Purse

"Dad gave it to me when he was still alive..." mum explained when brother asked where she got the black, worn-out purse. I knew the story already. "I didn't use it at all when he was around. But after he passed away, I started to use it."

In fact, mum didn't care much for it when dad first gave the purse to her. It was a purse he somehow found somewhere, something he had a habit of doing, and an example of how thrifty he was. But he managed to find this authentic branded purse, which at the time, perhaps five, six years ago, was still in good condition. Now, it is worn and somewhat faded, for mum has been using it and wearing it whenever she goes short distances.

I looked at mum sitting there and writhing her body in great discomfort on the chair outside the doctor's office, waiting, waiting to be seen. She had her orange jacket on, and around her shoulder the black purse was strapped. The bag dangled in front of her a little. Yes, I know the story of the purse, and I know why mum uses it now so often. In fact, before returning to the hospital for her latest consultation with her physician, she asked me where the purse was and asked me to bring it to her, for ever since she was hospitalised, she has not used it. I would like to think the black purse gives her strength, is something that keeps her company when she goes to the hospital for appointments like this one, and is something that she can find comfort in...

"It's my way of remembering dad," she said sadly, "It's a souvenir..." And it's already four years since his passing. But the memories remain, and are still strong.