These walls

Im safe here, protected by some invisible barrier against the world.  Inside these walls my son lives on through memory.  His pictures hang off the walls and litters the tables.  We mention his name as casually as we mention what we should have for supper.  Anyone who enters here knows that Marcellus is discussed openly, freely, almost as easily as if he was here, pooping in his diaper as we swoon over him.  We do not hide him, we talk about him constantly.  We talk to him constantly, keeping our conversations in polite language just in case he is listening for fear of him learning a dirty word up in Heaven.  We also have an unspoken rule of crying wherever, whenever, and for whatever reason we choose to cry over.  Tissue boxes run a plenty here, and when one is out of reach our shirts, blankets, or even the dog make an acceptable substitute.  Marcellus is here, inside these walls, forever. 

Outside however he becomes much more abstract.  He is a memory, an event to people.  A definition of suffering for some, a point of strength for others.  He is mentioned a lot less when we are outside these walls.  People will come up to us and ask how we are doing but they will not mention his name because of some sort of cultural code that we do not talk casually of the dead.  I do not know how to breach these walls with him, to carry his memory with me so openly and freely as I do inside this house.  I cannot start a conversation as "my son is Marcellus, he died almost 5 months ago, now what do you want me to help you find?"  No one is going to come up to me and say "I see you are in grief, tell me something about your son."  Even my Mom has trouble mentioning him directly to me.  I can hear she is uncomfortable talking about him but she will listen to me, not that I think she does not care for him.  It hurts her too to hear me in pain, and for her to lose her grandson, she just deals with things differently than I do. 

I wish I could bring his memory outside these walls as easily as bringing a baby in a car seat would be.  Maybe thats why I find it troubling to leave them, why this house comforts me so.  I miss him, I am still very much in a lot of pain over him.  I do not expect this pain to leave anytime soon.