When I look back on those days, in my mind the images are blurred, all white around the edges. But ask me a question and I can tell you the correct answer in an instant. We stayed at my parent’s house while we planned Gus’ funeral. Neither my husband nor I were ready to go home just yet. Our home was no longer. We spent our days surrounded by friends and family, planning our darling child’s farewell and trying to come to terms with our new normal. When Frank and I had fallen pregnant with Gus, our relationship was only new. We’d been together for six months or so. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, but that didn’t make him any less wanted. Frank and I moved in together, and got married by the time I was seven months pregnant. We were both so excited, and so nervous, to meet our new baby. We’d created a dream nursery that would easily transition into a toddler’s room and then a school age child’s room. We’d painted the walls in warm white with grey blue trims. Then, we’d purchased framed alphabet pictures and hung them around the room. It was warm, inviting and cosy. Everything we wanted for our new bundle of joy.
