things

I read a lot of blogs from families that have lost a child. It feels good that there are others out there that I can relate to, that know the pain that I do. It helps me. It helps me work through my grief and emotions. Sometimes I feel they are writing just to me, or even about me. There are posts that I could copy and paste word for word to my own blog.

The other day I read this post. I have felt this way many times. I was so quick to put Quincy's things away after she died. I am pretty sentimental and it hurt so badly to have all of her possessions here without her. When we came home from the hospital without Q in our arms, the first thing I saw was her stack of books next to the rocking chair in the living room, the books we read every single night. Then I saw her little rocking chair sitting by the window with her blankets and baby dolls. I can see it all so clearly. I then walked into her room to put her things away. Her room was just the way she had left it, babies tucked into beds, dishes and food on the stove of her kitchen, a crumpled plastic fire hat on the shelf, a torn pair of stretch pants waiting to be fixed on her dresser, drool and snot smeared on her sheet, even a loose hair and a dent from her head. And the smell. The smell. Every one's child has a smell and everyone thinks their child smells the best. I loved Quincy's smell.

No one tells you how to deal with losing a child. Nothing prepares you for it. There is no protocol or process to handling the pain and grief. You feel helpless and hopeless and I had no idea what to do with her things. Before Quincy was born I stalled putting her room together. I had to do fertility treatments to get pregnant with her and was never given any answers as to why it was so hard for me to get pregnant, so I wasn't real confident that I was actually having a baby until she was born. I remember Brady asking me why I didn't want to set things up for her and I told him I was scared that something would happen to her, that she wouldn't really come and I would have to pack everything away. That was too hard for me. I didn't want to set up and take down a room for a child I so longed for.

Now I was faced with packing up the room of a child I had raised for 20 months, a child that I had memories with and loved dearly, my little girl. I didn't want to put Quincy's things away, but it hurt so bad to see them every day without her. I felt bad for her that she wasn't here to play with the things she loved so much. Her room was a really hard thing for me and I fought with her door often. When it was open I would see her things and I would go in and sit on her floor and cry, so I would close the door, but when her door was closed it meant she was in her bed sleeping and my mind would tell me that she still was, so I would open the door again. It was too much for me.

The time I have spent without Q I have had a complete change of perspective about "things". When we leave this world we take nothing with us. Not one thing. I so badly wanted Quincy to take her softie and her binkie with he when she left. I wanted her to have her things that she loved so much, the things that were calming and comforting to her. Although I am extremely sentimental and now treasure many of Quincy's possessions, it's the memories that go along with those things that I'm clinging to. It's seeing her kiss and rock her baby dolls, snuggling her softie, running in those jelly shoes, drinking out of the green sippie cup. It's the smell of her clothes, the feel of her stringy hair. It's the tiniest things that I miss so so desperately.