As I start the clear out ready for the sale of our house, I feel we are stirring up old memories and dreams.
Change is upon us again, and although I embrace it, the sentimental hoarder in me struggles and sobs in anguish. As I delve into old boxes weird energies float out and stick to my skin along with the dust. The remnants of old friends and boyfriends, hobbies, holidays, study, precious childhood keepsakes and letters and cards from family swirl around and make me smile and ill at ease all at once.
The house has sensed our movement, like a pet as you pack your suitcase for an overseas holiday. Somehow it just knows. I let the tears fall as I mentally say goodbye to another phase in my life. A phase of baby shops and babies, innocent hopes and dreams, new friends and old, family, and a healthy Nige, before cancer tore our lives apart. I know we’ll be fine, the move is a positive thing, yet the tug of the past must still persist in painful stabs.
The tearing of me from my old self as I look forward to whatever our new lives may bring.