I left a house full of personal items behind- couches, tvs, entertainment, books, knick-knacks, trinkets- It was easier to walk away then try to sort and box and sell and donate and so on.
But nagging me is that house full of my stuff. I have brought some here to my new home; selectively, just what I need- the antiques and extras I will need to sort some more and decide if it will bring me more joy with me or if it’s path is out of my house.
My husband’s house still looks and feels like it’s his home. My tiny additions don’t add to the overall feel- if anything, they are swallowed up in the expanse.
Adding some of my artwork will help. As Vince grows and adds to his collections, we will soon merge with the space. It’s the in between time that is difficult. I never imagined living in a home this large trying to fill the space. I sound out of touch, but I don’t mean it at all in that way– I was thrilled with my tiny cottage and the cozy space. Bad memories of my last relationship stained the place though, and it may be impossible to get the past scrubbed away from there. Not only the memories, but the anger at what could have been and how it’s now empty and alone.
I left behind my personal things, but I carry their weight with me.