Some people thrive in fully packed lives. I think I used to be just like that. Keeping up, artificially busy, trying to achieve somewhat superficial goals.
I’m not saying I’m better than parents immersed in after school activities and clubs. Firstly I see no point of this better or worse comparing exercise, secondly I wouldn’t dare to judge other parents, and most importantly I do not live in the same universe anyway.
I was kicked off my home planet almost five years ago. I packed my hospital overnight bag without emotion. I left my home in an ambulance repeating the non eventful day to the EMS. When I returned 48 hours later to retrieve more underwear and other bits and bobs I also grabbed Sara’s monkey I have sewn her, her quilt and her favourite books about Hilda she just got for her birthday two weeks ago. I entered our house, but it wasn’t the same place, Sara’s bathrobe was still on the floor in the middle of the living room. A silent witness to Sara’s body disappearance from this world, like a snake skin left after new, bigger snake emerges. Only this time the motionless, strangely puffy body was at the PICU instead here where it belonged.
The events of these six days of our lives are forever buried in my brain, the sheer trauma replaced by the narrative I had to repeat so many times for so many reasons. This replacement story is devoid of all feelings, smells, sounds. Only dozen painful photographs hidden in a folder bring those back. This story was created by my brain to protect me, it served its purpose, but it has caused more harm as the time goes on.
The sale of our forever house has put wheels of change into motion and as this cart gathers more speed with the move out date approaching it has become more and more destructive. Crashing into carefully sealed boxes containing Sara’s clothing, treasures, her books, spilling them everywhere for me to pick up. Touching a ghost of your child is the most exhausting and painful experience. My brain was being torn into shreds, with preoccupation about the most bizarre things. Where do I put my child’s ashes during the open house?… so I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. One of the offers we were presented with even contained the strangest clause of “sellers certify that no death occurred in this house…” like WTF!? Our realtor gave us a blank stare and my mind went to “the spirit of our kid is moving with us, so thanks for bringing that up”
Two weeks after Sara’s death we renovated the main living space. I ripped out and installed new flooring, painted walls. It was this frantic, forced upon myself rebirth. Transformation of our house to erase the pain of the enormous void. Both J and I kept ourselves busy as not to have time to feel anything. I have been avoiding feeling for almost 5 years now. Avoidance made easier by constant preoccupation with the extreme needs of our complex son.
But the time is up, I know I have to say goodbye, I have to feel, I have to create closure of our life here. Our community have been with us on this heck of a journey, I hope our family had a positive impact on their lives. Even if it meant explaining to their young children that kids can suddenly die and babies can be born with disabilities. I apologize for being the party pooper of your children’s sheltered lives. I wish you didn’t have to explain all that to them, but it turns out I have no powers to prevent those things.
I guess I have to thank this house for allowing us to create a home. We improved it, with me literally finishing my last creative project two weeks before we decided to sell. I had run out of projects, which itself have filled me with dread. This house has been a patient participant in my design trials. This house has been a sanctuary, protector, and a witness to our lives for 13 long years. The last 5 have been extremely painful, but strangely rewarding. I thank you house for your services, we made you the best you can be.
It is almost cathartic to slowly put the words on paper (I’m the slowest typer ever). I feel ready to take down all Sara’s photos, her artwork, knowing that some of these pictures will not be hung again. Our new house will be Tomas’ forever house. She will not be given room or consideration. This is all about the best life for her little brother. I’m excited and overwhelmed by the task of creating home. The prospect of moulding this hard empty shell of a brand new house, that wasn’t built with our lives in mind, into a home for a very unique family. But this is easy when you have a great partner to do it with and you are starting fresh with heart full of fire stoked by honoring your past life.
I say goodbye our wonderful house, have new adventures with someone else. And don’t worry, I won’t sneak off without the last wave and a hug.
ktojoy 