If you are friends with Stefan or me on Facebook, you know that our house is undergoing a major renovation. We signed on our house in April 2000, when Maggie was three weeks old, and moved in when she was five weeks old (moving with a newborn helps if you don’t want to do any of the lifting). Over the years, we haven’t done much. The biggest project before this was tearing down our old detached garage so we had more yard for the kids.
Stefan has wanted to add on to the house for years. Last year, it finally happened. We had gone before the zoning board in 2016 and were approved for an addition, and work started last summer. From the outside, the addition looks like a whole other house, but it’s not as big inside since it includes an attached garage, which is pretty big.
So, by winter, the addition was in place and we just left it as it was–a garage, a large open room on the second floor, and then a bonus third floor half-room we like to call The Penthouse. When spring arrived, it was time to work some magic inside…put up walls, make decisions on use of the space. Well, our house is old. Like 1890s old. At least the original portion of the house is. While we didn’t do much to it over the last 18 years, previous owners did make some changes. When Stefan started working on getting the addition to flow with the rest of the house, he realized there were some serious structural issues. Oh, and some squirrel carcasses.
The kids, the dogs, and I have been staying at my mom’s since Mother’s Day. We are so thankful and lucky to have a place that’s close to home and school to stay. Initially, Stefan told me to pack until Tuesday. Well, it’s been more than a month of Tuesdays, but the end seems to be in sight. For much of the last few weeks I have stayed away from our deconstruction zone. When I go, I get sad. I cry. Stefan thinks there’s something wrong with the house, and doesn’t understand why I’m upset. I should be over the moon to soon have a practically brand new house, but all I can think when I walk around is that it’s not her house anymore. The stairs she would bound down, all gangly and goofy, are gone. Her posters, which she hung and were supposed to stay, ended up coming down so the plaster could be replaced. The floors she walked on are mostly gone.
Some bereaved families move after the death of their child. The memories are too much, too sad. For me, being able to picture her in our house was comforting. Now, it will be like we moved, but without changing our address. I know Maggie is always with us. I know it doesn’t matter where we are or where we live, but for me, it’s just one more thing. One more change she’s not here for. One more reminder that she’s not here (not that I need any reminders). One more thing to grieve.
We plan to have an open house when everything is done, so friends and family can see the fruits of Stefan’s labor and vision. I know it will be amazing when complete, but it will take awhile for me to adjust.