The Kid used to make the smallest butterfly origami you've ever seen.
I don't know how he managed to do it, but he'd fold a small scrap of paper into the most beautiful paper butterfly you've ever seen. They were delicate and pretty, such a contrast to the complicated Kid he was.

He hasn't lived with us for over a year now. When he left, it was swift and painful. Like a hot knife going into my heart. I didn't think I would be able to breathe ever again.

Oh, I was angry. I was angry at a lot of people. Angry at myself, angry at The Kid, angry at the system...
In our anger and hurt, we packed everything of his over a weekend. Everything of The Kid was irradicated from our home because it hurt too much to see his jumper hanging on the stairs, or his shoes by the door, or tripping over his scooter for the tenth time in a day.

I cried myself sick in the shower after his things were returned and then I told myself that it would be okay. Little Man needed us to be strong and stable and assure him that he wasn't going anywhere and just because his brother didn't live with us anymore, didn't and doesn't ever mean that we don't love him. Because we do. We do, we do, we do.

The only thing remaining of his time here was the slight scent of him in his room, and a smashed up mirror, and that made me so sad. He was gone, and it felt so empty.

We moved on. We had to.
His bedroom became Teeny's. The bare walls replaced with pretty prints and new pictures.

The other day, as we were ripping the downstairs living areas apart on a re-decoration spree, I was having I was cleaning out the cabinets to make moving them easier.

Sitting in a little cup was a handful of tiny little butterflies that he had made just for me.

Little things, that reminded me that The Kid was always here after all.