Of death and memories, both beautiful and sad.

What is the longest amount of time you've procrastinated for? I know I'm not alone in putting things off, but there comes a time when a potentially unpleasant or possibly daunting task needs to be tackled. It's time to dip into one task I've been avoiding for over 10 years.

Going through my mother's diaries.

She'd suggested I do it long before she died, but I knew it'd be awkward and perhaps I'd learn things about my mother and family I didn't really want to know. So I didn't; simple as that, and the boxes have been "stored" inefficiently and exposed to the nesting instincts of birds in the airy carport.

I didn't expect to find a desiccated baby bird when I got the boxes down.

Although she suffered dreadfully with arthritis and bitterly cold hands, my mother was a prolific writer. Any time other than on the hottest of days (above 35 degrees C) her fingers would be white with cold and the pain was clearly difficult to mask. The result is that her writing is often crabbed and blotched, and sometimes, with the best will in the world, all my squinting and turning the page to different angles doesn't help with a particular word.

Mostly, however, her writing is vivid, insightful and interesting. She discusses world news, politics, science, her spirituality and religion, and of course her family. Last night the hours melted away as I relived January to May 1992. Twenty years ago when my children were young and my mother babysat them fondly and frequently - sometimes so I could simply have a cup of tea or shop without "help". I felt nestled in a cocoon of the deepest, richest unconditional love imaginable.

There were however, darker entries. Of relatives who'd been seduced by the silver tongued poison of a cult leader, unexpectedly leaving children to fend for themselves (in hindsight, thankfully left behind with a flippant "They'll cope"). Reminders of the vicious, cruel, acrimonious attacks on the innocent by those who felt superior and special. Memories of sorrows, rifts, confusion and grief.*

I know this could be a turbulent voyage which will no doubt take some months, and I expect a skeleton or two might drop from a previously hidden cupboard - although I hope there will be no more birds! I think perhaps I was waiting for was a decent amount of time to pass before delving into my mother's private world.

What would you do, read your mother's diaries and discover some skeletons or .... ?

* Link to Anne Hamilton-Byrne & the sect The Family here and here, and Raynor Johnson, one man who enthusiastically promoted the sect here. Link to a book about The Family "Unseen Unheard Unknown" here.

Given the obsessive secrecy surrounding cults such as this one,  it's possible there are links to this group with the same name: here and here . The goal of both was/is to recruit similar kinds of people around the world and manipulate policy at as many levels as possible to further their selfish aims.

There are a number of books about cults and the cruelty they inflict. Link to Not Without My Sister  here.

(I've used the term sect and cult interchangeably even though technically there is a difference)

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