How could I have forgotten what a harrowing experience moving is? If I had known what lay ahead, I don't think I would have had the courage to face the day. I become terrified when I think that one day we will have to move out again; that one day we will have to carry everything down four flights of stairs.
Without a doubt, the heaviest object in our inventory is the fridge. We bought it in October last year to replace the one I bought a long time ago when the old one wouldn't cool things anymore. The fridge left an enormous empty space in the kitchen. Mother has no fridge until my brother-in-law fixes the old one, so she put the small green bag containing all of her fridge things where the fridge used to be. I feel like a traitor for leaving Mother without a fridge. I feel like a traitor for leaving Mother.
The most difficult object to carry was the base of the bed. It has no proper place to hold and is made from very heavy wood. It was the first thing we reassembled. In fact, that was the only thing we did on our first evening in the new place: assemble bed, shower, sleep. We didn't sleep very well, despite being terribly tired.
Moving with two potted plants seems insane in retrospect. A King David rose given to me by my brother-in-law long, long ago when he still spoke to me. A clivia, ravaged by worms, that I am nursing back to health. I feel terrible for leaving behind all the other plants. Will they be looked after?
I miss the animals. Nettie Roos, always following us around, always hungry. Dense, lovable Josef de Beer. Moody Saffron. Playful Rajah. I even miss obnoxious, loud Adolf Hitler.
I left behind many books, mostly children's books. All of the Enid Blytons. Even so, we had to carry eight very heavy boxes of books all the way to our flat.
Will Mother be allright without me? She does not answer or return my calls. I sense that the umbilical cord has been irrevocably severed and it saddens me.
My life is here with The One now.
Written by I