I rang Mum for a chit-chat this evening. In the course of our natter, she was filling me in on the doings of old family friends. They’re not just friends, they’re my honorary aunt and uncle. I grew up as much in their company, playing with their sons. Time was they knew me better than anyone else, family included.
I haven’t heard from them since I left my hometown. The boys are in Australia these days, and I assumed that when I left the church, I fell off their radar except as MumsdaughterMahal.
It turns out, shortly after I officially left, Aunty sent me a wee parcel by courier. It had a letter from them, and a custom framed picture of me at my university graduation.
I never responded.
She sent a couple of other letters, and when I didn’t respond to those either, assumed that I wanted to cut my ties with the church most thoroughly. Assumed I was upset, or depressed, or angry. Respecting my privacy, she never even mentioned it to Mum.
It came up accidentally, while Aunty was talking to Mum this week, and Mum promptly mentioned it to me when I phoned her tonight.
I never got that parcel. I never got those letters.
I assume they went missing in the post. We got a post box eventually, after I realised a bank card and club card had both ‘disappeared’ in the post, and I can only assume that Aunty’s letters were stolen too. That, or they were mis-addressed, or any of a hundred possibilities. Perhaps the courier left a tag that I never saw, and the parcel was destroyed. I’ll never know.
I knew when I left the church that I was leaving many of the people behind. The ones who couldn’t countenance someone abandoning the faith, the ones who were perhaps too moral for humanity. And Aunty wanted to make sure that I knew they still cared for me, and wanted to stay in touch, and I never knew that.
It’s nearly two years too late, but – thank you, Aunty. Your kindness, even now, has brought me to tears. Thank you.