The
Man and I were chatting to a chap who has become a friend. We see him almost
every weekday morning on the train. He told us about his upcoming house move
this weekend.
He
told us that the packing had made him feel quite down. It was seeing what amounted to his life
packed up into so few boxes.
All
we could do was commiserate with him.
I
felt very much the same when The Man’s mum went into a rest home. I had the
task of packing up her clothes in preparation. She was a good shopper and had a
fair few really nice outfits that she would only wear if she went out. So it
was only those outfits that I took in to her. The rest of her everyday clothes went
into boxes to be stored in her garage along with the remainder of her household
goods. We moved the tall slim glass fronted display cabinet into her new home,
and arranged several of her prettiest pieces to their best advantage in it. I
draped one of the colourful soft mohair rugs sent to her by a friend in Wales
over end of her bed and the other over the back of her recliner chair in case
it was chilly. The final touch to make the room ‘hers’ was to hang a few
favourite pictures on the plain cream walls.
It
made me think of the times when I had worked in elder care. How few possessions
some of them had. The odd family picture, maybe a piece of furniture or two from
their home, some clothes and not much more. .
There
is more though. Something intangible, but nonetheless valuable, a lifetimes worth
of memories and experiences.
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