20 Mar We Move On
We moved into our new home last week, closer to my husband’s work (he works A LOT), so that time can be spent with family in lieu of commuting; our new house is much smaller so that I can have more time with the kids and less time cleaning. It’s closer to the beach and the fresh air I’ve consumed the last 48 hours in our new home reminds me of a fresh start.
We loved our old house, we really did, but this change was much needed and I really didn’t think I would be too sad moving on. After all, it’s just a house. When you “lose” a child (I’m referring to our foster son we raised for almost a year) in one year a house suddenly feels very, very insignificant. On one of our last days at that house I was upstairs gathering our last bit of stuff, my husband was downstairs doing the same, the boys were sound asleep, napping. As I walked into the boy’s bathroom (it was mostly cleaned out and looked stark and lonely) I was reminded of the day we brought our very first foster son home, the foster son we were eventually able to call our own.
My husband and I brought him home from Polinksky Children’s Center and immediately wanted to give him a warm bath, a much needed symbol of a fresh start. The warm Fall afternoon sun was creeping through the blinds, the entire bathroom had this delicious, full glow to it. I remember sitting next to the bathtub, staring at this new, little person whose happiness, healing and well being were now my complete responsibility and my heart began to feel just as the room looked- warm and full. I’ve attached a photo of that day, that exact moment to share with you.
After snapping out of my brief nostalgia I suddenly found it difficult to walk out of that bathroom or to walk away from our last foster son’s nursery that had acted as a quasi-shrine the last 10 months. For a brief moment, my ability to fluidly “move on” was stifled. Some of the happiest days of my life had occurred in this house.
I know I’ll never have the experience of delivering a baby (science refuses to give me the “Go” card); nor will I ever gaze at my newborn seeing his Daddy’s eyes looking back at me or his grandfather’s expressions, or wonder if he’ll have his mother’s unrelenting love of arguing; nor will I be able hold my swollen belly with curiosity and excitement.
But, I had my “moment” in the bathroom that day and that is all I need. Our little Jeremiah has given us everything my biology hasn’t. Every child who has come into our lives has given us that “first” that all parents have been able to experience: Jeremiah walked for the first time with us, little Baby C gave us his very first smile, Baby T-his first crawl, his first word, his first smile as well as our first experience at an amazing reunification story. Now, we have this new little guy that we’ve been able to nurture back to health in the past 8 weeks and it’s difficult to imagine how close he was to an unimaginable fate, as he giggles at me daily behind his deliciously chubby cheeks and toothless grin. As I write this he’s heavily asleep on my chest knowing he’s safe, secure and loved. These are all my moments, very different from the norm, I’m aware, but beyond fulfilling nonetheless.
I don’t need that house to remember those moments, they are forever engrained in my happy memory. So I’ll continue to move on, enjoying every little moment and every new experience.