We had a contractor come out the other day to look at one of our windows in our house that needs replaced. If you have been to our house, it is the ugly stain glass one about the kitchen sink. Some people love it, while Mike and I both hate it and it has to go. The guy was nice enough so while he was here we asked him about the cost of replacing a few other windows that need some updating.
He walked into our sitting room and saw a picture of Lila that is on a table there. He asked Mike, "is that your baby?" To which Mike told him it was. Then he said, "is she sleeping upstairs?"
Ouch. I, of course, overhead this whole conversation. The funny thing was that after he said it I immediately pictured Lila sleeping upstairs. Why not? She should be up there right? For a brief moment it seemed like she was up there where she belonged. In her house, in her crib. Just sleeping.
Mike told him that we lost her in February of last year and of course he offered his condolences.
It is times like that which sting so hard. Theres no way to avoid it, and really theres nothing to do but deal with it. And it will probably happen again someday, since we have tons of pictures of Lila all over the house. It certainly will never get easy to answer those questions though.