Rather than buy a tiny casket for Hudson’s memorial/viewing and visitation, we opted to bring her crib down to the funeral home and have her in that instead.
When I told my mother that this was the plan, she burst into tears…
because that shit is depressing.
After the memorial, our friend T brought the crib back to our house. To get it through the door of Hudson’s room, you have to take the end off of it. The allen wrench for this task has gone missing, so for the past two weeks our entry way has been clogged with Hudson’s would-be crib. A constant, “Hello, you’re home! By the way your life is depressing” reminder, right when you walk through the door.
Today I decided to make this particular hurt go away, found an allen wrench SOMEWHAT suited for the job, and took the end off the crib while the Hubs was outside mowing the lawn. I wasn’t able to drag the whole crib upstairs by myself so I needed the Hubs to help with that part, and when we got back into Hudson’s room, we put the crib back where it belonged. The Hubs put the baby monitor pad under the mattress and started to reassemble Hudson’s crib and I burst into tears.
As in, with intent. The monitor pad back under the mattress, because some-happy-day soon there will be a baby in that crib and we will need to monitor it. The crib back in its corner because that’s where it belongs, not in the middle of the room to be dealt with later.
We didn’t just bring the pieces back into her room. We put the pieces back together, and back where they belonged.
It felt good. Not like closure. These wounds don’t close up. But it felt like progress, like hope, like “someday happy” was inevitable.