For several months Josh and I have jokingly dreamed of buying or building a new home. When we bought our house 4 years ago, we did so in a rush. Wyatt had been given a diagnosis of ADHD (on top of his Autism) and we wanted him in a better school district. Our plan had always been to take things slow so that we got the home we wanted. But you know what they say, your kids come first.
They are building in our subdivision again and they are definitely upgraded from our house. Positive for us, our property value has increased quite a bit. So today Josh proposed again buying/building a home. Tempted by the idea I asked a few friends who had built and called our realtor. I spent most of the morning looking at floor plans and available homes all while staying in the same school district for Wyatt. To say I was excited would be an understatement. The idea of starting new and really trying to get what we want this time, is exciting. I resolved to just getting the information. What would our house sell for? What can we afford? Would we really enjoy building? Etc.
Fast forward to this afternoon. It’s just a typical day I’d say, we recently switched our plan to Verizon which I was pretty happy about. I went shopping for Wyatt’s school supplies before the chaos ensued. I was thinking about Wyatt and how much I missed him (he’s in Florida for the month of July, lucky kid). As I checked out and went to my car, my aunt text me, “I can see why you’d want to move/build.” Now that might not seem like an important message, but, my aunt also lost a baby. So there is this unspoken understanding between us. I think a lot of loss mom’s have that in common. Whether she meant there to be an unspoken purpose behind that message, I don’t know, but I began to read between the lines.
The tears started slow at first and the more thought I put into it I could no longer see the road. While I loved the idea of a new home, Logan wouldn’t be there. The first thought I had was the boys would be so happy. They’d get to pick their new rooms. And as the movie reel played in my head, me holding Logan showing him around, I realized I couldn’t do that. I can’t show Logan a new home. His presence and his memories are here, in this home. There won’t be memories of Logan in a new home. How can it be our dream home, when Logan isn’t there?
The thought of tearing down his nursery and setting it up elsewhere feels unnatural, weird even. I guess I’ve always felt like Logan was here with me, in this house. Perhaps because I have memories of him in every room of the house, except the basement. Logan never went to the basement and I don’t feel him when I go down there. It feels like a squeaky clean slate, without Logan. It truly feels like someone slapped a 50lb plate on my chest, and piled on top is the guilt and shame for wanting to move somewhere he can’t go. As if he never existed to begin with.
A bandaid has been torn off my wound. I walk by Logan’s room now and pain and sadness soak my face. My heart physically hurts.