Tear Stains and Paint Cans

With Frac and Jumby's birthdays just around the corner it means I'm up to my eyes redecorating their shared room. (I live in a shoebox, my kids are lucky we have enough room for their own beds.) Besides the sanding, the priming and painting, beyond the expected cussing I'll do when trying to hang electrical fixtures by myself and past the dreaded assembly of Ikea furniture, there is something I've been absolutely dreading about doing this bedroom.

I have to sort through the remains of my dead kid's stuff.

Stuff that I've avoided for the past five years. Memories I've refused to relive as I packed away the bulk of his life into boxes. There isn't much left of Bug in that room; most of his stuff was cleared out to make room when Jumby arrived.

But there are remnants.

Remnants of love.

Memories of nights when I'd crawl into bed beside Bug and rub his tummy as he fought to sleep. Memories of inhaling his smell as I listened to his older brother snore across the room. Memories of Bug crying. Laughing.

The last time I redecorated this room was five years ago. Five days later he died. I haven't redecorated it since.

It's time now.

Time for me to put a new coat of love over the paint of our past. It's time, my head keeps telling me.

My heart just doesn't hear so well these days.

I really didn't think it would be this hard. I was wrong. I'm having a hard time letting go.

I'll be back when the room is done. With pictures.

I'm just having a hard time.

Missing you kid.