It’s been three days after stepping foot on a plane to start a new chapter. Moving in the midst of a global pandemic takes the entire process in itself to a new level. The preparations were simple, or so we thought: G moved months before me and found a really nice flat for us, we packed a couple of suitcases and items for Bailey (we were not moving without him) and our most important documents (all red tape was taken care of) as we were convinced we would come back for Christmas in just a couple of weeks; little did we know the world would change even more due to Covid.
I knew where we would live, I lived in the State before for five years in the South though and am hoping I will like the North just as much; it is California after all. Due to Covid furniture deliveries are delayed, there are so many people with masks as we are living right in the city (we lived in a very small town in Germany, where one can see the Alps, there are lots of green fields wherever the eye wanders just like in the movie “The Sound of Music”), shelves in super markets are empty, long lines in front of grocery lines (people pushing and shoving – hardly anyone adhering to a 6ft distance, everyone trying to get some sort of food) meaning an almost empty flat in every meaning. I am here, but am I really? My body is, the rest however what feels like stuck somewhere above the ocean. I am moving as in walking, going forward though? Feels more like backward just like Momo in the movie which happens to be one of my favourite movies. Momo has Cassiopeia on her side, I have G and Bailey.
While thinking about it I feel like I have experienced something similar after loosing my mum and only a few years later my dad. I tackled hours first then half days then full days one step at a time, tiny steps / baby steps / any step forward, not side ways like the true cancer that I am, forward and through it even if it means inching (noticing I am already using the American measure, which does put a smile on my face today).
