The ink that binds us

 Letters. Photos. Postcards. 

Private mementos. Personal moments. Special memories. 

In my dad's drawers - in his office, in the drawers in the spare room, in his large filing cabinet, there are hundreds upon hundreds. 

And now, what to do? There are letters in their dozens that my grandmother wrote to my dad when he was in High School here in Pretoria, having moved with her from Germany when he started Gr 8 at Afrikaans Hoër Seunskool. Yes, a boy who spoke German and some English. Till today I do not understand the choice. However he stayed in Res, matriculated from there and remained a member of the Alumni forever. 

When my grandmother went back to Germany, she wrote hundreds of letters to him at school, and when he went to University to study to be a CA. 

Now we have boxes and boxes and boxes of airmail envelopes and telegrams from her to him. We even found a Telegram she sent him when he passed Matric. 

Now I do not have the head space to read them all, nor is it my business, but merely tipping them into a recycling bag feels so wrong. It is a whole life, a whole relationship between a mother and son - it cannot be tossed aside like it never existed. I would hate that. 

Then there are the photos - thousands of them. So on my next visit I am going to have to get dozens of recycling bags, sit down and go through them, keeping just the special ones.  That is the thing about the days when you handed in a film for developing - we have to open hundreds of plastic zip closed photo packets and these also included the blurred and useless photos that you discovered when you fetched your photos. 

Now that we are 80% packed up in the house (yes the big house with many bedrooms and studies is wonderful, but my parents (code for dad), filled every single available space). Packing up has been a spectacular event. We are left with those photos and letters, a closet of suits going to a charity organization and 5 full length garage cupboards filled with every paint, oil, garden fertilizer, screwdriver, tool, and everything else that Builders Warehouse stocks. Basically we have a Builders Warehouse in there. I mean it. It is mind-blowing. Most of the stuff must be tossed but as the Estate does not allow me to have a skip outside for 48 hours, and no dustbin bags besides those in the bin, where to throw it has become another dilemma. 

Nic regularly reminds me of the massive task that my sister and I have had to undertake and asks that Eug and I not cause the same for him and Jess 😂 At the moment the last of these tasks has fallen to me. A mission when you live in another province and have to make this part of your visits. I think if you live in the same province, it is easier as you can work every day until you are done. 

So me and my dad and mom's memories lie ahead - they are precious and are to be treasured. 

till soon 

c'est la vie