Box of memories

As I sit down and buckle myself into the seat, I look out the window and think back to the events of the day. Did I close all the accounts before I left? Did I leave any switches on? Hopefully not… Have I locked the front door and checked it? Pretty sure I have, thorough that I am. I heave out a heavy sigh and move my arm from the arm rest as the rightful passenger of the seat arrives to claim it. I smile at him and revert to looking out the window. I’m not sure I can be good company for this journey.

It has been a strange day, eventful in all the little things and if put together, just another day. Nothing significant. I cleaned and aired out all the rooms one last time. Made all the necessary phone calls to all the relevant companies and departments to close our accounts. Cleaned out the cupboards and drawers and kitchen shelves. Cleaned and dusted the whole house. Went to the bank. Did all the last minute shopping I needed to. I have done so much in such little time, I wonder why I can never be as efficient on other more demanding days. Is it that I was impatient to get out? Or was I rushing through the chores for fear of stopping and being overwhelmed, knowing I wouldn’t continue once I sat and let the emotions take over?

It’s not that I am sad I’m leaving. It’s all the memories, the people I shared them with, the happiness, the ups and downs had in the house that I will miss.  It has been a very tough year, more downs than ups for each of us alone and together. But we’ve pulled through somehow. I am always the last to leave any house, the burden of final responsibility always falls on me. I realise that I don’t mind it. It’s the one area of my life where I am in complete control of the situation at hand.

I mentally swear as I remember I had to return a phone call. Ah well, there’s nothing to be done about it now. If it was that important they’d have called back. The thought of phone calls reminds me of my last conversation with him. I smile. He is so great, calm and knows exactly what to say when I’m having my mood swings. I wish he wasn’t so far away though. Long distance is not easy, but we’ve both worked hard at it. The last time he was here with me seems like eons ago, though it was only 2 months ago I saw him off at the airport. I miss him. But he has been worth every mile of this 4000+ mile journey I’m making now.

I think back one more time to all the things I did and whether I forgot anything vaguely important. As I mentally picture the house, the kitchen, my room, only one image comes to mind. The box I left on the floor by the bed. The last image I take with me before I flip the light switch off and shut the door. It feels like I’ve left a box of memories lying on the floor like that, and a piece of my heart with it. It’s just as well. I don’t think I have it in me to keep so many memories and still have room for more to come. When I return I’ll open the box, returning the memories back where they belong, in my memory. For now, I’m going to collect new ones. I think of him waiting at the end of this journey and cannot wait. I stare out the window, still smiling, as the plane taxis down the runway and up into the endless, cloudless sky.

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