I can feel it coming.
Every single day toward...what?
I'm not sure how to say it.
Certainly not a celebration.
Not a lot of things.
But something...worth the pain remembering brings.
Blue skies and yellow daffodils.
I can't wear brown pants because they remind me.
How do I plan for it?
The moving-on has happened all around me.
I pulled the wreath from the earth...drawing the stand legs out of the mud with a silent wish.
But there was only the same silence as from the beginning.
In my head I rearrange my house and realize my bed stands where the crib was supposed to be with a baby boy who never came home.
Today we set up the new room for the baby boy who did come home.
He sleeps in the same crib in a different spot.
And I weep.