A little less like neglect

So.  A few weeks ago, I returned to the house we were selling (also known as the house where Monkey last was) to empty it.  We'd moved in a bit of a hurry (our house sale fell through, we weren't going to move then Pickle got into a good school so we decided to move anyway) and had been emptying the house in dribs and drabs.  I knew this was going to be the penultimate visit to the house (subject to everything going to plan!) and was a little apprehensive but I was focussed and okay.

Then the new purchasers popped over to measure up.  They're lovely.  We vaguely knew them before.  I knew that they had a duaghter who was stillborn and had empathised with them previously but hadn't mentioned Monkey - it was too raw at the time.  I was in the playroom with Liz (some of the playroom used to be Monkey's bedroom) and she pointed to where his bedroom was and said that was going to be her yoga room.  I really wanted to tell her about Monkey but couldn't speak.

Finally, we were all chatting in the kitchen and Liz mentioned that she's on a rota to mow the churchyard and I burst into tears (in a snorting kind of way) and had to leave the room.  She came after me (my husband didn't notice!!) and was lovely.  She knew about Monkey and had wanted to offer to place flowers on his plaque at appropriate times of the year if I wanted her to.  I don't need her to do that but occassionally wiping the grass away - that would be good.  To be honest just knowing there's somewhere there who knows his ashes (well some of them) are there is a good thing.  Feels a little less like neglect.  Thank you Liz.  And we have an open invite to pop in for tea if we are visiting.  It is nice to feel that I am not letting go completely.  Or at least that I don't have to if I don't want to.  Although the reality of going back in the future is a bit strange and I think that maybe there are only so many times I can say goodbye/cry.

We returned a couple of weeks later as Pickle wanted to say goodbye to the house properly and to go to the church.  I went with the boys to the churchyard and we left some beautiful orange gerberas.  I left a note which I read to the boys and Wotsit asked why I was talking strangely.  Pickle said he knew why and gave me a mammoth hug.

However much I tell myself that you are not there Monkey, it hurts.  It feels like a step away from you and I'm sorry.  If you'd been here, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have left.  I don't think I could have changed your care again.  But you're not here and I know it's okay that we've moved.  Things are going well and your brothers still talk about you all the time.  Wotsit is so like you and so interested in you (and dying generally!).  In some ways you are most definitely still with us.  

I love you beautiful boy. I miss you x