We've moved. We've moved from the home she "lived" in. We've moved from the home we grieved in, in those early, darkest hours. We've left the town she was born and died in, the doctors who cared for her, her name on the brick outside the hospital.
It's been far more emotional than I could've imagined, though I knew it would be hard. It's something that's right for our family. If Keely were alive, she'd be nervous and excited as her brothers are. We've put up Christmas decorations, her stocking, her things. We've brought her with us, but it's hard leaving those places too.
We've decorated her grave (we're still about an hour from her grave, just in a different direction now) for Christmas. Beautiful white, sparkly tree and white sparkly wreath on her purple shepherd's hook, which wouldn't be complete without a pink butterfly too.
This has been a hard year for the family. My grandmother, then 6 weeks later my grandfather, both called Home. Greeted by a great granddaughter. I miss them all dearly. The holidays, while lit up with the sweet faces of my living children, are still missing the light of those gone on before us. Someday we'll understand.