The night before possession of our house, we gathered to say good bye. It was quiet and somber.  We walked through each room, sharing stories of favorite memories.  Tango went off into the yard, Jon and Payton went upstairs and I was left in the basement alone for a moment.

I sat on the floor of Zane’s empty bedroom.  I closed my eyes and I asked him to join me. I thought of all the conversations we had in this room; of all the plans he made to change up this room at his next birthday.  I thought of all the parties he had with friends and the many sleepless nights at his desk studying for the next exam. This was his suite we called it.  It was his place. It is the room I will miss most of all the rooms in this house.

We gathered outside, next to the tree that Zane had planted in grade 3, each of us with a shot of Jameson’s to toast our home, the memories made here and to Zane. And with that we closed the doors and went back to our new abode.

When I first found this condo, through a dream with Zane, it was to be my healing place. I am not sure what that meant; I just knew that coming here would be of value to my mourning.  Every night I would pull up the real estate listing and fantasize about living there.  I would be with the dog.  My husband was not usually a part of it; grief is a solitary journey.    I had this little place decorated in my mind.  I had each of my beloved possessions placed perfectly in its tiny spaces. It brought me comfort to play this game after a long tiring day.

Alas, here I am. Reality is that I share this space with Jon.  Reality is that many, many compromises were made and saying goodbye to several beloved pieces was not a choice. I am so grateful to my sister and daughter for ‘adopting’ the things that I could not bear depart with but had no room for here.

I listen to friends and family and I hear that they are hopeful I will heal here.  This has forced me to move Zane’s things, albeit they are still with me or in storage. The move puts me in a new place that has no reminders of all the memories I cherished at the old home. And yet those did come here with me; memories do not have a fixed address. They move easy.

I found solace in being in the place my son grew up in and knew. Grief does not live in a house; it lives in your heart.  And although I am comfortable and enjoying the reduced work that a small space brings, my grief is as big as it has always been. In fact, there is a new emotion attached to my grief; the fear that I will not have the same feelings of connection with my son that I had there. 

So I ask for signs to let me know he has my change of address.  Sitting on my new patio, in the quiet sunny afternoon, a bunny comes through the complex and hops right up to our place. It sat still, looking up at me and not moving. Even the dog noticed but stayed quiet. I whispered, “Thank you Zane, and keep the signs coming.”