30 May

Yesterday morning, I owned a vacuum cleaner – a gift.

It was red. And beautiful. And mine.

The giver – my mother – affirmed repeatedly this last point. It was mine. She would support me in keeping it. She would never claim it as hers.

So I let myself see it as mine. I cherished the fact that my mother gave me something – fulfilled my need to live in an environment free of dirt on the floor. The present of a vacuum cleaner meant that my mother cared for me, in spite of her previous abusive behaviour. It meant that I had the security of knowing that my mother gave a shit.

And now it belongs to her. She claimed it yesterday afternoon.


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