pull away the layers and remember that I knew the information. Delayed gossip is even more fun.

The brain fog that comes with my ME has added to this natural tendency. I’m pretty sure I never hear gossip any more, but I assume that comes with the intervening 30 years. Now it’s important, useful things I forget. Phone calls and chores get overlooked until they become overwhelming. If only I could make remembering to iron a priority worth remembering.

brainfog2

Girl2 had a birthday a few weeks ago. On Sunday, Spurs Fan found a parcel addressed to her, carefully hidden in a drawer. It had been there for ages. A wonderful birthday present from Scotland, which had arrived well before the event. I recognised it, vaguely. Silly old mummy.

Yesterday it was Spurs Fan’s birthday. Nana and Grandad send presents in advance, but there was no sign of anything. All the drawers were checked. Nothing. Cards were definitely sent. The drawers were all pulled out. No, definitely not arrived. I thought to check my texts. On 24 November, I’d texted Grandad to say cards had arrived. Oops. That meant I’d hidden them, and had no recollection at all of ever seeing them.

Wardrobes, cupboards, in the ironing pile, through the hiding Christmas presents. Spurs Fan found them under the stool at my side of the bed. Your guess is as good as mine.

Nana and Grandad were distressed that their careful planning for their wee boy’s birthday seemed to be for naught. Spurs Fan was stressed at the searching and the reassuring. It ended well, but there was no ‘silly old mummy’ last evening.

 

brainfog

 

Until we exploded with laughter, paused the TV, and each of us wiped tears from our eyes. Four of us in stitches, one of those perfect moments of synchronicity. The TV ad had just announced “Nothing’s ever lost until Mum can’t find it”.

Not in our world.

 

 

Links to all images on Pinterest

 

 

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5 thoughts on “keeper of all the secrets”

  1. I lose things all the time, but I know I’m just distracted. It must be much more frustrating to know that you really have completely forgotten. I’m glad you were given a reason to laugh at your own forgetfulness. Maybe occasional laughter can keep anxiety to a minimum! You’ll have to find a more obvious “hiding” place for things. 🙂

  2. At least once a day I have to search for something, Fiona, and more often than not I find what I was looking for in a really obvious place. By the time I find it, however, I’ve usually forgotten why I was looking for it!!! You have to chuckle! 😀

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