Our nursery is a sensitive topic because I am the mother of an angel baby. Initially it was because I did not feel connected to the room. When my water broke at 31 weeks, I had to stay in the hospital antepartum wing, until I delivered prematurely at 34 weeks. During that time and with my permission, my mother and sister-in-law set up Wyatt’s room. It warmed my heart to know his room was being touched by these women I loved. However, I felt removed from it all. The finished nursery was charming and I wanted to kiss my husband’s phone, when he showed it to me. I loved it from 28 miles away.
The second reason for my conflicted reaction to his nursery is more obvious. We were never able to bring Wyatt home. His nursery was never used for its sole purpose. This hurts me to write. Thus, it has sat as both an open and closed space: an exposure of bright hope to be used when baby arrived, yet a source of deep grief because our baby never moved from his isolette in the NICU. Though it is easy to focus on the tape, tubes and electrodes, here is my beautiful son. Peacefully asleep and posing somehow, we quietly snapped photos of him:
Through many a discussion, both long and short, me and Brian have moving towards a hybrid room of sorts. We call it Wyatt’s room but we have space in there, too. I have shared space on the book shelves with Wyatt and I have shared space in his closet. As his parents, we framed and hung up the star map given in his name. We boxed up some of his things and disassembled his crib. The last step was to arrange for some seating, so we could all be together. And that’s what we did. Living Spaces is one of our fave spots for buying pricey items on a budget. We love their no interest for a year deal and we sprung on two recliners. We had fun thinking about how it would look and we liked the idea for when a rainbow baby arrived, we could still keep one of the recliners in the nursery as the baby’s rocking chair. Cute idea, huh?
As with previous events related to my son, I documented it with with my presence and picture-taking. Two sweating delivery men arrived within the week and carried each recliner in, in two parts. I watched from the door frame and took pictures while they weren’t looking. It was important for me to do this as another healing practice. Assuming a role and participating in the changes of Wyatt’s room has made me feel more like a mother. I have found that physically participating, physically moving, helps me through grief.
After the matching recliners were plugged in and centered just underneath Wyatt’s star, I sat in one and closed my eyes. It felt good to be sitting in my son’s room.