“I’ll take it to the other place tomorrow” said Mr Incredible commenting on his pre-prepared lunch. This is what our home has now become, “the other place”. So simple a transition and yet one so large that we’re not yet believing what we’re doing.
- Last night in house – check
- Move things to new home for 2.5 months – check
- Take things to Salvos – 3 loads done and rest tomorrow
- Empty pantry, fridge, freezer and move contents to new home – check
- Freak out at all the things left to ship and how large that looks – check.
The word surreal doesn’t apply here – what we’re going through is a state of survival with a lot to be done and limited time in which to do it resulting in a state of unreality. We have one day before the removals truck comes with our shipping container and everything left in the house is to go on that.
I wrote a passage about community and my moves as a child compared to this which is still too raw to share. I might share some thoughts in the weeks to come on this when I’ve had time to process but simply to say now: as a family we moved lots of times. Lots. Internationally, locally, interstate. 20 different houses or more before the age of 9 kind of lots. Yet, in all those moves, I never once remember my mother doing it alone. There were always friends helping sort out the kitchen or clean the bathroom, drop off meals, go through her books (a favourite place of hers to hide money) and as a community the job was lessened. I never saw my mother struggling under the load with no one walking beside her through it. My mother had true community and how I wish we did too.