**Life with a Feeling of Unsaid Words**
*Diary Entry*
“Mum, where are my stuffed toys?” Emily quickly scanned the room, which had turned from a cosy nest into a sterile space in just one morning. “And my Kinder toy collection on the shelf—it’s gone too!”
“Em, I gave them to Aunt Mary. Her granddaughter Charlotte is just lovely—such a sweetheart. Mary said she hasn’t let go of the bag with your toys all morning,” Mum called from the other room.
“What? Are you joking? Mum, those were *my* things! *My* toys!” Emily’s eyes welled up as she rushed over, her voice rising sharply.
“Good grief, you’re practically a grown woman crying over trinkets. I gave them to Mary—at least someone will *use* them. Yours were just gathering dust. Or do you plan to play with stuffed animals at seventeen? Stop carrying on like I’ve given away your whole room!”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if that’s next! I’ll come home one day to find myself evicted for some friend’s daughter or granddaughter!” Emily snapped before storming out.
This was always the way. Since she was fifteen, Emily had worked odd jobs to avoid asking Mum for extra money for clothes or makeup. But the moment she bought her first sweater and jeans with her wages, Mum had rifled through her wardrobe, bagging up “unnecessary” things.
“Now you earn your keep, but the family on the third floor struggle—you’ve seen it yourself. Or are you just selfish?” Mum had scolded when Emily spent an hour hunting for her favourite T-shirt.
“Mum, you can’t just do this! They’re *mine*. You should’ve *asked* me first!”
“I don’t *owe* you anything,” Mum fired back. “*You’re* the ungrateful one, talking to me like that. I bought all this with my own money!”
*Does she not get it?* Emily fumed, staring at her half-empty wardrobe. *How can she just hand my things to strangers?*
The next blow came when Emily returned from school to bare bookshelves. The series she’d collected since Year Five—gone.
“Mum, Nan gave me those! *You* didn’t buy them! Why would you do this?”
“You don’t even read them—what’s the difference? They’re just collecting dust. Children’s books, anyway. You’re grown now.”
“That’s not the point! They’re *mine*! Call your friend and get them back.”
“Are you mad? What a scene that’d be. I won’t be ringing anyone. I don’t know how I raised someone so petty. Just like your father—counting every sock with me. You’re just the same.”
Mum never admitted who got the books. After that, Emily bought only essentials, even refusing Mum’s gifts to avoid lectures. She stored what remained of her magazines and books at Nan’s, keeping new purchases strictly on *her* shelf, warning Mum not to touch them. Mum would sulk for days. “Next we’ll be tallying biscuits! Buying our own groceries, are we?”
Losing her childhood toys was the last straw. Finding them gone—donated to Aunt Mary—Emily snapped. She knew where Mary lived. “Let them think what they want. I *won’t* let her give my things away.” Ready to fight the world, she marched out.
“Em! Where d’you think you’re going?” Mum shouted after her. “Don’t you dare shame me by turning up at Mary’s!”
But Emily was already gone.
Mary, a family friend in her sixties, opened the door. “Emily, love! What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing—well, not *nothing*.” Emily hesitated, sweating with shame. Her earlier resolve vanished. *Am I being heartless?*
“Come in, dear. Tell me properly.”
Emily sat on the entryway stool, still in her shoes.
“Aunt Mary… Mum gave you a bag of my toys this morning.”
“Oh yes, thank you! Charlotte adored them. I meant to send something back in return—I thought your mum would pop by. But since you’re here—” She turned to fetch it.
“Wait, please.” Emily stopped her. “I’m so embarrassed to even ask this. Mum will be furious, but… could I have them back?”
Mary frowned. “But I’ve already given them to Charlotte. It’d be awkward now.”
“I know how this looks. I don’t need *all* of them—just two. Aunt Mary, Mum didn’t *ask* me. If she had, I’d have packed them myself. There was a brown teddy and a knitted doll—the size of my palm. They’re not *just* toys. Dad gave them to me before… before he and Mum split. They mean *everything*.” Tears spilled over.
“Oh, love.” Mary knelt, pulling her close. “Your mum said you didn’t want them. I’d never have taken them if I’d known.”
Emily sobbed uncontrollably.
“Right. Tea first.” Mary heaved herself up, steering Emily to the kitchen. “We’ll sort this.”
Clutching her mug, Emily stared into the tea, remembering Dad. After the divorce, Mum barred her from seeing him. Those rare visits were pure joy—she’d *felt* him in a way she only understood after his death. He’d left nothing but grief. No goodbye.
Mary returned with a bundle.
“Look at this shawl—over thirty years old. My mum’s gift. The kids tease me: ‘Bin it, Mum!’ But I *can’t*. See these holes?” She laughed wetly. “I keep mending it. They say it’s shameful, but when I wear it… it’s like her arms around me.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I *understand*, Emily. Your dad was a good man—just not for your mum. She loved him deeply. Still does. If not for that crash… they might’ve reconciled. And I’ll return your toys tomorrow. Let my kids judge me—*you* matter more. Fight for what preserves your loved ones. But don’t forget to cherish those still *with* you.” She pressed the shawl to her nose, breathing in wool and memory.
***
At home, Mum leaned against the dresser. Braced for a tirade about ingratitude, Emily was stunned when Mum pulled her into a fierce hug.
“I’m sorry, love… Mary called. I never knew those things meant so much.” She wept into Emily’s hair. “After your dad left, I—God, I *dumped* his things. Gave some to that drunkard, Bill, down the road—spite, pure spite. Burned the rest in the garden. When he died in that crash… I *hated* him for leaving us. Like it was his choice. All these years, I’ve carried this… this *unsaid* weight. Giving things away helps—like I’m fixing something. Forgive me.”
They talked for hours. Emily asked about Dad, their marriage. She told Mum about Mary’s shawl. The anger melted. That night, they weren’t mother and daughter—just two souls sharing secrets.
“I remember that shawl! Mary wore it to work constantly. Just a rag to me… I never imagined things could *hold* someone like that.” Mum kissed Emily’s forehead. “Forgive me.”
“If giving helps, let’s donate *together*,” Emily said, sniffling. “But only if we *both* choose what goes.”
Mum laughed through tears. “Deal.”
***
*Lesson learned: Objects anchor memories, but love isn’t bound by things. Hold tight to both—just know when to let go.*
