Twelve Days of Christmas: Day 9 - Nine Ladies Dancing

What an incredible find, this treasure among the piles of trash of the past. 

Mother had been gone now for several months.  In haste of my family’s move across town, it was all I could do to just unload the mounds of her unopened boxes, bags and old furniture from the storage unit to the old barn that sat at the rear of our new property. 

Mother had been a ‘hoarder’ and these ‘prize possessions’ included everything from rat-eaten old hankies to mementos from her past dating back several generations.  My heart was still in the process of healing from the woundedness it had suffered over the years of experiencing the fall-out from her inability to release anything!  In fact, whenever I had asked about a special treasure and whether or not I might be bequeathed the prize, she would change the topic and the item would come up missing, only to later be found stuffed away somewhere to protect it from ‘being stolen’.  She had lived with us in her final years and seemed perpetually fearful of both present and past.  She kept her treasures close at hand, frequently holding them for hours, seeming to find some magical connection that brought a degree of comfort. 

By the time she died, I had a different outlook about her neediness and inability to share.  I had received a great deal of healing regarding the way I had assigned a sense of being ‘unworthy’.  As the only daughter, I had believed that her trusted treasures were much more important than I could ever be to her. 

As I opened the barn doors that morning to tackle Mother’s possessions, I felt God with me and my heart was excited.  Box after box, drawer after drawer, bag after bag it seemed to go on forever.  Twist ties, old gum, small plastic trinkets and odd assorted spoons.  Opening yet another drawer full of old paper and trash, I continued.  As I opened a crumpled piece of paper a gold bracelet slid out.  I could hardly believe it.  As I squinted to read the tiny etching on its interior I recognized the name, “Helen Augusta Pike”.  It was the name of my Great-Great Grandmother after whom my Mother had been named. 

What a wonderful and crazy sensation filled my heart, as this priceless love affair with the past now was being imparted to me.  What had appeared a seeming pile of old rubbish was part of me.  Today, as I wear this special treasure, my heart is filled with a ‘knowing’, of being a part of something much larger than myself.  Now woven deeply into the very woof and weave of my being are the threads of my intended heritage, bringing my loving identity full circle.