You can hardly see my son there, but there he is, in the trees we planted before he was born. And I stood in amazement at how high the trees have grown and how big he’s gotten since the last time we stood there.
Today, my son and I visited the backyard of the house we brought him home from the hospital to. It wasn’t our intention, really, to stop there, but maybe it was someone else’s because we ended up there. Even though we moved from this house four years ago, my son remembers it.
My husband laid the slate patio; he planted the trees. My son played in his water table here and found frogs and made little houses for them in the leaves here. He ran from this patio as a toddler and I remember sighing in frustration. Together, we weeded and roasted marshmallows in an open fire. We all have memories here but for me, most of mine are about my son, just a toddler when we left.
It’s fitting that we were here today because tomorrow, we make settlement on our new house–my son’s third home. Maybe he needed to come back to where he started in order to move on to the next thing? Or maybe I did?
When we left this home, I remember walking from room to room and calling his name. I had heard from a friend that when you have small children, you should do that so that their souls follow you. I did it in this home, all by myself, with tears streaming down my face. My husband thought I was silly and told me that we weren’t leaving our son there; he was going with us, after all. But in a way, my son’s babyhood was left here in this house and on this patio, shaded by these trees. And his soul remembers. Continue Reading