THE TEA CADDY

I'm just back from having my late auntie's house valued. A house I hadn't visited since I was a kid. What struck me more than her fading photos; more than her garden full of colourful memories, more than the way my now giant frame seemed so out of place in her tiny bungalow, was a half empty tea caddy standing alone in her kitchen. Half full of teabags that she had bought but would never drink. I suppose they will be cleared away by a man and a van at some point. The detritus of her life marking the very moment of her passing. I'm not sure why it had such an affect on me. Perhaps it was the sight of such an everyday object measuring the passing of my auntie in such an ordinary way. It wasn't enough. 

Later, in a box in her bedroom, I found a collection of fridge magnets  she had collected from her many travels around the globe. I took one, from Borneo, and placed it in my pocket. When I got home I put it on my fridge. It's a reminder that we are more than the moment of our passing. We are where we've been, who we've seen, and what we've done.

I settled down for a cuppa, and the teabags in my caddy marked my own moment in time.