Saturday, July 3, 2010

Your nursery

Dear Stevie,
I was getting ready to take the dogs on a walk yesterday afternoon, when I noticed one of them, Foxy, was nowhere to be found. "Foxy!" I called, "come here, let's go for a WALK!" I expected she'd some running at the mention of the word, but nope. "Come on, Fox!" I tried again. Nothing. I checked the living room. No Fox. I checked the basement. No Fox. I ran upstairs and looked in the bedroom. No Fox. No Fox in the bathroom either. Then I noticed the door to your nursery wasn't entirely closed. "Crap," I muttered. "Fox, come out here, please," I pleaded. If you know Foxy, then you probably already know she didn't comply with my request (most stubborn little dog in the world, I tell you). I peeked in and sure enough, there she was, tail wagging, butt in the air, in the middle of the light pink rug we picked out for you. I took a deep breathe, opened the door, and walked in.

The air in that room is thick. Like actually, physically thick. Thick with memories and sadness and broken dreams. The air in that room is so thick it is actually hard to breathe. It's suffocating.

Once I was in the room, I wanted to turn around and get out, but I couldn't. I stood there, just staring at everything. Everything was exactly how we left it. Nothing had been touched. The crib and changing table that Dad had put together, just five days before you died, were still against the wall, the hammer he used to assemble them, still laying on the floor. The curtains Grandma was going to help me hem, still neatly folded by the window. The bedding we picked out and argued over at Ikea, just three days before you died, still draped over the side of your crib. The wall hooks I loved so much, still on the carpet, waiting to be hung. The books we were so excited to read to you, still in a box labeled, "Stevie's room," waiting to be organized and placed on the new bookshelf, which was still half-assembled on the other side of the room. The walls, still a stark white because we hadn't yet decided on the perfect shade of green to paint them. All your clothes and blankets and bibs and rattles and baby-carriers and stuffed animals and packs of diapers and diaper bags and polka-dotted socks, still spread out on floor, where I had sat and went through them all, with the biggest smile on my face, the day before you died.






That room, your nursery, is such a haunting, heartbreaking image of how our lives, our dreams, were disrupted. We were in the process of transforming that plain little room into a beautiful nursery, fit for our beautiful little girl, but we never quite got there. Kind of like how we were in the process of being transformed ourselves, from "Kristin and Andy" to "Mommy and Daddy." Our plain little lives were becoming exciting and new and beautiful, but we never quite got there. Your nursery is in limbo, and so are we.

I never ended up taking the dogs on their walk yesterday. Instead, I laid on the floor of your nursery, curled up into a ball, clutched a pile of your little outfits to my chest, and cried my eyes out.

I'm not sure what we'll do with that room. I know it can't stay a half-finished nursery forever. But I don't think I'm ready to disturb it just yet.

God, I miss you so, so much, Baby girl.

Love,
Mom

19 comments:

Angela said...

The nursery is like a shrine. It's too much for me. We are going to dismantle it soon. But I understand the need to leave that room as it is. Unfinished, untouched. I have spent many hours in Charlotte's room on the rug or in the rocker crying my eyes out. The clothes are the hardest for me. I can't look at them, it's too heartbreaking.

Elise said...

My heart hurts for you, you are in my thoughts and prayers.

Lindsay said...

Oh Kristin my heart just aches for you. Thank you for your blog, I just referred someone who lost their baby fullterm. I can not begin to comprehend.

Curls O Fred said...

It's a hard thing...those clothes and bedding and reminders. But they are also reminders of how much you loved and planned for her. But the reality is that it still hurts that she's not here to use them all. So many (((hugs))) to you my dear.

Courtney said...

Be still my heart. I go into the boys' nursery all the time and just sit there and do loads of thinking and crying.

Her nursery is beautiful. I wish she was here with you guys. Oh how I wish that for you my dear friend.

*hugs*

Maggie said...

7 months later and Alexandra's nursery looks eerily similar to Stevie's. All of her stuff is still there, clothes are still thrown somewhere because I was in the middle of washing everything days before she was gone. What was a room that had a lot of hope is now a room that just looks sad and represents so much. Thinking of you and sending many, many hugs. XO

Julie said...

although we already had nursery furniture, car seats, bath tubs, and boxes and boxes of all kinds of baby clothes and paraphernalia all over the place, we never did get around to dismantling our guest room in order to turn it into the nursery. we weren't going to do it until school was out for me. however, the week school got out, my mother helped me re-pack everything and fit as much of it as possible into the attic and shed. the rest, including the changing table, is in the guest room. i hate that i never got to even start on kenny's nursery, but i know it would have been horribly difficult to have to take it apart again. when you feel it's time to dismantle the room, i hope you can find some peace as you do it. however, i hope you won't feel like you HAVE to do it until you're really ready (i know you won't ever really be ready, but you know what i mean). sending you a hug...

Drew's Parents said...

Your pictures capture such heartbreaking loneliness. I am so very sorry for little Stevie. I am thinking about you.

rebecca said...

I'm so sorry for your loss & the pain you are experiencing. Thank you for visiting my blog in the midst of your own grief to leave such kind words. I too am having a very difficult time today & feeling the intensity of my grief, it is staggering at times. Thinking of you & planning to follow your journey...together in grief maybe we can provide each other some comfort.

Danae said...

Bailey's nursery has also be undisturbed. I have put her things in the crib (all pictures, cards, memory box...pretty much everything) and that's where they will stay. I am not going to change anything about the nursery for now. It was one of our extra rooms anyways, so it was always intended to be a nursery. Hopefully someday it will be. But, at this point, I don't even know if I want a different baby to have that room...because it was always intended to be Bailey's room.

Antoinette said...

this post just made me cry..im sorry...im so so so sorry she isnt still inside waiting to come out soon..and im so so so sorry that you had feel that pit in your stomach...I have a VERY GOOD feeling that Stevie was there WITH YOUR dog playing in her room...i believe in that...i believe animals know more than we do and im sure Stevie needed you to come in there and "see" her....I am in the new place and thinking of other little girls in "Alyssa's room" is breaking my heart...i have cried ALL DAY at the thought of this and this post just hits me for so many reasons too...i had my room dismantled while i was STILL in the hospital or i wouldnt go home..all of it is in my in laws basement...for what I dont know, its not like Im using it soon, or selling it EVER...but its there...its a fear i have to see it the clothes are the HARDEST i think because we know their little bodies should be in them =*****((((( im heart broken right with you

Lucid Anne said...

I know this feeling all too well. My cats used to sit outside the nursery door and actually CRY and paw at it. It was almost like they knew. Maybe they did. Anyway, we only repainted and all of that because we had to move- thank GOD our friends did all of the packing up and disassembling. It was heartbreaking enough painting white over those pink walls.

As always, my heart breaks with you.

Dana said...

My heart is breaking for you and I started crying when I read that you curled up in a ball of the floor and cried your eyes out.

I am so, so sorry that Stevie never got to use that room. It isn't fair.

Amanda said...

That room isn't going anywhere, and you'll know when it's time to do something with it. Now isn't that time, and it probably won't any time soon. You can still keep dreams and wishes there though, it's just a repository.

Melissa said...

It took me MONTHS to be able to even open the door to the nursery again. Everything had been hastily yanked out of the rest of our house and tossed into the room, closed away, out of sight the day we got home from the hospital. Josh didn't even come inside until it was done. (I was doing far better than he was on that day.)

Months.

But I got back there, and I cried, and I put everything away, and I sorted things into storage boxes and went through the bags of belongings from the hospital.

It was needed closure, healing that wouldn't finish as long as that room still sat there like that. But it took time.

Shaun and Courtney said...

Oh, Kristin...I'm so, so sorry.

It was days before I was able to open up the door to the nursery after losing our son. And, still, 14 months later, it's filled with his diapers and outfits and bedding. However, instead of a place of horror it has become a place of peaceful solitude to remember, cry, and hope for the future. Time is a healer. I pray for you often.

Leanne said...

Oh my, Kristin. I ache so much for you. Thank you for sharing this. Some close friends of ours lost their first baby, too. They had ordered the crib already when their baby died, but it hadn't arrived yet. When the crib did arrive, they were absolutely heart-broken all over again. They put it in a closet and tried to stay away from it. God blessed them with another baby within a year or two, so they were able to pull that crib back out and put it to use. They now have 3 beautiful children, besides the first baby.

But another one of my friends (houseofcollinsworth.blogspot.com) lost her baby Noah at 30-some weeks. The anniversary of the day he died/day she delivered him is this Saturday. They of course already had the nursery completely done, and it has remained that way, even a year later. They don't plan on taking it down. They are leaving it there, in case God ever blesses them with another baby. :)

Kelley and Chris said...

I'm so sorry Kristin...this is just heartbreaking. I'm thinking of you and sending lots of big hugs!!

Lori said...

Oh gosh, Kristin... I haven't had a chance to respond because every time I think of what I'd like to say, I just sort of clam up and tear up and give up.

It's just so hard and painful, isn't it? I do the same thing with Matthew's and it STILL smells just the same...the balloons from his shower still there...the basket of his things we took to the funeral...his fully packed diaper bag still smells like the hospital from which it went to with him and left without.

And no matter what...no matter what that room eventually turns into or becomes, it will always remind me of what it never got to be--full of nighttime feedings and giggles with a cooing baby boy.

Thinking of you....and knowing how hard it is.
xoxoxo

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