Ray finally finished painting the back bedroom. And I can't bear to go in it. It's now a neutral blank room with no hint of what it might have been. Not that there was ever a hint of what it might have been. We never had a chance.
It should be full of little boy things. It should be filling up with new things.
As I watched Ray painting the soft white colour on the wall a sudden rush of tears sent me from the room and since then I can't quite seem to stop the weepies and the why us's. I broke our £1 recycling centre bathroom cabinet find while drilling screw holes into it, burst into tears and didn't stop for 20 minutes. I feel like a train wreck.
We have to move our bed into that little room soon so that our bedroom ceiling can be re-soundproofed, new carpet laid and the walls painted. I feel as if I will be trespassing in our children's never-space and I wonder if I will dream of my little lost babies. Perhaps they will haunt me there.
If Little P had lived we would have been 19 weeks. I only know that because I made a note of it in iCal and forgot to delete it.
I don't have five good things to end this week with, but I hope you do.
I will make next week better.