Last summer we acquired a tree house from my parents. The tree house is nothing more than four walls, a roof and a floor on stilts. It was so nice watching the boys use the tree house last summer as their pirate ship, boys only club, secret spy shack or anything else they dreamed it to be. We let them pick out the paint for their tree house and I was less than surprised when they chose bright green for the outside and a bright orange and blue for the inside. The tree house suddenly became less covert with it's lime green exterior, but they didn't seem to care.
Zach and Austin just left a little bit ago to go reclaim the tree house from our old rental home. My parents are meeting up with them there and they'll swiftly move it from that home to this one. Well, swiftly might be a loose term considering it's fairly massive. I didn't go with.
I thought I didn't want to go with because I'm still not feeling very well and I've been plagued by a cough, but now I know that it's also because seeing that tree house is going to be kind of painful. It's another reminder to me of what Hercules will never be able to do or see. I will never see him playing cops and robbers in that tree house and he will never have the privlidge of climbing up that ladder into a little boys perfect play place.
I can talk anyone's ear off about what happened. I can talk about the immense pain the night before Hercules was born and I can unflinchingly describe the week before it happened in great detail. I cannot, however, bare to discuss with people about what Hercules would have grown up to be and do, given the chance. It's not what happened that plagues me or upsets me, it's thinking and talking about what will never happen.
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