Black bin bags full of the things that are no longer needed or wanted. The accumulations of a life. Odd socks. A jacket the moths have been busy with. Broken light bulbs. Pens that no longer work. Worn sandals.
Watched the postie drive away your 24 year old Rover. A gift for his son. Another generation learning to drive as we four did with you all those decades ago.
Couldn’t quite let go of a few of your clothes to the charity shop so back to London they come with me for a while. Remind me of all those days I saw you potter down the corridor ready for breakfast, our favourite time of the day.
Your flat is now empty, almost. Those things that made it so much yours are no longer there. It’s an empty space, an echo of your home but no longer that. Painters come in tomorrow. Fresh white and new carpets. A blank canvas for those who’ll live there next and like we did they will enjoy the view over the boats and the early morning sun streaming in.
A rushed practical sorting things couple of days overlaid with so much emotion. Memories aplenty. Thoughts of things that will never be again. The end of an era. Dad doesn’t live here any more.