So, I Waited
Sometime in April 2006, a series of coincidences affected our family.
My sister who lived in the North London, Walthamstow, moved one Monday in April from a two-bedroom house to a five-bedroom house near Cambridge. On Tuesday in the same week, my daughter moved with her family from a one-bedroom flat to a two-bedroom house. On Wednesday in the same week, my brother who was living in a one-bedroom apartment in the Northwick Park Hospital quarters moved to a four-bedroom house in Aberdeen, Scotland. That weekend, my other daughter, who had left home, moved back home.
At the end of that month, my son living in California moved from his flat in Studio City to a two-bedroom flat. At the end of the same month, my mother-in-law living in Africa had to move out of the house she had rented.
The whole coincidence was so amazing. However, I had lived fourteen years in a crammed three-bedroom flat, situated in an unsatisfactory location. I had done my time and deserved to have been relocated before these members of my family.
Don't get me wrong I was quite happy for them. I was happy that they were moving into lovely new homes. I was happy that they were getting more room to live in. With better accommodation people are generally happier so my family would be as well.
However, I felt that I was the one that desperately needed to move. Where I lived was riddled with crime, (drug pushers and the life that that attracts), dirt and fear. As a result, the area had a bad reputation. Black cabs would not go to the postcode.
So I had a word the man above and told him how I felt about the situation. You can not imagine what I did after that? I took two weeks off work, as annual leave, went to some shops, got some strong cartons, bought large suitcases and started packing.
For the next six months, I lived with the front room partially occupied because there were cartons and boxes neatly stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Whenever I had guests they would ask, “So when are you moving?” I would reply, “I don't know.” Perplexed by my answer they would ask, ‘So why are you packing?’ I would reply by telling them the story of how many members of the family had moved house and I thought since I was more eligible I had challenged the angels so I should be prepared for my turn.
By July, 3 months after taking annual leave and packing, I discovered I had to have a major operation. By October, 6 months after I had packed and three months after my operation I received a phone call from the Housing Association telling me that as the block of flats I lived in was due to be demolished, I would be assisted in moving out of the three-bedroom flat. I could not believe my ears. Neighbours on the block were sure that I had some connection in the housing department which had facilitated the move. It was another few months before they were moved out of the block to their respective new homes.
One of the thoughts that stands out, in my mind, is that if I had been contacted earlier in July or soon after, I would have not been physically fit to do any packing because of the major operation I had had. Anyone who has had to move out of a house after leaving there for 15 years would tell you that it would need a lot of sorting and packing. By taking time out to do the packing back in April, I had, unwittingly, reduced the amount of work I needed to do, by October. The packing I had done in April was a leap in faith and I’d like to think it facilitated the move (who knows). Thoughts have a way of setting stuff in motion.
To this day, the whole sequence of events, coincidences and synchronicity continue to astound me.
(An excerpt from Sighted But Blind by Marie Jn-Marie)
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