Moving forward

You should never have to plan your own daughter’s funeral.  You should never have to attend it.  But I did, and it was beautiful.

Quinn’s memorial was this past Saturday and it was beautiful.  I can’t say it was perfect because perfect would mean she never needed a memorial to begin with.  I am so honored to have had so many family, friends, and community members celebrate Quinn with us.  I don’t think I have ever been in a room that was more loving than the sanctuary on Saturday. 

Quinn’s memorial marked a time to move forward.  Not move on – just move forward.  It didn’t change anything and can’t bring her back but it was satisfying.  Although my pain is still so deep, I woke with more hope than before in the days following.  Until today, I kept Quinn’s nursery door closed.  I would shutter and freeze when R walked by it and proudly pointed to the door and said “baby’s room.”  This morning I opened the door and was met with the radiating light of her peach-orange room.  Her “chai latte” paint color perfectly matches her sister’s “green tea” color next door.  Light emanates from Quinn’s room and rarely needs the lamp to be turned on.  I cleaned it up and turned her room into a sanctuary.  I have all of the displays and pictures from her memorial set-up.  I can now go in there and be with her.  I can touch her hospital outfit and blanket.  I can look at her handprints and footprints.  I can see all of her pictures.  I can be a proud mama of a beautiful baby girl in her room.  Now when R walks by - with the door open - we say it is “Quinn’s room.”

Something else I did today to move forward was put away my maternity clothes.  It didn’t even cross my mind that this might be sad and it was harder than I thought.  As I touched my maternity clothes, images of fun and hopeful times when pregnant with Quinn popped into my head.  The burgundy top – the farewell party from my loving coworkers at my old job, 5 months pregnant.  The bright orange top – my first recruiting event for my new job, 6 months pregnant.  The brown top – family pregnancy photos on Christmas with R on the outside and Quinn on the inside, 8 months pregnant.  The black dress – going out with friends, declining drinks because I was growing a baby, 9 months pregnant.  My nursing bra – what I wore to the hospital the night she was born…and died, 10 months pregnant. 

I packed up these clothes not sure what to do with them.  Would I ever wear them again?  Should I donate them?  Should I give them back to my friend who handed them down to me?  For now, they are sitting in my closet with all the memories folded inside of them.