We bought our first house in the fall, nearly seven years ago. The cute, 2-bedroom bungalow was the perfect starter home to update, make our own, and grow into a family of three. The second bedroom was earmarked as the nursery from the beginning. The next summer quickly came and with enthusiasm, we started “trying”.
I had this feeling, this intuition, that we were going to get pregnant with a little girl. Without any opposition from my husband, I happily trotted off to the nearest Home Depot, bought the brightest, girly-girl pink I could find, went home and painted the nursery. It was an obnoxious pink. Knowing what I know now about color psychology, this pink would have been terrible for a nursery. Way too exciting and stimulating for a baby. Nonetheless, the room was pink. It was ready and waiting…
That room stayed pink for three years. I loathed that room. Each time I passed by, each time I walked in, each time I had to explain to visitors why we had an obnoxiously pink “office”, my disdain for that room and that hideous pink grew.
So, I repainted it.
But, a baby never came to that room, in that house…. Or the next.
Two years passed, and there was another house. In this house, another room. This time, it wasn’t an office. It was an intentionally ignored “guest” room. Being a little wiser this go ‘round, it remained unpainted.
A few months down the road, to our utter shock and disbelief, we learned that this room was expecting an occupant! Soon after, it began to fill with precious little things. For six months, we filled it: a crib,bedding, blankets, sweet little onesies, hats, bottles, binkies, and books. This room, which once held the sadness of previous rooms, was filling with love, hope, anticipation, and joy.
And then it all ended. Our baby died. Our world crashed down around us. Somehow, the walls remained.
We emptied that room of everything. Everything except for the sorrow.
Today, there is another house. And in this house, another room. The walls of this room should be blue. A cozy, soft, comforting blue that calms a little boy to sleep each night.
Instead, the walls in this room are white, hallow, empty.
Silent.
Still.
- The Happiness Jar - January 25, 2016
- That Empty Room - September 7, 2015
We have such a room in our house. When our daughter died at 38 weeks’ gestation, we packed away all of her things into a closet but left the nursery decorated. Surely, we thought, the nursery would be filled again soon and we would regret not keeping things prepared. Except we had a miscarriage 9 months later at 10 weeks and then struggled to get pregnant following that. The room stands. It’s a quiet reminder of the hole in our family.