the heaviness of storage

It was meant to be no more than 8 weeks.

We packed up our home, transported it back up north to the centre of Liverpool.

Giving us some time to reorientate our space.

Two and a half years later,  with this Almighty Grief I am left to sort this unit out.

I don't have the energy nor do I have the space where I live.

Seeing our life inside each and every box and bag, sends shivers down my spine.

Having spent the past 2 years emptying my parents house out - every cupboard, every unit, behind every door, in every nook and cranny, the loft, the garage, and each of the 4 bedrooms, I emptied, sorted, gave to charity, took to the tip or skipped. 

It is cruel beyond measure to have to go through this again, only this time without you here. 

Looking through these items, revisiting an old Julia, one who has vanished, she won't return.

The Julia before all the pain of losing Mum, Dad, and then You. 

I don't have the space for all this stuff in my tiny little apartment. 

Yet, I can't just throw it away, it was our life.

This isn't about sorting and organising, clearing and decluttering, it is painful and heart wrenching. 

This isn't a weekend worth of clearing.

It's mammoth.

Seeing you every time I open something up, in every box or bag, your shoes, your backpack, tools, your bike, our duvet, our dining room table, our dismantled super king size bed frame.

It is all staring at me.

Overwhelming
Painful 
Cruel.