Photo: Erin McPhee
There?s a beam in our house, in the kitchen, where we?ve been marking the growth of our son, Hugo, since he was 22 months old. He?s now seven. Thirty-five centimetres measuring his life, as well as the breakdown of my marriage. The last mark was drawn six months after my husband and I separated, in April.
We?re now selling the house?the only home Hugo has ever known. Upon finding out about the sale, he wrapped his small arms around the beam and cried, ?This is my whole life!? Later, a contractor will be coming over to paint the walls, paint over our old life. I take down all our family photos?all those pictures of baby handprints, birthday cards and the images of my garden, which will no longer have the imprint of my boy?s fat, running feet. Hugo has?had?a trampoline in that garden and a small pool. My favourite photographs are of him racing in ecstasy through sprinklers. ?Where are the pictures"? Hugo asks.
?In a box. We?ll move the box. It?s OK?lots of people move,? I say.
His best friend?s parents have split up, so he understands that not all families stay together. Still, I believe he had always felt safe where he lived, and now we were about to shock him with a major change in his life. I asked friends on Facebook if anyone had ideas as to how to remove the freaking beam?I was joking, of course. But there were some great suggestions, including taking a high-resolution photo of it. I will, right before we paint the beam. It will be the last thing...