Moving Boxes

I’ve moved house again. Into my own place and my own space. My life is in boxes all around me…

In fact, my life is not in these boxes or in any box for that matter. My life is made up of a spirit that fights harder than I ever thought possible. It is a tapestry of connections with people whose love and reliability have carried me and made me strong. It is a life that has known true love and true loss. And a life that chooses to keep on living.

It’s been a year since the accident that tipped my life on its head. That broke so many of my bones and shattered my heart. It’s been a year of needing to build up again. A year filled with change and with learning to let go.

I could have died that night and many nights afterwards. I could have lost both my children instead of just one. I am meant to be here and I am meant to live fully – and I will.

I live in Durban again and I often drive down the same roads that the girls and I used to walk. The memories are so close to the surface here. I’ve gone through Jessie’s clothes, all packed into boxes. I still see her in each item that I’ve kept. I miss her energy and enthusiasm. I especially miss her freely-given affection. I crave that.

I’ve learnt to ask for help this year and to rely on people. Mostly I don’t even need to ask. People give freely. I’ve got used to being around people this year. When I’m alone I cry and I need that too.

I feel more free these days. Free to be me. I’ve got perspective now that I didn’t have before. Often I’ve felt weak, battered and bruised. But there is a strength far greater than just me. I’m going with the flow, allowing myself to feel, letting things unfold – and they are. All will be well one step at a time.