Today, write about a loss. The twist: make this the first post in a three-post series.

Lost, never to be recovered or found again;only to be discovered by the next inhabitant of my bedroom, now long gone. Miles and miles away, that old house is now just a memory. Yet, her soft ringlets, her dainty cheeks and the crisp tune she would spin ever so gracefully to was so vivid in my mind. Another of the many items swallowed in the midst of moving house, dolly and I were never to be reunited.

Small fingers too young to help, always shooed away from packing; I never got to say goodbye. So, I sat in the car, wedged between cardboard boxes of kitchen utensils, full of trust that we had brought everything. And I tucked my unassuming little self into the strange new bed in the strange new house, filled with new spaces for the monsters of nightmares to appear.

Dolly was long forgotten in the whir of this new life. Her tune was beginning to fade from my ears. It was only as the waters began to calm, and I had discovered all that there was to discover, that I noticed. Poor dolly had been gone for weeks, left lying on the floor in a cupboard somewhere too far. Or worse-broken into dainty pieces, scattered in places where no one could ever love her again.

And as I looked into my mother’s eyes with pitiful sorrow, she looked back at me with eyes full of sadness and guilt. We just stared at each other for some moments. I knew that screaming and demanding was useless, and I knew there was nothing either of us could do. Only wonder and yearn over the growing collection of loved items that were ‘lost in the move’. My little heart filled with sadness as I thought of these items that once meant so much to one, being found and discarded as rubbish by another.

But gradually, I forgot dolly, the way buried my imaginary friends to make room for real ones. The distant memory, now in small fragments like her fragile face, and remnants of the tune is all I have left of her.


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