I think I can, I think I can, I think (hope) I can .. .. ..

As I approach this three day weekend, I think about all the things I can accomplish around the house.  And then I realize my house is really clean.  So ... there's not a lot to do...

Except...

I think it's time to tackle my dresser.  The dresser that has everything from the hospital.  Footprints, pictures, cards, notes, baby clothes ... Everything I haven't been able to bear going through for the past six months.  Now, though, I think it's time I work through this and begin the closure and healing that we need.

The thing is, there isn't a lot to go through.  Just a few small stacks.  Those few small stacks, though, hold mountains of emotion and pain.  I think, with anxiety, of seeing his little foot prints.  Of holding his little outfits.  Of reading through the masses of cards we received.  I still feel awful - and guilty - that I've never thanked those who reached out to us.  Truth be told, I couldn't tell you who the cards came from.  Everything is such a haze and blur.  I have no recollection of even opening or reading them. 

I plan to start a bin for all of these things. I am hoping I can remove the vinyl lettering from his wall and somehow adhere it to the side of this bin.  I will put in it the cards... the hospital papers.  I will put in it a blanket or two. An outfit or two. His binkies with his name on them... the blocks from his baby shower that spell out Colton.  Anything personalized will go into this box.  Anything that I cannot bear thinking of another baby using. 

If I can make it through that part, I will work on his room.  I will fold up the pack and play and put it away.  It's still sitting in the middle of his room; I had just put it together the Sunday before we confirmed he was gone. I will dust the furniture, vacuum the floor.  I will wash and put away the blankets that are gathering dust around the room.

I will probably sit in the rocker and cry.

Hopefully, though, I will heal.  I will close the pain into that box and let go of the heaviness of the task.  I will be able to release the anxiety of packing the hopes and dreams, the condolences and pain, into a box to honor and remember Colton.

Hopefully.