Lost & Found

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“My journals!”

“Where did you see it last?”

“If I knew that mum, I wouldn’t be looking for them!”

Urgh, even in my thirties my mum was still irritatingly logical. Thank goodness I didn’t live here anymore. I would go insane.

“Muuuuuuuuummmm”

“Mummmmmmm!”

“Yes?”

“Can you help me lift this box?”

“Are you serious? I’m going through chemo and I’ve been told to take it easy, but you’re asking me to help move boxes.”

“Not all boxes mama, just this little one. Plus I’m pregnant, so we’re even.”

With a sly little smile mum sauntered in and helped lift the edge of a box. I was the only one that didn’t treat her like she was made of glass. I still treated her like my mum, not someone on their deathbed and she was definitely thankful. It was tiring putting on a brave face all the time.

Thats why I wanted my journals. As a teen I’d written about the time she was first diagnosed and how our lives had changed. As a ten year old girl being told your mother was about to die… well lets just say I went through my teen angst years a little earlier than most and the journals were my release.

“You should sit down.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I’m fine darling girl, but you are creating a life right now, you need to sit down and rest.”

“I’ll rest once I’ve found them.”

“What’s so important about these journals?”

“I wrote in them when you first got cancer. It was therapeutic for me and I want to read them again now that you’re going through treatment again.”

My voice cracked and broke. The tears came. I couldn’t help it, they just flowed. Mum pulled me to her chest. This was an ugly cry for both of us. Mum was sniffling and pulling tissues from all her pockets to stem the flow. She pushed a couple into my hand as she could probably feel that my tears had soaked through her top.

At a certain point I’d realised we’d sunk to the floor. Mum was still holding me, but we were seated and she was stroking my hair and humming. It sounded like one of those little ditties she used to hum to me when I was little. I didn’t think it was possible to feel scared and calm at the same time, but somehow I knew that everything would be ok.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes mama?”

“Do you want me to make up your bed? Did you want to stay the night?”

“Thanks mum, but I should probably get home. Pete should be home soon and he’ll worry.”

“Ok. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Of course… need to find those bloody journals”

“Baby?”

“Mmmm”

“Do you want me to let you sleep?”

“Mhmm”

“Ok, I’ll wake you in a few hours”

Beep

“Hello darling girl, it's your mother. I don’t want to worry you but I had some heart palpitations a little while ago and I called an ambulance. They’ll be here soon so in case you come over and I’m not here I’ll be at the hospital. See you soon. Love you”

Beep

“Darling? Are you ok? You didn’t call me back. I was talking to one of the nurses and you share the same name. She was telling me a story that reminded me of your journals that you were trying to find. I found them last night after you’d left. I put the box on your bed. Please hurry, I miss you. Love you”

Beep

“I had a glance through the journals in the box and I realised that the very first one you started writing in belonged to your father. It’s his writing in the first few pages. It made me miss him when I saw his writing. Darling, I miss you too. I love you so so much. I’m excited to be a grandma. See you when you get here. Love you”

“Why didn’t you wake me! It’s 11am!”

“You came in late last night and you looked exhausted. You’ve been so tired recently I thought you needed the sleep.”

“I do feel better after the sleep, but I was supposed to go back to mums this morning. She’s probably worried about me”

“Your phone vibrated a few times, thats probably her trying to call”

“You could have answered”

“I know, but then I’d never get off the phone! Your mum has too many stories”

“Don’t be silly… shit, there’s a bunch of missed calls and voicemails”

“Are you ok?”

“Thats a stupid question”

“Ok.. I know you’re not ok, but how are you feeling?”

“I’m just really tired. I miss mum. I hate that she’s not here to meet her granddaughter.”

“I know. It sucks”

“Understatement of the year”

“Ok smart arse”

“Where are you going?”

“The real estate agent called while you were both sleeping. They want to clear the last few boxes at your mums place so they can get the stylist and photographer in. I’m just going to grab the boxes and bring them back here”

“Ok well hurry.. we miss you already”

As Pete walked away I looked down to the little baby suckling at my breast. It was confusing to be both ridiculously happy and utterly depressed at the same time. The last few weeks had been a blur since mum died. She was sick yes, but the heart attack was still sudden. I was just happy that I’d gotten to the hospital to see her before she’d died. I’m still kicking myself that I slept in that morning, but I still saw her sitting in bed smiling and happy that I’d made it. It’s like she’d been waiting for that moment.

Ow. She bit me. I’m still getting used to this mothering thing. I feel like I didn’t ask my mum enough questions about parenting. Pregnancy and birth, I’m a pro. But parenting feels so bizarre. I have no idea how my mum did it having lost my dad when I was only two.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“This box of books. I thought we’d already gone through the books in your mums bookshelf”

“Their my journals! You found them!”

“How much did you write?”

“Not this much… Wow there must be twenty, thirty books in here. I only wrote in these three”

“So who do all these belong to?”

“Probably my mum and dad. She mentioned something about keeping journals when they travelled”

I started pulling them out of the box and spreading them out on the table. Grabbing a small black notebook, I eased the elastic off and opened it up to take a read.

“What the…?”

“Was that money?”

“I think so, can you pick it up?”

“Baby.. this is like... five hundred dollars”

“What?”

“It is! Thats so cool. Your mum or dad must have put some money in between the pages as savings”

I flicked through the pages and saw a few more bills tucked inside and pulled them out. I picked up another journal and found more bills tucked in there too. Pete and I looked at each other in shock before picking up another journal each and flicking through the pages. Before we got any further our daughter started to cry from the other room.

“I’ll get her, you stay here with your journals and see if there is anything else”

I looked back to the journals I saw one with something sticking out of it. In picking up the notebook I realised it hadn’t been used before, it was brand new. There was an envelope sticking out of it. From the writing it looked like it was from my mum.

My darling girl,

I am so proud of you. You have such a thirst and lust for life that you definitely got from your father, he was much more of an adventurer than I was.

Although I told you stories of him, I don’t think you’ve comprehended the beautiful life we had together. He kept journals of when he was travelling with his friends and his life around that time. There are a few small notebooks, but the one with our initials pressed into it is what he wrote about meeting me, about our wedding and first few years together. I read it again tonight and it made me miss him so much. I’m ready to meet him again, I miss my life without him around.

He got me interested in writing journals too, so you’ll read some of my life. When I was pregnant with you and when you were little. Oh you were such an energetic kid! I couldn’t keep you still! I hope your little one turns out less excitable than you were, otherwise you’re in for a crazy few years. I’m so proud of the mother you’re going to be. You’re going to have a beautiful life.

I bought this journal for myself a few weeks ago to start documenting the new chemo journey. I wrote about the last time and that felt good to get it off my chest. But when I opened it up I didn’t feel like writing. So this new journal is for you. You’re about to become a mother and your child needs to read about your life through this process one day, so it’s for you.

I’m going to miss you so much and I know you’ll miss me too… but I won’t really be gone. You’ll always have me in these notebooks. You have your father too, just like I did all these years. I love you very much darling girl. You make me so proud to be your mama.

Love you always

PS. Your father had a bad habit of tucking bills into the pages of his journals, so you may find a few here and there - don’t spend it all at once!

By the time Pete came back I had opened almost all the journals. I was sitting on the floor with hundreds of bills around me and tears falling down my face.

“What…? Where did all of this come from?”

“Apparently my dad used to hide money away for safekeeping. There's… there’s so much here. I don’t even know what to do.”

“I do. Can I count it?”

“Go ahead”

“How much?”

“Hang on”

“How much is here?”

“Hang on baby”

“…how…?”

“Stop asking”

“Ok... I think I’ve counted correctly”

“So how much”

“So I’ve sorted them into piles of a thousand”

“WHAT! There are so many piles!”

“I know… baby there’s like twenty thousand dollars here”

“Your joking!”

“I could be off by a few hundred here or there. We haven’t checked the journals properly yet, this was just what you had pulled out already. There could be more”

“Twenty thousand dollars… wow”

Dear Journal,

I don’t even know how to begin. It’s been so many years since I’ve put pen to paper and although the last few weeks have been the best and worst in my life, I don’t know how to articulate how much of a rollercoaster it’s been. I guess I’ll start from the beginning when I first started looking for my teen journals…