Stuff

Ever since I became a mother, I have been more conscious of "stuff." It started when I was pregnant with Caroline when I realized that we had already filled up our four-bedroom house with crap. And there were only two of us! One bedroom was more of a receptacle for random furniture and other stuff that we didn't really use, and that room had to become Caroline's nursery. Then, I made my first trip to Babies r Us. Let me just warn all you folks who have not started your parenting journeys: Babies r Us will scare the crap out of you the first time you go there.

After Caroline arrived, and grew, and played with toys, and kept growing, and acquired more toys, I realized we we needed to draw the line somewhere or our house would start to resemble a daycare center. Not that there's anything wrong with that. We wanted fewer quality toys that Caroline would actually play with, rather than truckloads of poor-quality things that would just break or wear out. So we started purging.

This urge to purge carried over into other areas of our lives as well. I got rid of a lot of clothes, canceled magazine subscriptions, tried to cook more, etc. We still have not tackled the garage, but by the time I found out I was pregnant with Weston, the whole house was fairly clutter-free, except for Weston's would-be closet. His room was still a guest room, so we were going to need to sell the queen-sized bed as well in order to convert the guest room into a nursery.

I had been trying to buy less stuff as well. It's better for our budget, easier on the environment, and healthier for my soul to not be so attached to inanimate objects and/or shopping. I also figured that two kids would destroy all that stuff anyway. With all of Caroline's big-ticket items being gender-neutral, we wouldn't even have had to go shopping for baby stuff (except the dreaded double-jogging stroller), and I know enough families with little boys that we would have enough boy clothes to get by for a while.

Our house was robbed four years ago, and I completely freaked out. I had a panic attack when I went back to work. It's embarrassing to think about now. We had an alarm system installed immediately, and I developed new and paranoid habits that I will continue forever. Our house was not damaged at all, but our electronics and some other things were stolen. We lost all of our music and photographs, because our computer, iPods, and cameras were stolen, which was awful. Although I felt incredibly violated, I was relieved that it was just stuff: no one was hurt. That helped me to appreciate the ephemeral nature of material items (but not ephemeral in the environmental sense, of course).

So, in five paragraphs, there is a highly-abbreviated synopsis of my newly-evolved philosophy on clutter, consumerism, and stuff. Until now.

Weston is gone. That guest room intended for him will never be his nursery. He will never sit in the high chair, or in the booster seat currently being used by his big sister, or in a chair at the table. He will never sit in the bouncy seat, swing in the baby swing, or lie on the floor under the play gym. He will never need the changing table. He will never have a little tricycle or bicycle taking up space in the garage, and he will never sit in the carseat and take up space in the car. He will never ride in the stroller. We do not need a double stroller now. I will never carry him in the baby carrier. He will never need the infant bathtub. He will never sleep in the crib or be rocked to sleep by me or his daddy in the glider. Weston will never take up space in our house. I haven't really grasped that fact yet; it hurts too much.

Since Weston's death, I have been obsessed with hanging onto every item that has anything to do with him. The hospital did a wonderful job of giving us everything I never knew I wanted, like his leg and back rolls and his eye mask that he wore when he was under the bili-lights. I will keep it all forever, and we have stacks and stacks of his stuff on the dining room table. I now have this obsession of tracking, photographing, and describing in detail every item that was either a part of Weston's life or an item we have now by which to remember him. I'm trying to do it elsewhere, so this blog doesn't become a total snooze-fest. But all of this stuff is not enough. I want more.

We have so many beautiful pictures to choose from, and we will frame many of them. I used to say I would feel sorry for our second-born child, because we would not be able to hang nearly as many pictures of him/her as Caroline. We have already used up a lot of wall space with pictures of her. But I no longer feel that way. Weston will be made larger than life in our home, because he doesn't get to have a life of his own. So there will be pictures, pictures, pictures.

Yesterday we found a high-quality, solid cedar chest for Weston's things at an antique store. We will have to paint it, but I have great ideas for it. It will be beautiful, and we will keep it in the family room where we can see it and look through it all the time. But putting things in there will be difficult, like I am relegating my only son to a box.

I already have my beautiful necklace with his ashes in it, but I want something with his birthstone (July ruby). And a necklace with his actual hand or footprint on it, like this. And a picture with his name written in the sand from here. And a tulle butterfly from here (but I have to make it-yikes!). And a Christmas stocking and tree ornament. And on and on and on...

We went to pick up Weston's ashes from the funeral home last week and were told they were in a cardboard box. We are leaving town for two weeks, and I had this horrible vision of our house burning down and the ashes burning with it. So the funeral home still has most of the ashes, except the small amount in my necklace and the other in Caroline's teddy bear.

Speaking of burning houses, if you had asked me a year ago what three items I would rescue from my burning home, I would have been hard-pressed to give an answer. As long as my family was safe, I didn't care what I lost. But now, I could never pick three things. How could I reduce Weston's existence to only three things?

I have a DVD copy of the slide show played at Weston's memorial service. But I can't figure out how to copy it to my iMac computer. Some stupid piracy thing. (If anyone can help me with this, please contact me! I am dumber than dumb when it comes to computers.) I am petrified that our house will be robbed again, or burn down, or our computer will crash, and we will have lost those things forever. I have even wondered briefly if we should have buried Weston instead of having him cremated. At least we couldn't lose his burial plot like we could lose the ashes.

It's silly and paranoid, I know. Weston has my heart, and no one or nothing can take that from me. And when we are reunited someday, I won't need any of this stuff because I will finally be with my baby again. Looking for that blessed hope...