Yes, even laundry can make me cry six months later.
Tonight, I noticed a sock had gotten pushed under the washer. When I dragged it out, I felt something else under there. I had to get a clothes hanger to snag whatever else was under there (expecting another sock) and pulled out instead this-
I guess it was dropped on the floor during the week of insane nesting between us moving in and Ember’s birth, and has been waiting under there for six months to ambush me with memories.
It’s actually not the first time the laundry room’s ambushed me. Maybe a week after Ember’s birth, I was half-heartedly washing clothes (only because of my S-daughter who I refused to have running around naked even in the total fog I was very much in, though she might have if I let her). When I picked up one shirt, I uncovered another, and it was dark pink striped and kinda fuzzy. It looked so much like the sleeper I’d laid out for Ember to wear when we came home from the hospital I almost lost it. It wasn’t (at the time the sleeper was probably still waiting on the dresser) instead it was actually another of SD’s shirts, and after looking at it closer, the stripes weren’t the same but it was still a punch to my heart.
It’s all around. Things that sometimes gently stir up memories of carrying her, and sometimes slap me in the face. Usually it’s mostly good, I try and make sure to hold all the memories close but sometimes the pure shock of something is just insane. I mean, Ember never came home. She only ever wore two outfits, one of which came home with us. By the time she was born I’d washed and put all her clothes into her dresser, besides the ones ready for her to come home and now it’s been six months Really, who would be expecting to find her clothes around the house?
In the next couple months we’ll be moving. Since we moved in, we planned to only be here six months or so, till something else opened up where we wanted to live. I’m having trouble accepting leaving this house now. We picked it for one reason only- it was the only place we could find we could move into by July 1st. Nine months pregnant and very much sure that we wouldn’t be making 40 weeks, we decided not to wait. It was the right decision, because three days later early labor began. When we left home on July 6th, we thought we’d be coming home with Ember in a couple days.
We didn’t though, and this house has been both the center of my grief and my refuge from the world. It makes me detest it for the very fact that only days after moving in our world crashed but at the same time…. Ember’s room is here. How on earth can we leave it? It was here we arranged the quilt rack and rocking chair and planned where to put all her baby accessories. This was supposed to be her home, and though she didn’t come back here with us, it still feels that way to me. We can’t live here forever, and don’t want to but still leaving feels so very wrong.
I can’t imagine there are any more surprises hiding around the house. I’ve turned it upside down too many times looking for other things, but the next house will be post Ember. No chance of onesies under the washer. No memories of Ember tucked into it at all.