Monday, 19 August 2013

All that I leave behind

I'm not completely sure how it started.
I'm not sure when it was I realized i was doing it and when it was I decided to keep doing it.

I think I can more or less tell when it started. More or less this time of the year, 12 months ago.
Dad was recovering from surgery, the heat was unbearable, I was overworked and fidgeting around, restless.
I spent the weekend home, train ticket for Monday morning: straight to work without even stopping at home to drop the suitcase. I was about to go to bed, on Sunday evening, when we had to call an ambulance. Dad was feeling miserable yet, headstrong as usual, refused to give in, he didn't want to "bother people, surely there were people worse off right now at the A&E". I told him I could easily beat him up to be a worse off people if necessary and then dialed the emergency number.

The morning after mum dropped me at the station before heading to the hospital.
I felt like everything inside, lungs, heart, stomach, liver had tied into a giant knot.
Around midday, I got a text. "Dad is fine, you left your watch on the bedside table. Mum."
"Ok, don't sell the watch, I'll pick it next time I come over", was my reply.

Sure enough, my mum didn't sell my watch to any thrift store and I collected it during the next visit.
Dad had been out of hospital for some days and it looked better, or at least less HomerSimpson yellowish. And that was enough for me.
I put the watch on when I left for the station but  forgot the necklace instead.
Mum texted me when I was about halfway through the journey.

The next time it happened with the sunglasses, then a book, mobile, headset...
I suspect it has a lot to do with dad: until last year, I never pondered about the fragility of human life and my father at the same time. But with cancer on the list, you need to start thinking about it.
It freaked me out; I think part of my brain associate going back to Torino to retrieve what I left behind during the previous visit to going back to see my dad getting better after the surgery.

So perhaps, that's the reason why I kept doing it.
I started noticing that sometimes I purposely leave stuff behind. I got space in the luggage, I am perfectly aware I can just put them in the backpack, but then I just "forget" them.
By the time I step out of the metro, I probably have already written a text for my mum and just waiting to send it once on the train.

This morning, I woke up, watered the plants once more, close everything and when I was about to leave, I changed shoes: put on a pair of sneakers instead of my usual Birkie. As I was about to bag the Birkie, I took a look at them, and put them back down on the floor.

I stared at them for a little bit than hurried out. I will take them back next time I'm in Torino. Simple as that.

I'm doing it more and more often.
I think I was a hoarder in the past, attached to everything in fear of being left behind.
Nowadays things changed, I changed and I am surprised sometimes but the ability I gained at it, at how easily it has become for me to let it all go: either be a pair of shoes, a feeling or a person, I don't think it's complicated.
Leaving stuff behind is not so hard, but you need to be sure about it: either be sure you can live without it if you can't retrieve it or be sure you can get it back.
So far it worked very well: my mum is an excellent keeper and I got back what I left behind almost every single time.
Every time I didn't get my forgotten things back I might have not been prepared for it, but I was ready to accept it and move on.

I'm not saying it doesn't hurt because it does. But I've come to understand it's a temporary ache, that will soften and eventually disappear. And that's a needed ache to save me from worse pain. This obviously if we're talking about people, relationships and feelings. Shoes are a whole different, more serious matter...

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