It’s Not Home

We will not be returning to our home. We packed some bags Monday night, grabbed our dogs, and went to my parents down the road. Our hearts cannot bear to pass his room each day, knowing what happened inside it. I cannot use my kitchen counter knowing it’s where cpr was started. I can’t see my neighbor in passing knowing he will be forever traumatized by our sons death because he couldn’t save him with his help. I can’t put my feet on the ottoman where the paramedics laid him after the doctor called time of death. The last things our neighborhood saw/heard of us were blood curdling screams from justin and I, and our baby carried out in a body bag. It isn’t something either of us wish to return to, so we are breaking our lease.

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