The pretty blue bassinet that I adored when Isaiah was a baby sits in my living room, freshly washed and ready for a new baby.
It had been sitting in our closet for going on four years, a constant reminder of my failure.
We moved it to this house so we would have it for the next baby. We never had any problems having the three boys, we just assumed in two years another baby would come along. And our plan went pretty well, Isaiah would have been 2 years 3 months when Kai was due.
As you know, our plans were destroyed when we lost Kai.
Still I held on to the bassinet, with faith that one day there would be a baby for us. Four years and six miscarriages later, there is no baby.
I can't bring myself to bring it to the new house and stare at it for four more years, empty and gathering dust.
Moving to a new house gives us a fresh start.
No more reminders of all the pain we have faced in the years we have lived here. Well can't exactly say NO reminders, we still have Kai's ashes. I can't even begin to contemplate what I should do with them. I can't bare the thought of parting with them, yet knowing my son's final resting place is a cardboard box doesn't feel right either.
Not that I want to, or ever could forget. I just can't take seeing the empty bassinet every time I open the closet door.