#writeingrief Day 14 on what I would show my lost little loves of home
I am the only home that you knew. If you had lived, you would have joined us in our modest, old house. The floor would have gotten cluttered with evidence of you--blankets and diapers and toys and most of all your growing form surrounded by your big brothers and mommy and daddy. We surely would have been on the floor playing with you, and possibly rescuing you from the big brother wrestling ring. You would squeal with delight at your brothers’ antics, and you would have some excellent front row entertainment. We would all gather around to watch you sleep and grunt and play.
The place that I would absolutely take you is our living room floor.
I would also take you to your brothers’ ball games and concerts and practices.
And I would take you to Grandma and Grandpa’s ranch and watch them spoil you silly.
I would take you to the store and out to eat, and I would be frazzled to be out and about with three kids. I might even joke to someone that they can have one of you (people say those kinds of comments often; it’s one of those stupid things people say without thinking about how it might sound to someone who has lost a child).
So I would take you out and about, but I would most cherish our moments in our house--just the 5 of us.
People say that it is beautiful that the only home you knew was filled with love and that you were in the safest place in the world. I get where they’re coming from (I’ve said that myself), but as usual these days, I’m also going to call that bullshit. You died in that “safe” place. We don’t know why. You may have been strangled by your cord--the vessels that brought nourishment to you. On one hand I hate my body because it’s where you died, but on the other hand, I cherish it because it’s where you lived. It’s why you lived. It’s home.