I wander around my house doing my normal things most days. I get up, get dressed, get my coffee, and decide what chores I’ll do. Some days I just can’t bring myself to do much. My purpose has been taken from me so I’m a bit lost. I still look around and find something to do, though. Occasionally, paperwork requires that something be printed. Our printer is in the downstairs room. The Playroom. We transformed it for Madison a while back because she just needed her own space. She was the only one in the family who liked toys and regularly played with them. Most days, her toys were all over the first floor of our house. She would bring them down from the upstairs room we multi-purposed to include her toys. I knew this would go on for years based on the experience of being Madison’s mom. We got rid of older toys and books and made her a room downstairs that has all of her favorites and made putting her things away a bit easier. It is a place for her to do what she wants to do. Her pictures are on the walls, her Monster Trucks are organized in one of those hanging shoe storages on the back of the door. She has a large chalkboard gifted to our family to draw on and help her practice writing. There’s a large world map and a whole wall of shelves for whatever interested her. She has a low table to play on and little soft stools to sit on. There’s a trunk given to us by family that we use for costume storage. It’s all her stuff and it’s a room in which I have a very hard time spending a lot of time. The moment I walk in and stand still, my world starts to spin looking at everything. There are pictures, books, toys, memories. It’s everywhere. She spent so much time in there because she couldn’t sit still for a minute. She had to play with something and do something with her hands. The only times I’ve spent in there have resulted in complete breakdowns. It’s too much of her. It comes too close. All I can hear are the noises from her Paw Patrol toys, her little Cozmo robot, and the excitement over all of her Monster Trucks. She has an impressive collection if I do say so myself.
We talk about donating her books and toys sometimes, then I go in there and can’t do it. I think all of it will eventually be boxed up and saved in case we’re lucky enough to become grandparents. I can’t part with the things Madison touched and enjoyed. All her favorite things. How could I?
Memory is a funny thing. It’s heartbreaking but wonderful, painful but joyful. That we have so many memories, so many pictures, and videos is a blessing. I can’t imagine not being able to hear her voice again. But the hardest part is not being able to touch her, to hug her, and just have her in our space and watch her grow. We miss her terribly.