When I was a very young child my dad affectionately called me his favourite dandelion. Well, dandelion head actually.

Why?

Because I have ultra fine, fly-away baby hair. Hair that, even on the best of days, forms a static-induced halo that obviously resembles a dandelion when it’s gone to seed (<em>not that for a split second did I think my dad thought I had inadvertently gone to”seed”</em>). And so, for most of my formative years I was a dandelion to my father and, occasionally, when I was behaving, a little angel to my mother. A mother who spent countless hours spit-smoothing my hair into place, or worse, wetting a small wooden comb she carried in order to try tame my wild hair.

And yes, even today, my hair is still short, blond, and prone to floating around my head in a halo of fluff.

I guess I am and will always be, forever a dandelion.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

I was reading something this morning that made me think of something my mother once told me. I don’t know if it was something she learnt herself, or was told, but I distinctly remember her saying to me:

“One of our greatest gift is our ability to forget.”

It wasn’t till much later in life that I fully understood what she said in the context of why anyone would want to forget, especially the good things in life, but after a handful of painful events in my life I realised her words made perfect sense. While we might not forget the essence of something that happened to us—a car accident, the loss of a parent, a nasty breakup—time and fading memory do a good job of lessening the emotional impact of these events, which is what I think my mother was trying to convey. That, while at the time we’re feeling an unimaginable pain or hurt, time really does make the emotion of that moment fade to acceptable levels.

I think it’s one of life’s greatest gifts and, in truth, gives us the ability to carry on.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧