There are moments during a move when you realise you’ve stopped sorting belongings and started closing chapters.
This weekend felt like one of those moments.
For weeks, the attic has been the thing haunting me.
The thing I worried about when I woke up.
The thing that sat in the back of my mind every time someone mentioned moving.
Twenty years of life crammed into a space above my head.
Boxes.
Memories.
Forgotten treasures.
Things I was convinced would take days to tackle.
Yesterday I finally climbed the ladder and declared war.
By the end of the day:
- Multiple charity runs had been completed.
- Multiple tip runs had been completed.
- Three huge vacuum bags of baby clothes had found new homes.
- Four bags of books had gone to charity.
- The bulk of old belongings had been returned to their rightful owners.
- Most of the attic had come down.
The thing that had scared me most had become manageable.
Not finished.
Manageable.
And that felt like a victory all on its own.
Then came the unexpected ghosts.
Dad’s hospice clothes.
A bag that had sat quietly in the attic for fifteen years.
When I found them weeks ago, I sat on the attic floor and cried.
Yesterday they went to the clothing bank.
Not because they weren’t important.
Because they had already done their job.
I have the watches.
I have the memories.
I have the handwritten notes.
The clothes didn’t need to come with me.
Tomorrow the wedding dress follows.
One ghost at a time.
One chapter at a time.
One version of me at a time.
The strange thing about moving isn’t the boxes.
It’s realising how many versions of yourself have lived inside the same walls.
Young me.
Wife me.
New mum me.
Grieving daughter me.
Single mum me.
Lady Gravethorn.
All of them have called 12 Norman home.
Not all of them need to move to Everstede.
Some can stay here.
With gratitude.
With love.
With peace.
The attic isn’t completely empty yet.
There’s one final purge left this evening.
But the dragon has already fallen.
The hatch that once hid twenty years of fear now hides only the final pieces of a chapter that’s almost closed.
And for the first time in a long time, the move doesn’t feel impossible.
It feels possible.
It feels real.
It feels like The Crossing has finally begun.
🖤
“Some ghosts are not chased away. Some are simply thanked for their company and allowed to rest.”