I finally put Oliver's highchair in the basement today. It's been sitting in the kitchen unused for over three months. I felt like if I moved it that I was accepting that all of this is actually happening. To admit to myself that Oliver would never again be sitting down at the table and eating a meal with us? No more pancakes, pasta or mac and cheese? Just cans of gross vanilla pediasure?
That just couldn't be right. No.
So I left the chair exactly where it has always been. Like at any moment I would simply wake up from this terrible nightmare and look over and see him sitting there. Face covered in yogurt, smiling back at me with his gorgeous blue eyes, happy and healthy and not going anywhere.