A couple of weeks ago, I finally mustered up the courage to go into Lucy’s room and box up her things.  To set aside the baby items.  To make the bed where guests will sleep.  To let go of the dream of having a crib against the wall with a snoozing baby in it.  This is a hard step in getting on.

I was totally dreading doing this.  It never felt like there was a good time, but honestly, would there ever be?  A part of me, (the part that always wants to flee from things that hurt or are hard – the kid part) wanted to just not touch anything and never have to open the door ever again.  On one hand, leaving everything out made her being gone feel less final.  I know that sounds a little bit crazy.  I know she isn’t coming to our house and I know she won’t sleep in that room, but it was set up for her; it is Lucy’s room and that is what we still call it.

The thought of putting everything away and clearing things out of sight felt horrible.  I knew in doing this, the room would be less hers.  There are very few “Lucy things” around our house, this was the biggest one.  Another part of me, (I suppose the more logical, more adult part), just needed to clean the room out because having this hard task hanging over my head didn’t feel good either.  Acting like it is still a room for her doesn’t help in the getting on process.

So Shaun and I boxed it all up.  We folded her little dresses and blankets.  We put away all the things she will never wear and never use.   The rest of the day was really somber.  Having to overcome these sorts of mountain moments really drain me.  I tend to fold inward and retreat to a place inside where I go to process and learn to accept these harsh truths.

This is one of those things that the only way through for me was literally…

one

breath

at

a

time

…squeezing Shaun’s hand and squeezing the hand of God.

Picking up each item sent me right back to the last time I had touched all of these things.  I was super pregnant, with a wiggly lady, and I was anxious to meet her.  I was sorting, stacking, washing, planning….. It’s hard to go back there.  It’s hard to remember the joy and the expectations, to have a deep reminder of the fragility of life and how much we lost in an instant.  The pain is still so incredibly raw, and I can not imagine there will be a day when it is not.

Although it was sad to pack up Lucy’s things, a part of me felt better after we did it. (Just a part)  Life goes on even if I want it to stall; even if I am dragging my feet time spurs me forward and it doesn’t wait.  But anytime I face fear and pain head on, I come out the other side a little bit stronger.  Maybe it is just knowing that it didn’t defeat me.  However, truth be told, my heart is tired.  There are days when I feel like I can’t take one more bit of pain.  I feel like if I am pushed, even just an inch, I might break.  I get through these days, these mountains, by leaning on God, my husband, and others I am close to.  They pray for me when I can’t muster up the words and they encourage me when I can’t come up with a positive thought.

So for now there is an empty room upstairs in our house.  A room meant for a little girl.  A room that mirrors our story of preparation, expectation and loss.  I will think of her every time I walk into that room.  I hope and pray that one day, if God will allow, there will be another sweet baby who will get to use the room that was Lucy’s.  No one will ever replace her, but there is space for redemption and space for our family to grow, and she will always be a part of us.