Our house is slowly, but surely, emptying of
stuff. Strangers knock on the door daily, hand me cash and take
something away. All the storage systems, so carefully chosen, are gone,
leaving us with baskets and boxes of things all over the floor. The
walls are nearly all bare now and emotions are getting exposed along
with them. We’ve overstocked a charity shop with pieces of our
personalities. Other children are playing on my kids’ swings. My
four-year-old keeps a small box of precious things in his bed in case
they get given away. Some things are easy to pass on and I know we
won’t miss them; others are much harder.
Sentimentality is a tricky thing. It’s only as I’ve had to let go of
some items that I realised what they represented to me. It was as I
photographed my hand blender for sale that I thought of the ambitions I
had when I bought it. A new mum and a new wife, I had an image of myself
in an apron making smoothies and baking cookies. It was never going to
happen. I did make a few decent soups with it over the years but it
never did transform me into that perfect stay-at-home-mum, providing
daily nutritious meals with a smile. Letting go of this is letting go of
an aspiration. Oh well, my kids don’t like smoothies anyway.
I’ve had a few little pangs of pain and loss. The objects are mostly
gone now and that’s good because so are the shelves that they lived on.
I’ve found it harder to let go of certain toys than the boys have.
They’ve outgrown them anyway and they happily toss them away but I
remember the shiny-eyed joy on their little faces as they unwrapped
them. Will the memories of their toddlerhoods fade when I no longer have
the toys to trip over?
My husband is struggling more. The realisation that his parents are
ageing has hit him and he feels bad that he won’t be here to support
them. Unlike me, he hasn’t emigrated before. Nor has he ever lived more
than a few miles from his parents and sisters. Although he’s happy to
start a new life in America with us, his new family, he’s not really in
the mood to celebrate as he feels he’s abandoning the old. I am being
reunited with most of mine. I will have more family around me than I
have had for years. It was only when I stopped my excited babbling,
about parties and schools, new careers and what still has to be done,
moved or packed for five minutes and actually listened that it dawned on
me he is being much braver than I am by making this move. He is
extracting himself from his family, his role as only son, big brother
and soon-to-be uncle and immersing himself fully in the eccentricities
of mine. It’s easier for me. I was always doing this. I’ve been guilty
of living in the future for a few years now. It’s only becoming real to
him as the days on the calendar get marked off and I believe he’s
hurting like hell.
So, I guess it’s acceptable that he’s a bit grumpy at the moment and
it’s all right that I’m left alone to my planning. I suppose it’s okay
that he hasn’t thrown out his animal skeleton collection yet and it’s
probably understandable that he still hasn’t gone through that
box. I know that he will and – even more importantly – I know that he’ll
be with me, holding my hand, when we get on that plane. He’s coming
with me this time. He’s starting again with our children and me. He’s
chosen to let go and build a new life with us and that’s really all that
matters to me.
The rest is only stuff.
No comments:
Post a Comment