Tuesday, 1 May 2018

Being ruffled

Sometimes things feel out of control. They aren't, but they feel that way. I returned from the UK delighted to have my mum settled in a nice residential care home, but the backstory was the emotional time I had gone through dismantling our family home of 46 years, and not QUITE having enough time to do everything (thank goodness for helpful neighbours) before I left.

Within two weeks of returning the house was sold, so all the memories tucked safely inside the bricks and mortar are now permanently gone. The next time I go to England, I will need to find a place to stay.

The first week back was chasing my luggage which hadn't manage to travel with me, then settling back into a work routine. But we still have the uncertainty about what is happening about the Expressway which is proposed to be built at one or other end of our road. This kind of mutes the usual joy I have in our home and garden; it ruffles my feathers and makes my nest insecure.

Then a friend's husband got really sick.

Then my hubby became ill - nothing serious, but not easy for him or me, and I realised once again how fragile life is.

Part of the grieving process of leaving my homeland this time has been muted by linking with people who know my home town well, and have various History Societies to steward the stories and store the pictures and photos of the people who used to live there. So my heartstrings are tugged again. I'm there in spirit, but here. Learning so much that I never knew about my family, and not having a soul to talk to about them, because there is no family left who also knew them.

I have inherited hundreds of photos of people I have now identified, but I'm talking to myself about them and frustrated that I can't ask questions. Then there are the records I've found of people we thought were lost to our family forever, and my Dad isn't there to tell. And there is no younger generation to pass the history to. I feel this very keenly.

Much wisdom is spoken of youth and old age, but the bit in the middle feels rather neglected. It seems you have to navigate this particular bit of the river the best you can.

More news when I get safely to the bank on the other side.

1 comment:

  1. Wow, that really does sound heartwrenching. You can do it! Slowly but surely :)