We are getting ready to move house. Things are starting to look a little quieter in some areas of the house, and a little more frantic in other areas.
Change is not something that I feel comfortable with, although I do not really dislike it either. My allergy to boredom mingles with my anxiousness toward change creating a weird elixir of excitement and fear.
It is hard to let go of things, and packing up a house really forces you to examine what you keep and what you let go.
I have decided that as long as I have my bed and three pillows then I can be comfortable nested in with my children and husband.
I know now that my sisters and my Mum are basically my best friends; why fight it? They, being blood relatives, will be forced to follow me wherever I go and so even though I move house, they will come with me (kind of).
My books get carted out to the car and driven to the op-shop, only to be granted a reprieve at the last minute. Who can let go of favourite books? I did send off my Catherine Cookson collection. I fell in love with reading as a pre-teen at the alter of this dramatic author but I am ready to let go.
Tiny baby clothes, spunky toddler clothes, childhood dresses, hats and mittens. They cannot all travel with me but they make me cry when I am forced to let them go. So I keep too many for too long, hoping that one day I won’t be so sad to see my children grow up and knowing really, this will never change.
Change is forcing me to think about life and in turn, death. This is probably the hardest thing of all. The children were so much younger last time we moved and these precious years will never be repeated. At dusk I herd them toward their beds remembering how much smaller they were when we first moved here. I feel grateful for peaceful, happy, play-filled days here in Berwick and for the family & friends who walked through our door.
My mother-in-law had many opinions and offered practical support last time we moved and now she too is gone forever. I think about what advice she might give as I pack boxes and I am thankful to realise she is still with me even though she is gone from this earth.
This time around I have determined to boldly ignore sentimentality and ride roughshod over regret. Who has time for such things when there is boxes to pack? Occasionally though they seep intoxicatingly into my thoughts and so we dance for a moment before I bow out, rush off.
Wish me luck with the big move.