The Nursery
I almost didn’t want to come home. After five days in the hospital, and four days after Maisie’s birth and death, I was cleared to return home. But returning home, with an empty car seat, was almost too much to bear.
At 37 weeks pregnant, we moved from SF to the east bay. Wanting to live in a bigger space and in a more family friendly location, we found a bright 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom condo. We could finally have a room dedicated for Maisie I thought. We spent the final three weeks preparing the nursery, with our original minimalist intentions being thrown out the window.
Before being discharged, I remember telling one of the nurses, Brie, that I was terrified to return home because of seeing the nursery. And the fact that our new place was a constant reminder that we moved for our baby. Our baby who no longer was alive.
Upon entering our home, my initial feeling was dread. I remember being so confused and in disbelief that our baby passed away. I didn’t know what to do now. Everything in our place was exactly how we left it when my contractions were five minutes apart just five days earlier. It was a reminder of the “before” time.
When walking down the hallway, our bedroom on the left, and the nursery on the right, I stopped at the doorway to look at Maisie’s room. My initial instinct was to close the nursery door and curl up in my bed and hide.
But I didn’t follow through on my initial instinct to self-protect. My next thought was that I didn’t want Maisie to be cold. I didn’t want to shut the door because I knew the heat wouldn’t circulate enough in the room and I didn’t want her to be cold. Maybe this was my mama instinct to protect my baby? Even though I knew she wasn’t here, grief and trauma do strange things to your brain. Nothing is rational, but somehow it just makes sense to you.
What I found by leaving the nursery door open, was a gentle confrontation that yes, Maisie existed. And yes, Maisie is no longer physically here. I turned toward my pain, because this would be the only way to process and transform my trauma.
Over the course of several months, as my pain transformed, we transformed the nursery. My lovely postpartum doula came over to organize Maisie’s nursery. I asked her to donate some of our items we no longer needed - diapers, wipes, etc. to Help a Mother Out a local nonprofit. Then she mindfully packed away Maisie’s clothes, books, toys and carriers in the nursery closet.
I don’t go into that closet very often. Seeing Maisie’s little hats, or Sophie the giraffe teether, or the stroller with the tags still on it, is too heartbreaking. I hope that someday, Maisie’s future sibling will get use of these items.
Next we removed the changing table station from the dresser. In its place, we created an altar -a space for her urn, surrounded by pictures, drawings, rocks, poems and keepsakes from our community to keep her company.
The last piece of transformation, was to make the room feel like a functional, bright sanctuary. I wanted to make this space my ‘work from home’ office, so that I could be with my daughter and share her with my close colleagues and friends. I didn’t want to hide the fact that I was a mother and that my child had died. Again, leaning into my pain, and wanting to be seen for everything that I am.
