One of our parishioners gave me this lovely bunch of basil at church on Sunday. I popped it in a glass of water when I got home, and placed it onto our kitchen windowsill. I’ve been looking at it all day today, every time I pop in and out of the kitchen. It’s such a lovely, vibrant green. I love the freshness it adds to the room. One of these days, just maybe, we might start a herb garden of our own.
Last night, Angus pointed out to Rick during bedtime that there were a lot of photos of Cameron at our old house. For someone who is only three and a half, he understands a lot, notices everything and has an amazing memory. He knows that Cameron is a part of our family, even though he’s never met him. During bedtimes with Rick, he’ll tell Rick that he loves Cameron too, along with the rest of the family. He’s a beautiful boy, our Angus.
His comment about the photos of Cameron at our old place got me thinking: why haven’t I put up photos of Cam in our new home? After all, I can count on one hand how many framed photos we have: there’s one of the three boys in our family room; there’s one of Rick and me on our wedding day in the lounge; and there’s one of Angus and Pete with Rick in their room. Why didn’t I include Cameron’s photo somewhere? To think I didn’t even notice till Angus mentioned it. Such a contrast to when he first died, and I was desperate to fill our home with photos of him to help ease the pain.
Still, some things don’t change.
I experience the same stab of sadness when Angus is labelled our “first,” or Pete our “second,” or Jamie our “third.” I notice the empty seat at our dinner table every night. I weep when I read stories of other women whose babies were born sleeping. I continue to wonder what might have been if I’d been induced earlier. I still wish we had all four boys here with us instead of just three.
Tonight, I shall put up a photo of Cameron in our family room.
And I have no doubt Angus will be the first to notice in the morning.
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