Last weekend I went over and up mountains, to my Mum’s house … to empty and box up her bedroom.
And sleep in her bed … perhaps for the last time.
I will sum it up this way: It wasn’t cathartic. It wasn’t comforting. It didn’t offer closure. What it did do, however … was it absolutely sucked.
The saving grace was I was left to do my part alone, and in a bubble void of noise.
Silence, of the right kind, is a sincere companion. It meant I was able to box up things, not my emotions.
Sunday I drove back down and up and down mountains, and promptly dove into the deep end of my work pool.
Always a good swimmer, I wadded there for five days. Like a boss.
Turns out the best thing to come out of my moments of sorrow is one hell of a master class, creative, conceptional-inspiring, product design.
I know, right?
I have to go back to my Mum’s house next week. This time to remove the boxes.
And every time I think about that next step? Yeah, I choke up. Very much like I am doing right now as I finish this sentence.
So, today, I am giving myself a break.
The tropical storm passed last night.
This morning I added two more albums to my collection (which puts it at 336).
And me and Miles (my new Jeep), are going to look around at the new Autumn leaves on the trees and on the ground.
Pausing more than once to take it all in.
Later, I’ve a date to ring Marty in Cardiff … so we can chat about movies, celebrities, politics and when we’re going to next knock back a few at our pub by the pier.
I think that’s a solid plan to offer this poor wee soul.