The Nursery

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” ~ Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

There comes a time where you logically know that you have to let go of some things. That there is so much that has changed in a short period of time. In February my entire life changed in a huge way, my husband and I separated, we were separated still when Dominic had passed away. I had put the nursery together by myself, piece by piece I created a room that was just my room with my son. It is strange to think that he so rarely spent much time in there, but still it is a pulse of him.

Since everything happened, Frank and I have been mostly impossible to separate since Dominic passed. We use each other to keep ourselves strong, when one of us falters, the other helps us back up. It's strange to think that something so tragic could bring two people so closely back together, but no one else in the world understands what we are going through. Even people who have lost a child will tell you they understand, but no one grieves like you because you were the only ones to have that child. 

Naturally, the course of time we have decided to merge our households back together. It is a survival tactic. But, what that means is that now... we have to do what we think would be impossible: we do not have the room for all three boys to be in one bedroom anymore. They have to be spread out between two rooms.... Dominic's room.

We put it off for the last two months, half the time the door was closed or one of us would go in to bask in the smell of our child who you could still feel in the room. But, it has to go... the nursery has to go. 

So, we started doing it. Jordin helped Frank take down the crib, I started pulling clothes out of dressers. I put aside one tote, it is the only thing I am allowing myself to keep. I put in a couple onesies, a few blankets that were specifically his, odds and ends that meant something to Frank and I. Once it was done, I piled his stuff that we didn't need, messaged Frank's cousin to come get things from us, she just had a little boy, so it is a perfect resource to give them to. It was after that, once I stopped moving and stopped focusing on the next step it all hit me.

I sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by parts of the crib that meant so much to me to have for him. I had finally done it right... the way I wanted to do it from the start. A nursery, a rocking chair, an organized room with all the cute baskets and the clothes bin that matched. It all was still there like it had been to begin with. I sat there, on the blue carpet I started to stare at.

Where had I gone wrong? I certainly loved him. I made sure he was happy, whole, healthy. Did that not count for me? What did I do to deserve this pain? Surrounded by things that represented my attempt to make sure he had the closest to a perfect life I could provide, I broke down. It has been quite a while since I had a real break down. Even the week before when there was a newborn in the office, I had held it together.

It becomes more real when you have to take a part what you built. Much like growing him, I had created this home too. It all washed over me, the grief that I keep forgetting will pounce on me in what feels like my weakest moments. 

Frank found me... weeping in my sorrow and longing for the child I can never hold again. He didn't say anything. He sat with me and held my hand as I cried both silently and noisily at once. He had just finished fixing the washer, that had been messing up and not draining properly. From his pocket he pulled a wet baby washcloth and laid it on the floor between us. It's when I started to laugh while crying. Here was another reminder, another sign that he had been here and now he was gone. Then I realized... these things aren't my son. I did everything I could, as did Frank, to give him the best we knew how... and in the short time he was here, we certainly did.

We both picked ourselves up, he went to finishing dinner, I finished packing up stuff. We decided on what to keep, what to let go of. What are clothes? Nothing. They don't represent our son. The crib we will put in storage for now. The boys will love having their extended space... it isn't a stab at the memory, it is just moving forward. And at some point, we have to move forward, at least a little. 

It is okay that I miss my son. It is okay to have moments that I feel the weight of that loss. This is a healthy grief. I let myself have it... I pull myself up. That's what this is all about, at least in my mind. We moved on with laughing boys, joking and working through the ache which never seems to go away, it is just duller sometimes. Like a toothache that you are putting off because maybe you don't really need the dentist. 

The nursery isn't my son... it's time to let it be. Time to embrace the living and by living, we honor Dominic.