It's been six months now, and while on one hand that seems like such a short time on the other it feels like an eternity. Colton's room is still just as it was before we lost him. Nothing has moved, nothing has changed. And I often wonder what to do with it.
We plan on trying again. The timeline is a little blurred and uncertain, however we do know we want to try again. So I do not want to get rid of the things we'll ultimately need. The crib, dressers, blankets, clothes ... they all need to stay put. The clothes may or may not be used -- who knows what gender we'll get. But I hold on to them, and even if I do donate them someday some of them will stay with me, in a bin of "Colton's Stuff", to always keep as his.
Today, though, a friend of mine and I were talking about a young girl we know that's expecting her first child. She has very little and will struggle. And it was said that all the money she is making right now is going to buy diapers.
And it dawned on me I have hundreds - like 3 hundreds - of diapers sitting in a closet. Diapers that won't be used for at least a year. So I offered them. Then, immediately inside, panicked. Over diapers. I know that getting rid of the diapers do not get rid of the memory of Colton. I know this logically.
In a way, though, it almost feels that if I move anything out of that room I am giving away hope. I (feel like)am giving up on the idea that this room will be filled one day with a baby that will need them. I know that it's not rational, and I know that diapers are replaceable. I know that giving them away means nothing more than I don't need them right now and someone else could use them.
Still.
I will (probably) give her the diapers. And I will (probably) feel okay about it. And it (may) help me move forward and heal some more.
Though, I may just keep a few, just because they were his.
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