Her bed. Well it was really our bed. Me and her. We shared some horribly beautiful nights in that bed.
At first we borrowed a futon. But a death bed for your six year old isn’t the kind of thing you borrow.
We needed a new one. Comfortable enough for her to die in.. big enough for us both to sleep in. How do you pick something like that out? Luckily some friends of our did it for us. They bought it and dropped it off for us. No questions.. just something they could do to help.. to lessen a burden.
I rarely lay in it. It’s so hauntingly empty. But I sit on it. I look at it every morning and every night. Never changed in those hours.. How often I reminded her to make her bed.. Oh how I long to see it messy with her arms and feet hanging out of it. But it never is.. and its still a sobering reminder every day. But one I need. One that centers me and connects me ..
Pink princess comforter. I run my hands over Belle.. she reminds me the most of my Jennifer.
Tony and I have very different feelings about it. For him its the bed his daughter died in. The place where she was stolen from us. That she slowly suffered.. and took her final breath. The place he ran to as I screamed. ..
Screamed from my soul.. as part of my heart was forever broken.
He is like that for her whole room. He rarely goes in it. I know he braces himself for the full body impact every time he does. That knocks into him with a unseen and powerful force. Sorrow.
But for me it’s different. It’s sacred. I love her room, when I really need to connect to her to write.. I go there. When I am struggling with a speech I go there and I feel like the words come more easily. I love life being in there. Having the kids play with her things. . Imagining how she would react to see them all dressed up in her jewelry.
It’s a place I touched God .. the place where we lived a lifetime in less than 3 weeks. And the bed.. her bed.. our bed.. is the epicenter of that. Where I held her.. and slept with her. Where I gave her medicine to try to ease her suffering, sometimes inflicting more on her. Not pleasant. But deep, visceral memories. Of her life. Of her death. I guess its of mine too ..
She aged and so did I … many many years in that bed. We communicated often without words.. So much. A communication I would have never believed possible if I hadn’t lived it. The bed that I ushered her over.. and let her go. To be safe and pain free. The thing I could not provide her with.
It’s the place I laid and immediately pleaded and begged for her to come back. ..
Her room is special to me. But that bed. That bed is sacred to me.
But not to my husband. And we both matter. And a new baby is due to arrive in 7 weeks.
So we are going to wrap it up and store it away. But the thought of not having it here.. it knocks the wind out of me. ..
The plan has always been to move Charlotte into Jennifer’s room.. to leave Jennifer’s toys and probably her dresses in the closet for now. But empty her drawers. And move her dresser to our room. To put up shelves to keep many of her things in it. .. but not her bed. Tony can’t handle any of our other children sleeping on that bed. I understand how he feels.. but .. I don’t know.. Its just hard for me.
Normally Tony would do all of that. When the girls and I were moving back home Jennifer had requested getting her own room.. Moving her out from Jonathan and moving Nicholas in, putting the brothers together.
you knew it would be so much sooner than we imagined huh sissy?
you were just protecting him
So Tony did it all before we even got home. I don’t deal well with change and I have no sense of where things should go in a room.. he is great at that. So he just does it. But not this time. This time is me. Because we both know he can’t.. and that I need to. But I am frozen.
I finally went out to buy the bins to put her clothes. .. I guess thats a step . Her forever clothes. Ones that will never be worn again. At least right now Tony and I can’t imagine having Charlotte in any of those clothes .
Her size 5 and 6 clothes.. Those are Jennifer’s. And mine. And Tony’s.
I had imagined what it would be like when they went to college or got married. and I had their rooms. How hard that would be. How I would try to decide how much to keep the same and how much to change. How empty this house would feel ..
This isn’t normal. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I missed all the years of life in between. She is only 6. DO YOU HEAR ME??
She is only 6 … please please please. 6 damn it. Just barely 6 years old. Damn you.
I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready and I don’t think I ever will be.
i’m sorry jennifer
i am so sorry baby girl.
…until there is a cure..