The nursery is ready for the new baby.
Henry's bed has been disassembled; the crib is up. His clothing is stored; hers is washed, folded, and waiting for her in his old dresser. We did leave a number of his things out, comfort items for us, but the room is most certainly not his anymore.
It was difficult, but not impossible.
Both Mr. Smak and I expressed an unexpected sense of relief at "the putting away" of his things. It brought a physical reality to the emotional moving on that we are all doing.
I see, as the months slip by, my connections to Henry weakening. It's not intentional, it's the way of all things. The longer he's gone, the less I remember. The less I miss him. The less I spend time thinking of him, thinking of sickness, thinking of his death, of the lessons his death taught me.
I have struggled with guilt over this, while knowing that this change is normal, natural, and out of my control. We were talking about it yesterday, and Mr. Smak said, "Just because you miss him less now, doesn't mean you loved him any less then."
I thought about that all day...it was so profound, and comforting.