tangible evidence of the life we built

We spent the day sorting through the garage and the basement. Sorting through your life, basically. Your clothes, your car, your work bag, those are all things that remind me of you but they aren’t really… you. Having to touch everything that was sacred to you, your tools and your workshop, and your garden supplies… cheesily enough, parts of it felt intimate. We shared absolutely everything in our lives, but I never went into the garage or the basement. Those were yours. And here we are, pawing through all your stuff, item by item, deciding what to scrap and what to keep.

Both of the kids are in absolute bliss. Ford is finally able to crawl around and have (almost) free range of every space he’s in. There are no sharp edges or uncovered outlets or brick fireplaces like there have been everywhere else we go. We spent years making this space safe for Axl and you worked so hard in the last year to make sure it would also be safe for Ford.

Axl is seeing most of his toys and books for the first time in six months and he is thrilled. Anything he was too young for in January or needed a lot of help to do, he’s now mastered. His slide, his outdoor toys, his race car tracks. He is brave and adventurous in a way he wasn’t six months ago. Seeing him in these spaces and with these memories of him being four and a half make it obvious how much he has grown. Like everything else these days, it both breaks and mends my heart. To see him back in this house where he was happy and had a daddy but how clear it is that he is also happy in Vermont and so glad to have a Kiwi and an Aunt Dawwi and a Mimi and Papa. He’s doing the best he ever has in his whole little life, frankly. I thought it would be tough to help him navigate the fact we had to come back to this old life but that it was temporary, that this is where daddy died but it’s also where daddy made great memories with us. 

Our days so far have just been telling endless stories about you. I think you probably like that. I hope it makes you proud how many of these stories I retained; I know I’m impressed how much of you I seemed to have absorbed. I know things I’ve never known; I understand concepts I’ve struggled to understand my entire life. I have gained this innate ability to calmly problem solve that I swear to god came directly from you. My inability to make decisions seemed to evaporate in thin air. I don’t hear your voice in my ear leading me, but I feel you when I have to figure something out. I know exactly what you would do or say or how you would handle something, and then I just… do that. But I do it in my own way, however it feels most genuine. You’re not even here and yet my thoughts are often an exact replica of conversations we would’ve had in order to make decisions. Sorting through our stuff hasn’t been hard so far; I feel pretty intrinsically which things you’d want me to keep and which you’d want me to toss. And I’m sure you’re fuming about some of the stuff I’m tossing, but I also know you’re proud of what I’m doing with most of it.

I can’t believe we moved into this house just before Axl’s first birthday. Almost to the exact day four years ago. Because it’s been sitting empty for six months and my realtor hid away a lot of our stuff to stage for pictures, it even feels stagnant and half-empty like it did as we were moving in. It was summer then, too, and we sweat our way through unpacking the same way we’re doing now as we pack up. But it’s an entirely different experience doing it with our two kids and my family. I know you would’ve loved that Darri and my mom are the ones here doing this with me yet again. Just as we did it together from the day you died for 2 weeks straight, we are doing now, again–rotating through taking care of the kids, and getting shit done. It’s so nice to have constant help with the boys; it truly feels like a vacation these past 2 days even if we’re working hard and it’s been emotional. I am still loving being here and enjoying the smallest of comforts:

I got to use my favorite mug today. Axl got to play with all his garage toys. We ordered out twice. Ford is sleeping great. We all have our own rooms again. I got to use my ice machine. I got to show off so many of our treasures and tell so many stories of ours. Ford has started mimicking “hiiii!” with a wave of his arm. We found a bag of your fishing stuff I’d never seen before. I’m getting to sleep in our bed again.

Last night I sobbed for a long time. Tonight I don’t feel like crying at all. The amount we talked about you today makes it almost feel like you’ve been here. They may not be your blood relatives, but it feels like my family knows you so well. And I know they all love you like you were their own.

Seeing Dawn and Brian and some of the other neighbors has been such a comfort too. Everyone is being so sweet and generous. These are the people who knew you best on the day-to-day and they all loved you. Seeing Ford for the first time choked many of them up. I’ve been turning on your patio lights and sitting outside for a hit or two of weed at night. I wonder if seeing that sort of activity out of their windows when it’s been dark and empty for months and months brings them heartache, or joy to see me paying homage to you. Being on this property at all feels like one giant toast to you. We miss you, we hate being without you, but we love you.

I know these are all just things, but I really look forward to having all these relics of our life together with me all the time. Getting to buy a new house and move in our bed and couch and dishes and store all your tools in the basement is going to feel so comforting. Even though we feel so at home in our tiny little Vermont cabin, being here feels like returning home for real. And I know that once I have all these things in our next space, I will get to feel this feeling again. I will feel what “home” feels like again, even if I need to dismantle it for a bit. It’s not going anywhere. The home in my heart is you, and I get to take that wherever I go now. Being surrounded by all of our possessions just gives me physical evidence of that life, your heart, our home. 

I need tangible evidence of the life we built together at all times. Thankfully, I have that with our kids.

I’m exhausted. Mom and Darri go back to Vermont tomorrow. It’s the 4th of July. Axl’s birthday is in 2 days. Dawn and Brian want to throw us a cookout and get him a cake. The movers have to come do a walkthrough and I’m terrified how much I feel like I underestimated how much stuff we have. It’s going to be a LOT of work. I have my work cut out for me this week. But I’m so confident I can do it. Even if I struggle, even if I sacrifice a little sleep or sanity, I will get it done. I’ve forgotten over the last decade how much I was able to survive on my own and it’s time to remind myself.