We think our house hunting saga might be over. We have found a place, and have entered negotiations with the landlady. The house is OK – looks big from the outside but is modest inside. The garden is amazing – lots of shade, and absolutely massive. It even has the mango trees and a frangipani from our wish list. It’s a short walk or drive from the new school, and at the lower end of our budget. There are some things that need to happen before we move in, but all in all, we should be celebrating.
And now I don’t want to move.
Because Red Twin hasn’t given her approval and excitement to this new place. She did with our current house. She visited us in the Bat House and loved us here and we loved her here. We will still love her in the new house, but she will not visit us there. She will not know us there or love it with us.
There are lots of ‘firsts’ that happen after someone dies. First Christmas without them, first birthday. This is one of those, one of our first ‘firsts’. First house move.
I’ve been saying I want to get the move over with, that then I might be in a stable enough situation to get on with the tasks of mourning. But now that the move seems more of a reality, I can’t face the idea of moving house because it also seems like moving on. The rest of my life will not be shared with her, and a big part of me wants to stay in the shared space for just a bit longer, to pretend it’s still OK.
Moving house while grieving feels like being on a moving bus, and wanting to stay up the back, but even though you cling to the pole, the inertia throws you forward.
Categories: Written by Tamie
Tamie Davis is an Aussie living in Tanzania, writing at meetjesusatuni.com.