Before today when someone would walk into my house, it was obvious that we had lost two baby boys. Every room, minus the bathroom, had a piece of them in it. Their monkeys were in the living room with their memory boxes, their ashes and a trinket box in the playroom on the mantel, a 12X12 shadowbox that was handmade for them in the dining room, and of course their picture next to my bed.
I really loved having them everywhere. I needed to have them everywhere. I almost felt like I wasn't doing them justice if I didn't have them everywhere. And I know I would have had so much more out to display if I had the space. I would probably have plastered their pictures all over my walls if I could.
Today something changed. Something just clicked. All of a sudden I had cleared off one of the center shelves of our china cabinet. I had moved their ashes there, the painting from Steve and Brandy and their plaster footprints were there. The corner in the living room where their monkeys had sat on top of the memory suddenly had a chair in it. And it happened just like that.
I guess I no longer feel I need to have them everywhere. I will always physically carry them around my neck, close to my heart. And I will always carry their memory and love with me. I miss them so much every day. And the pain is still incredible, but bearable most days. But Lucas and Caleb deserve their own place in our home. A place that anyone can look at and remember them also. A place that is kept neat, free of dust, and out of the reach of their brothers.
This change makes me sad now as I sit and think about that I really did all this. And it wasn't even a gradual move, it was a whirlwind through the house. It's nice to feel like I am moving along this road, but that weird guilt is still kind of lingering. I am sure it always will, it's part of the awfulness. And their picture is still next to my bed in their frame.