That's how I feel today.
Yesterday, I was cleaning house and was vacuuming the hallway. Let me explain that the mobile home we live in now is set up nearly identical to the one we lived in while in Charleston. This one is smaller and has a couple different features, but walking in the front door feels exactly the same. I don't know if this helps me or makes me feel worse some days.
As I was vacuuming, I was walking backwards and stepped around the oxygen concentrator.
Except, it wasn't there.
I do this a lot. My head swims for a second as I look for things that should be there that aren't. I've lived here for almost two years now. I should know where I am, right? The carpet and walls are different colors. What would have been Tommy's old room is now the boy's room. It looks nothing like Charleston in there, and yet, I find myself not able to comfortably walk in. It's like walking around in a dream state, except I'm awake and I can't find myself.
Its not exactly depressing moments when these things happen. More of a deja vu kind of moment. For a second I was back there again, trying to clean around that noisy concentrator. It was a pain to have medical equipment in my house. It was loud, cumbersome, and a constant reminder that my son needed machines to live.
And I miss them.
I cleaned my living room yesterday. It used to be a challenge because I was always trying to figure out where to stash 15 tanks of oxygen. I can see all of my floor. No quilts for Tommy to play with his toys. No toys for that matter. We used to live in a hospital. Now, it's just a house. A house that is too quiet at night.
Because there are no oxygen concentrators running to remind me my son is alive.