Places and possessions

Sending away and bringing back

A few days ago, our carefully packed and padded and bubble-wrapped possessions departed in a large truck that arrived with a large space to fill and left with it full.

Along with the truck, four men arrived - including three rather skinny young men with funny hairstyles. They were surprisingly strong. They were supervised by an older man who was alternately sarcastic and hectoring - but in a humorous way. Jamaicans do that kind of supervision rather well. The twisty-haired young men communicated with each other in a language I didn’t understand. I thought I knew patois pretty well, but this was Gen Z slang patois, I think.

Now the house is almost empty, and it echoes. Memories seem to emerge from corners. I stood in the small room that was our son’s from when he was a young child. In one empty corner there had been a small bed, where I had perched on the side, reading him bedtime stories. I remember when he had chickenpox, lying in that bed and crying.

So we sent away our possessions but somehow gathered up memories in their absence. Soon, we will get all those boxes back, and try to make new memories.