Home Improvement

Let me begin this post with a very important statement: I have not abandoned proper paragraph formation. That is not a side effect of grief. In all my years of post-secondary education, I only took one computer class, and I didn't really pay attention. Also, that class was 12 years ago. The reason for my non-existent paragraphs is that I do not know how to format on the iPhone. The iPhone is a mysterious little computer that I can't figure out. [I have since edited this post to update the paragraph formation. Perfectionist habits die hard.]

 We are still in Park City, and I am having a hard day. It's just too much for my heart to write about everything I'm feeling right now, so those posts will have to wait. Plus, I do want to enjoy the beauty of this place and not be tied to my phone this whole time.

 So, after all that, I have finally arrived at the substance behind the title of this post. We live in a 1970s ranch-style home in central Phoenix. It has four bedrooms, but three of them are very small. We sacrificed size for location. Weston's arrival meant losing our guest room for his bedroom, but we love our neighborhood and had no plans to move. We still have no plans to move. Sadly, the guest bedroom will remain a guest room. One good thing about bed rest is that I was not able to work on converting the guest room into Weston's room. I am SO GLAD for that now. Having an empty nursery might have sent me over the edge.

 Anyone who has been to my house knows that I LOVE decorating, and I think I'm pretty good at it. I'm glad the creativity gene didn't leave me out completely, with my poet sister and musician brothers...Anyway, in addition to my love of decorating, I have been on a mass clutter reduction kick over the last 8 months or so. Part of that was because we were planning to have Weston, and it was a necessity. But I also wanted to simplify our lives, reduce our environmental footprint, and try to be less of a consumer in general. With my love of decorating, I have amassed a lot of knick knacks over the years. But now I want the things I surround myself with to be meaningful. 

The other thing about pre-hospital, home bed rest without a toddler there: I had LOTS of time to stare at everything in the house and decide what needs to be done. We have done extensive remodeling, but there is always more to be done. While I would rather have my son back than anything else, we now have a lot of stuff by which to remember him. Some of it is beautiful, but all of it is meaningful, and it is the only external thing we have to honor his existence. I don't want this stuff shoved in a box collecting dust; I want it front and center in my home. So, enter the two projects we will be undertaking this fall. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who you ask), these projects will be small and inexpensive. Which means Shannon will have to do it.

 Project one: the intercom system. This thing is a 1970s relic. It still works. But it is ugly and huge. Our house isn't big enough to need it: yelling across the house is usually sufficient. The main GIANT panel is in the kitchen on a wall that extends to the great room. We look at that wall every time we eat. There are some pictures on it, but I am not digging the arrangement of the wall as a whole. This wall would be a perfect place for some of our beautiful pictures of Weston and, perhaps, displaying some other items BUT FOR the intercom panel. So it has to come down, so I can use the entire wall. Ripping out the panel will also entail some electrical work, drywall, and texturing of about three square feet of wall space.

 The second project: the fireplace. This is less about displaying our Weston memories and more about tradition. And it is something I have wanted to do for a long time. We have a brick fireplace. Yes, I know we live in Phoenix, and I do acknowledge that we have only used it twice in the five winters we have lived in this house. But we do not have a mantel. Every brick fireplace needs a mantel. Especially if you have children: where else does one hang stockings at Christmas? Weston will always be a part of our family, and I want him to have a stocking and a place to hang it.

 These two seemingly trivial things seem quite urgent to me now. Admittedly, home improvement projects will distract me from this grief that otherwise will engulf me, especially after Shannon goes back to work. But it also might help with healing in a way: with all of Weston's things neatly hung or otherwise displayed, he is a prominent person in our family, but without all of the current chaos of overflowing memory boxes, funeral home documents, etc.that engulf our dinner table and the chaotic grief that threatens to overtake our lives. The control freak in me is still hanging on: while I had no control over Weston leaving this earth and the subsequent excruciating pain that goes along with it, I can control how my home reflects his existence.