Her room

I finally got brave enough to go in Abby's room. I'll be honest. I haven't even changed the sheets. She took her last breath in that bed, on those sheets. I held her lifeless body in my arms and grieved there. I can still feel her when I crawl in it and hold her equally lifeless pillow.




I don't want to give that up yet.

Sarah wants Abby's room. Thank God. I need a purpose for it. Why else would I dare go in there and touch her things? Why would I strip the bed and wash away the tiny bit of my daughter that remains?

I jumped right on board when Sarah said she wanted it! I really needed a purpose for being in there.

Going through her clothes was the hardest thing I've done, except writing the obituary. Some of her more neutral clothes I left for Emily. But many of her things were just so Abby, I knew they would never be quite right on Emily. Even though they are twins, they have very different styles.



I put them in a box, and I'll decide what to do with them later.



I put most things in a box. I'm just not ready to think about getting rid of them. I watched that show "Hoarders", and often saw people begin to hold on to things after a big loss in their life. There is this easy (and true) spiritual answer that I freely gave if asked. The person is gone, and making a shrine of their room or keeping everything they touched wont bring them back.




It's not nearly that easy. It's not the things that matter to me; it's not wanting to forget anything about her. I want to remember the way she smells, her sweet face, and the feel of her warm body as I put those sweet clothes on her each day.

It's best that I needed to deal with it. Now, we can work on making it nice for Sarah. And Sarah will keep parts of Abby too, like the cherry blossoms Abby chose when we moved in. We poured over the Internet looking for something for the wall. Abby loved the flowers, but I tried to talk her in to something else. She stuck to her guns and got what she wanted. Now, I love it because its hers.




Her favorite Legos that sit, exactly the way they were the last time she was able to play.



The one thing I won't miss is the shelves of medical stuff. It makes me a little mad to look at it. She had everything, and it wasn't enough. Closets filled with whatever we could think of, none of which worked.







Now, we work on moving on. Oh my, that is so hard! I said at her memorial service that we will go on because she would have. It's so true. Nothing would have stopped her.

Your mama is trying, sweet girl!