We have finally moved into our new place. It is bigger and nicer than our old one. I am crazy busy unpacking and organizing things. Trying to make this place feel like home. I know in time I will be successful and it will feel as comfortable and cozy as our last place.
Except for one thing. It’s not his house.
We left his house and have moved on to one where he never was.
Where he never existed.
A fresh start? Or something else?
I feel like we have somehow left a part of him behind. My beautiful son, who we never got to take home from the hospital. He only existed in that home, not in this one.
Even though he never got to see it with his own eyes, or smell it, or crawl on the floor. He was there with us. He was alive there. It’s the only place he ever had the chance to be alive.
Hearing our voices there from within my womb, living our lives, planning for him to be a part of our family. That house had hope and dreams and possibilities. All of which came crashing down on that horrible day last August when we found out that he was gone. That night when we had to come back to that home and pack for the hospital,,,, for his birth.
That place where we cried so many tears over his loss.
That place that felt so empty when we came home without him.
That place was the only place he ever was.
And we’ve left it.
Does that mean we’ve left him behind as well?
*Originally posted in June on my blog