A Gift

A GIFT

(This short story is a true story. Commended Prize at the Daffodil Day Art Awards, Cancer Council of Victoria, 2006)

I remember when she gave it to me, wrapped in a little pink bag with a pull string, the contents pure gold and glistening.

The doctors had told her she had "terminal cancer." The word "terminal" promising death, a last stop. I had never understood why doctors told patients this, after all each case was unique and the outcome depended solely on the subject in question.

My mother had been told during breakfast one day. "The type of tumour you have is a Glioblastoma Multiforme grade 4 and it is the most malignant of all brain tumours. You have around twelve months to live."

What does one do after being given news like this? Read the paper, finish one’s eggs, go and hang themselves in the hospital toilets? I don’t know what others do but my mother chose to live, every day was a celebration, a celebration for simply being alive.

As she journeyed through operations, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, pain, sleepless nights and losing her hair, she also journeyed through an evolution in herself. She began computer classes; she took herself out to lunch and went on a cruise around Australia. It was liberating to see her putting herself first.

Her style became more eccentric, she would wear wide brimmed hats and scarves with a smear of pink lipstick, always the classiest woman in a room. This was my mother and she was a sister doing it for herself, just like the song says.

It was a huge concern to her that I was going to be alright if she did die. A lot of her time was spent building up my esteem with letters, presents, cards and conversations full of laughter and tears.

She fought for five years until her little body could take it no more and she died 6 months ago. My heart is broken, they say time heals all wounds but I often feel if I let myself heal, it is like forgetting and I don’t want to forget. I want to wake up every morning with a sting knowing that I have loved and been loved.

When I opened the little pink bag, emptying it onto my hand, it was a gold, heart locket on a necklace with an inscription on it.

"When I die, you can wear it and you will always know that I’m with you Vanessa."

I held her body to mine. My heart beating to the rhythm of mother love.

I wear the locket most days, taking it off when it does not go with an outfit, mother would appreciate this, after all she was my style queen, teaching the ropes to her only daughter.

I awoke yesterday with the realization that I was not wearing the locket. I went through my room, the car, the gutter but still no sign.

"You are a disappointment." I kept telling myself. I decided to put a notice up in my apartment building.

"LOST: GOLD HEART LOCKET ON CHAIN WITH INSCRIPTION. VERY SENTIMENTAL TO ME. REWARD ON RETURN. THANKYOU!"

I went to bed saying a prayer to the universe and woke up to the sound of construction workers. It is Valentines Day; I sip at my coffee when suddenly my mobile rings. Who is ringing me at 7.34am?

"Hello, this is Peter the landlord."

"Hello."

"You’ve lost a locket have ya?"

"Yes."

"Well, I’ve got it."

I bounded down the steps into the arms of my greying landlord. I was the luckiest girl in the world. The heart locket was like a boomerang, it came back.

I fastened the necklace turning the locket over to read the inscription.

"Love you always" it said.

I had found my Valentine.

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		Writings
		A GIFT (This short story is a true story. Commended Prize at the Daffodil Day Art Awards, Cancer Council of Victoria, 2006) I remember when she gave it to me, wrapped in a little pink bag with a pull string, the contents pure gold and glistening. The doctors had told her she had "terminal cancer." The word "terminal" promising death, a last stop. I had never understood why doctors told patients this, after all each case was unique and the outcome depended solely on the subject in question. My mother had been told during breakfast one day. "The type of tumour you have is a Glioblastoma Multiforme grade 4 and it is the most malignant of all brain tumours. You have around twelve months to live." What does one do after being given news like this? Read the paper, finish one’s eggs, go and hang themselves in the hospital toilets? I don’t know what others do but my mother chose to live, every day was a celebration, a celebration for simply being alive. As she journeyed through operations, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, pain, sleepless nights and losing her hair, she also journeyed through an evolution in herself. She began computer classes; she took herself out to lunch and went on a cruise around Australia. It was liberating to see her putting herself first. Her style became more eccentric, she would wear wide brimmed hats and scarves with a smear of pink lipstick, always the classiest woman in a room. This was my mother and she was a sister doing it for herself, just like the song says. It was a huge concern to her that I was going to be alright if she did die. A lot of her time was spent building up my esteem with letters, presents, cards and conversations full of laughter and tears. She fought for five years until her little body could take it no more and she died 6 months ago. My heart is broken, they say time heals all wounds but I often feel if I let myself heal, it is like forgetting and I don’t want to forget. I want to wake up every morning with a sting knowing that I have loved and been loved. When I opened the little pink bag, emptying it onto my hand, it was a gold, heart locket on a necklace with an inscription on it. "When I die, you can wear it and you will always know that I’m with you Vanessa." I held her body to mine. My heart beating to the rhythm of mother love. I wear the locket most days, taking it off when it does not go with an outfit, mother would appreciate this, after all she was my style queen, teaching the ropes to her only daughter. I awoke yesterday with the realization that I was not wearing the locket. I went through my room, the car, the gutter but still no sign. "You are a disappointment." I kept telling myself. I decided to put a notice up in my apartment building. "LOST: GOLD HEART LOCKET ON CHAIN WITH INSCRIPTION. VERY SENTIMENTAL TO ME. REWARD ON RETURN. THANKYOU!" I went to bed saying a prayer to the universe and woke up to the sound of construction workers. It is Valentines Day; I sip at my coffee when suddenly my mobile rings. Who is ringing me at 7.34am? "Hello, this is Peter the landlord." "Hello." "You’ve lost a locket have ya?" "Yes." "Well, I’ve got it." I bounded down the steps into the arms of my greying landlord. I was the luckiest girl in the world. The heart locket was like a boomerang, it came back. I fastened the necklace turning the locket over to read the inscription. "Love you always" it said. I had found my Valentine. back to Writings index © 2006 Vanessa de Largie