Separation Anxiety

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

We are moving. Leaving the home where I carried my sweet baby Beatrix. After August first, I will never again step foot into the house where she lived.

The home we will be living in is much nicer than the one we live in now. It has tall windows that reach almost to the floors. My first thought, when viewing the house, was how precious it will be to see this new baby looking out the windows. He or she is curly headed in my imagination, and sits watching the world go by in fascination. It has a huge dining room and wood floors, and a small dressing room off of the master bedroom- where this new baby will live, if this new baby lives.

But this new house never housed my sweet Beatrix. This new house will not remember her moving in my belly as I lay in front of the wide open picture window. This new house will not have the memory of time spent in gardening with her resting safely inside of me. ( As if she were ever really safe).

This house will be alien to my grief. I don't know if I will be able to cry there.

Here, the walls were the sole witnesses to my sorrow. I could lock myself into the bathroom while I lost myself for a few moments. I don't know how well sound will travel in this new house, and I don't know if I will be capable of hiding how much my heart aches for her.

When I move to my new home, the neighbors will not know that there is someone missing unless I choose to tell them. They will not know that there should be a second child looking out of the long window at the cars going by.

In this house, I don't imagine her. She lived here, so imagining her would be redundant. But in this new house-I have already imagined her. She laughs there, and I don't know if that is o.k.

I feel in some ways, unsafe about this new house. This place is foreign. It erases the only salient portion of her life. The furniture will be different. The woods will be different. The walls will be different. None of them will have contained her.

I may eventually be lost there.

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