The Baby I Never Met

If things had gone a little differently, I’d likely be in the middle of preparations for a little one’s second birthday.  According to my math, the due date would have August 8^th, though it was never confirmed for sure and I’m well aware that there can be weeks between the due date and the actual arrival.  I thought I’d convinced myself the date meant nothing.  Instead I have been overcome with grief and, instead of it being the normal kind that just makes me feel bad, a nice (un)healthy dose of guilt has come along with it. 

Home Hunting

A few months ago, my Dad sold the home I grew up in and, since I live an ocean away, much of what I had stored there got moved to the new place with him. 

Part of my recent holiday was spent sorting boxes of keepsakes into keep and toss piles, which was surprisingly more emotional for me than I thought it would be.  I have always chosen to take part or to go places rather than to buy things so discovering I was so sentimental came as quite a shock.  I dug through a mass of books, school assignments, posters, cassette tapes, playbills, ticket stubs, favourite toys as well as boxes of items made by my grandparents, given to me by family, and created by my mother. It struck me that all that I kept reminded me of what made me who I am.  Unfortunately, some of it had been damaged beyond repair. Other items just seemed too silly to keep.