Wondering When

My friend Kim sent me a text message last week and said that she had a dream about Scott. I told her to send him my way, he hadn't visited me. I was a little cranky that he was off visiting beautiful woman that I have never met. He must have known because he visited me last night. He was standing in a hallway. Tall and skinny, just like he used to be.

I'm wondering when I'll be able to think of him in certain spots without having it be a bad image. I'll stop when I'm upstairs and look at the bed. I try to remember what it was like to have him there. It's been 15months since Scott was upstairs. In a lot of ways, I'm grateful for this. It's given me an opportunity to get used to sleeping alone while he was still here. When I climb into bed now I don't feel that longing. I don't find myself searching for him. I don't talk to him there, expecting him to talk back.
I would however, like to look at the bed and not picture the day his splenic artery burst. I can see him sitting on the side of the bed as he fell, face first, onto the floor. I can picture him laying on the floor, passed out. I can see the paramedics surrounding him.
Why can't I picture something else?

Scott's "room" is officially the office again. All the furniture has been moved. The only thing that remains is a bag of Scott's clothes, his prized fan, some medical supplies in the closet and the pictures of Kate that we put up to welcome him home last March.
When I stand in the room I still look down and see him laying there dead. I don't picture all the playing, the movies, the snuggles. I see him with his head turned away, his eyes open and that pale gray pallor to his skin.

Standing in the kitchen looking at the pantry door, I don't see the painting I did there. I don't see the endless number of times he stood there looking for something to eat. I see his face, the only piece visible of him in the black body bag as the funeral home took his body from the house.

I'm left wondering why. Why in these three places is there still so much hurt? The rest of the house doesn't haunt me. It welcomes me. Offering me memories of better times. Happy moments spent around the kitchen table. The taste of his "Scotty salmon". Christmas mornings, Easter egg hunts, Kate's birthdays... all fill this house.
So why can't I get past these thoughts? Will I ever be able to remember Scott without these moments?
Why can't we just remember the good moments?