Another day of packing and we’ve made amazing progress. The boxes I’m shipping are organised. The majority of the furniture has gone, dispersed to new homes or simply taken away to be recycled and my old apartment is looking very empty.
My custom-made platform bed was dismantled after twelve years and reduced to sheets of plywood and suddenly my lovely tranquil bedroom wasn’t my bedroom any more.
By the end of the day I was getting emotional. I’d sold my kitchen table and chairs for a fraction of what it was worth and after it all went, I looked at the kitchen floor and was overwhelmed with memories of Pig.
In the later years when she wasn’t well, Pig spent a lot of time lying under the kitchen table and, looking at the place where she used to lie, I was suddenly aware of the life I had lived in my little Venice garden apartment. I had loved and lost, laughed and cried, had good times and bad but always within the same walls. It wasn’t much but it was my home and I loved it.
I’m embarking on a new adventure and I’m very excited but this week is a big emotional transition. Letting go of the past in order to move on.