We each have a suitcase and what doesn’t fit in that suitcase is going to charity, being sold or thrown away. We’ll be keeping the special things like the girls memory boxes in a couple of boxes in my Mum’s loft but other than that, everything is going. Now, to many this would be a therapeutic task but to someone who can form sentimental attachment to a tumble dryer like myself it hasn’t been the easiest of times. I’ve powered through so far, waving off my teapot collection to various inhabitants of Kings Heath without a tear shed and bagging Dylan’s old clothes up for the local charity shop with only a handful of items being kept because she was just so tiny and beautiful and tiny AND OH MY GOD CAN WE ACTUALLY DO THIS?!
Sorry, I digress.
Last night I tackled under the bed, who will have our Sega Megadrive? Who will love it as much as us but not be able to beat our high score on Streets of Rage. I’m weighing up our friends as potential owners of our most loved items, the inside of my head has become a Battle Royale arena with the prize being Sam’s comic books or my favourite heels. Like many people, under my bed has always been where I’ve kept my memory box. Now, I must clarify that this is probably memory box number 4 of my life so far – as my need to hold on isn’t a recent thing. This memory box started in 2009 and ended in 2011, I was 21 and this box was full of mementos. Many would say this box should have been thrown out a long time ago, nobody wants an ex boyfriends face hiding under the bed but within that time a lot happened and this box wasn’t a souvenir of a past relationship, it was a box full to the brim of photos and birthday cards and scribbles on paper and origami and I think for a while I classed it as the best times I’d ever had. I hadn’t opened it in a really long time and was kind of dreading it as I found it covered in dust, an old dummy on the top and a Teetha sachet. I looked through it and saw old faces and old notes and although it was lovely to see, it didn’t ignite anything in me. I didn’t feel a need to hold on or take certain things out to put in the box for my Mum’s loft because these things were no longer the memories I wanted to fiercely hold on to. They were part of my life and at the time it was lovely but it’s okay to let them go now. I have baby scan pictures, tiny boots, my husbands scrawled out wedding vows and a matchstick box from one of our favourite places on our honeymoon and other bits in a much smaller box because when your living the best times, you don’t feel the need to hold on to absolutely everything anymore.
The memory box went into the bin, without palpitations. I waved it off with the dustbin men this morning and didn’t feel sad or like I’d lost anything – except a couple of dodgy photographs of a truly awful perm I was convinced was a good idea. I have four bags of baby clothes ready to go to the charity shop and a lady coming around later for some Ikea shelves that never made it out of the box.
So far, so good.
Now, someone give me a hug.