We're in the midst of moving. I am in a zone, and so when people ask how I'm feeling about leaving, I'm more consumed with whether my vases will smash, rather than anything overly sentimental.
In my head though, I'm crying.
I'm crying, because soon, I'm not going to be able to say, 'Oh, put it in Bear's room.' Or, 'I'm just going to sit in Bear's room.'
Because we're leaving Bear's room....
We still have his things, his chair, his pictures and keepsakes, but there is something about him also having a physical space in our home that I find hugely comforting.
I know he's coming with us wherever we go. And that really, his room is no more special or poignant than anywhere else on this earth, I just like being able to refer to it, like a normal Mummy, in conversation.
It sounds crazy I expect, but everytime I see his little chubby Bear face, I feel a surge of love. Love, and then sadness.
This journey, with all its twists and turns is so unbelievably cruel.