Completing renovations on our house (if any of our renovations could be said to be complete – I do not believe that is ever possible) is a hard thing for me, because I see it all through three lenses: how it is now, how it should have been, and how it hopefully will be in the future. Our basement project was started in expectation of Devin, the men working away as my due date drew closer and I, large and pregant, would saunter in to survey and worry that it would not be done in time.

It wasn’t, of course. It was behind schedule and Devin died a month before we expected him to arrive. And then it all stopped. It sat, untouched, for months, and then they would work on it for a day or two with long breaks in between. The urgency was gone. The reason for it was gone. But still they worked to finish what they started, in hopes – maybe even expectation – of it being used as intended someday.

Slowly it comes together, looking more like a room than a basement. I sit on my new couch and watch TV and feel decidedly pleased at what we all have accomplished, turning cold concrete and empty beams into something comfortable and warm. But at the same time I look at it sadly. We chose carpet because it would be soft on Devin’s hands and knees. We bought a new couch because the old one was too dirty for Devin to play on. And the room itself, the project itself, was necessary so Devin could have the second bedroom as his own. It was all for him – I worried that he would be here and it would not, but instead it is here and he is gone.

Today my husband moved his computer and desk down to the new basement room. Our second bedroom, Devin’s bedroom, is being cleared out. At least while Den was still in there it felt like his room, not Devin’s. His stuff didn’t leave much space for thinking. But now that it is half-empty, and on its way to being cleared out completely, it is just empty space. We talk idley about using it as a library, but anything we do will just be until we can use it for our next child. It feels like this room is a physical manifestation of the limbo that we sit in. It is waiting, as are we.

Our basement room now:

We still have a corner fireplace to install (beside the couch), a couple ceiling tiles to put up and, when winter is over, a new window and door.

For contrast, this is the room right when they started (after a very thorough tossing of all the junk that was left there by previous owners), from the same views: