Change...

Change. I'm not a big fan of it. I like routine. I like familiarity. 

When we first moved in to our house, Atticus was in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Isaac in another. After he was diagnosed we moved him down stairs since for the first few weeks he wasn't able to walk well and definitely could not do stairs. 

For 4 1/2 months, the guest bedroom downstairs was his bedroom. Grandma Becky and Auntie Stacie did a great job of putting it together for us.

That room has been through many emotional changes.  Good and bad. 

For 4 1/12 months his room was bright and cheery. Covered with posters and pictures. Banners and cards. It was a room full of love and encouragement that he could do it and he had a world wide club fan going. A lot of time was spent in that room.

Then it changed. Atticus left us. I had Jenny buy a baby gate before everyone got here for the funeral because I wanted NO ONE in his room but me. I didn't want anything touched. I didnt' want anything taking his smell away. I would spend hours in the night and early morning hours holding on to his favorite blankets or stuffed animals crying and smelling. I didn't want to forget his smell. 

Then his room became scary to me. That was one emotion I prayed very hard to go away and go away fast. I knew that those emotions were not from Heavenly Father or Atticus. That although the actually passing was horrific (really no words can describe how horrible it is), that peace was not felt, during that time, just fear and heartache from the depths of hell. And a desperation to try ANYthing to save him, aside from all that,  it was what we prayed for. As quick and painless as possible. And I didn't want the good memories that happened in that room to be overrun by the bad.  I can't remember how long it took for those feelings to leave, but it got so bad that I wouldn't even go in the kitchen (his room was around the corner from it) at night. Once it was dark, I stayed far away from that part of the house. Thankfully it did pass and I was able to find "peace" in his room again.

For a few months his room was a happy place again. A place where Isaac and I would frequently play. Isaac would go straight for Atticus' "Beads of Courage" and baseball helmet every time.

Then the year mark was approaching. I noticed that when passing his room, I wouldn't look in. That the bright colored pictures banners and signs that use to bring me happiness made me sick to my stomach. That instead of looking at them and thinking to myself, "I remember his smile on that day" or "He had so much fun at his 'end of radiation' bounce house party,"  I started remembering how he cried that his baseball pants couldn't zip up. And that the night of the "Radiation party" Eric and I held each other and cried. Knowing our best chance, our chance to keep him with us longer was over and we knew it didn't work. It wasn't going to give us more time. I turned around or took down some of the "Hansen Family Adventure" pictures. Pictures that use to make me smile, made me dry heave. I no longer saw happiness (I was of course and still am SO sooooo grateful for each and every one), I was only remembering the heartache.  That he hadn't eaten in almost 18 hours. I saw the pain in is eyes, And looking at those pictures now over a year ago, I saw the days and hours before he left us. And just couldn't look at them anymore. I wanted to scream and tear everything down. So I started shutting his door. And his room became off limits again.

Then the year mark came. And with the emotional help from my therapist, Dr. Asay and the strength of my mother in law, the room came down. Pictures posters banners, organized in to boxes and  carefully rolled up. The only things that stayed up were pre-cancer happy things. I of course kept EVERYTHING. But I'm not strong enough to have them in eye sight right now. Maybe later down the road but right now, I can't have it around. I know that as Isaac and Isabel get older they will ask more questions. And may possibly want to see the things and I pray that when that time comes, the happy memories will come out. That as I tell them of their AMAZING big brother, my tears be happy ones.

In my therapy sessions, I am working on accepting what had and has happened and the new life we now lead. Dr. Asay is such a huge help and gives me great tips and strength. It is frustrating at times because I want a quick fix. I don't want to go through the hurt but in my last session (i typically go 1x a week sometimes every other), I realized that this is just our life. That yes the pain will get softer but it will always be there. We will always have those moments where we are brought to tears. Starting school. Being baptized. Starting scouts. Daddy son camp outs. Beginning of baseball or soccer season. Serving a mission. But me accepting that the pain is never going to fully go away is a big step. Dr. Asay, bless his heart, is constantly reminding me that it is a long journey at to be patient with myself. That our life cycle was cut and it takes time to write a new story. A story that of course includes Atticus but in a way we never thought possible.

* * *

SO... since I took his "cancer room" down, the shelved at the top of the stairs are now "Atticus shelves" all things that bring happy memories. Things that describe him perfectly. Things that make me smile.

The quilt my dear friend Elaine made is hung in the game room.

The picture my sweet Tiff had painted for us hung by two of my favorite pieces of art Atticus did: His first drawing of "people" and his "garden." All placed in happy places and all bring smiles.

Change happens whether we like it or not and I'm working on accepting that. 

Yesterday in church Sister Foote gave a great but emotionally hard lesson for me on trials and how the way we handle them makes such a big difference. A parable was read about "Shaking it off and stepping up." Some days I can and some days I can't but I'm trying. Despite what it may seem like at times, I really am.

SCHOOL

Last Monday was the start of the new school year. Atticus would have started kindgarten. It was a very emotional week. I was very obsessed with Noah. Was he excited? Was he nervous? How did his first day go? How was Jocelyn doing (his mom)? I probably drove her crazy. Texting 500 times each day. I cried. A lot. Even though I know it would have been a traumatic thing for us... we were slightly attatched or as Eric always said, "Seriously, you have an invisible umbilical cord connecting you two." it was another one of those first that are gut wrentching.

Atticus on his first day of preschool 2010

Atticus on his first day of preschool 2011

He was SO excited about his cool shoes.

Atticus and Noah were the first kids there and made themselves at home.

It sucks. It really does. No way around it. 

I love you Atticus. I hate that your gone. I know I feel alone sometimes but I know, I KNOW, it is you and your sweet spirit that lifts me up when I fall time and time again. I love you baby. So much. My heart misses the space you filled.

Bethy's Atticus bluebonnets.