Our house *feels* different now. The same home, same things, just different. As if I stepped into some parallel world where everything looks exactly the same, but doesn’t feel quite right. It doesn’t feel like home.
Walking around, I catch reminders of Sabine and of the past week. They are both painful and happy–memories that are still so bittersweet. A part of me wants to purge everything that reminds me of those awful past few days, and then the other part of me wants to leave things they way they are; a reminder of my last sweet moments with my little girl.
Sabine’s downstairs set-up
girlie blanket that sabine loved
Camp Sabine #2 – Upstairs bathroom
“Tako” — one of her favorite toys
Empty window seat, where she used to sleep when I was at the computer
sweatshirt bed, and plenty of friends to keep her company upstairs
I know a little how this works — I know that keeping things they way they are won’t bring back Sabine. That I have to let go. That these are just physical memories, when the important thing to take away and remember about Sabine are things like her love and patience and innocence. The problem is, it still feels like she’s physically here, and yet, I know she’s not.
If I knew, four years ago, when I picked Sabine up from the pound, that I’d end up in this place of sad emptiness, having gone through a horrific week of emotional highs, and lows only to culminate in my little girl dying in my arms–if I knew then that it would turn out this way, I’d still do it. I’d do it all again a million times over. I would still choose, and love, my Sabine.