This used to be my playground

Yesterday I took down some old cardboard boxes I'd stashed away in my storage bin. Had to empty all the cabinets in the apartment, as they were going to spray for termites the next day. The stuff has to go somewhere in the interim, so I decided, cardboard boxes it is.

Whether it is the tiredness at the end of the day, the monthly hormonal changes, or missing Kamala as she's off traveling with dad, I don't know. But I lost it when I saw the boxes marked "Master Bedroom", "Kitchen", and "Office". A lid blew over and the emotions were out before I could say STOP.

These were the same boxes my things went in some years ago.... when the packers came - to signal my new job and upcoming move - and more painfully, the end of my marriage. I was moving out of the house I had thought would be my home for the rest of my life - but turned out not to be. The same house where I moved in, eight months pregnant, and excitedly arranged things everywhere, unmindful of the bulging tummy. The house where my child was born, the house where she toddled about, where she spoke her first words...The house where I read to her, whether or not she understood, stories of lost ducklings reunited with their mother, and the story of the hen and the fox.

The house that alternately witnessed long, brooding silences on X's part - and desperate, unsuccessful peacemaking measures on mine. The house that was witness to many a hope - and secret shame.

The house where I was a mom to my heart's content - to my little Kamala, during her crucial growing years. Where I could hug, hold and nurture her as much as I - and she - wanted. I had been there at her beck and call, had watched her every move....

Then came the boxes - telling me that I was not going to be able to do all this anymore. The packers who brought them got busy right away, marking them with "Kitchen", "Office", and so forth. As the things went in one by one, I stood watching mutely. I must've been packing away one dream after another, one role after another - never to be taken out again.

I remember Kamala toddling about nearby, excited at all the new people in the house, laughing at the noise and commotion. And discovering new places to run about, as things that had stood there vanished into trucks....She was all joy and sunshine that day, oblivious to what lay in store for her.

Today I look at the boxes again, and find within them the dreams I had - and the dreams I lost.

As Madonna put it,

This used to be my playground...

It isn't anymore.