This was after we put this gem up on the wall in our dining room (well, dining area, it's open to the living room) that we picked up in Vermont, which started a snowball effect of organizing as we moved all kinds of furniture around and it was a perfect time to organize and purge:
|That "painting" is a blown up print of these pressed flower prints that a woman who was a backbone of the community in Grafton created, and after she passed her children made them into prints.|
We loved the story behind this piece of art, we loved its organic quality, and the size just fit PERFECTLY in that spot. To get it there we dismantled a baker's rack that was basically a crap-collector, and moved our bar to the back room where we can still use it but it's a little less, um, accessible. That dresser was in the bathroom upstairs, and was largely empty because it used to hold all the baby washcloths and towels and bath toys, and we hadn't filled it with anything...since. (We need to get a sideboard for under the other painting, which is funny because the one I bought for my office would fit PERFECTLY and go with the furniture so we'll just have to get another one since I'm not giving up my perfect piece!)
|See, doesn't the bar look nice there, at the end of the wonderland that is Bryce's man office?|
While cleaning up the upstairs, I had a tub that was sitting in the bedroom, next to my sock cabinet (don't ask). Bryce asked, "What are we doing with this one?"
Oh, that one.
It was the tub of things we wanted to keep -- onesies we bought on trips, or that were bought for us, or knit things made for a baby that didn't come, or stuffed animals I wasn't quite ready to get rid of, and a beautiful owl puppet that I need to figure out how to use in my daily life, books we were given with the nameplate stickers with messages to Mystery Baby who will forever remain a mystery, and all our cards and the guestbook from our showers.
Ordinarily that sort of thing would be a shove into a pit of incredible sadness and encountering it would put me in a funk for a long, long while. But I just looked through it, and while there's definitely sadness there, it didn't ruin my day. I didn't even cry. I played with the puppet. And then I decided you know what? I don't have to decide today, either, and we can put it in a storage nook we have in an eave behind a wall in our bedroom and figure it all out later. If I want to give it to someone, if I want to keep it in a tub to revisit from time to time, if I want to rescue the owl puppet from its plastic tomb.
I don't know how that didn't make me unbearably sad, other than that I am truly healing. I am truly reaching that point of acceptance where I can say, "that didn't work out, and my life is different now, and that's okay -- more than okay, because our life will be beautiful despite our loss, and maybe in part because of it."
Yeah. That sounds pretty good to me.
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