Our Story (8): No Need for a Nursery

A wooden name sign made with love from a piece of old barn wood from the family farm hung perfectly above the crib. An armoire fully stocked with freshly washed baby boy clothes stood tall and dark against the wall by the window. Three metal airplanes that hung at various lengths and positions by fishing line dominated one corner of the room. A changing table adorned with a diaper caddy fully stocked with newborn diapers sat on an adjacent wall underneath two vintage airplane pictures. The swing that had been placed in front of the window contained Waylon's stuffed monkey from childhood.  Wooden lettered hooks spelling the word "FLY" decked the grayish- blue wall to the right of the door; a tiny dark blue jacket hung carelessly from one of the hooks. A solid wood rocker that had been my parents' when I was younger loomed in the corner under the airplanes and a shelf with coordinating frames. It was the perfect nursery for our son.

I have read other people's stories about losing their child in the same manner that we did. Many of them couldn't bare to go into the nursery, let alone touch anything for months, even years after their child's death. With that said, my actions regarding Wyatt's nursery might seem a bit hasty and empty; however, it killed me to see the room all dolled up amd appearing to welcome a child at any moment. The reality was quite the opposite, and I didn't want to live with false hope, even if it was all just material things.

Waylon's mom came back home to TN with us after the funeral. She helped tremendously by keeping Lyla occupied while Waylon and I tried to find the best way to do even the basic of duties. Almost immediately upon arriving to our home Waylon and I made our way to the room across the hall from ours- the baby room. Nanny and Lyla began to play outside.

I placed my hand on the long, brass door knob and took a deep breath. I pushed down on the handle and let the door swing open. I couldn't walk in. Waylon stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders reminding me that we could "do this later." I felt the need to do it immeditaely. Wyatt was never coming home to be in this room, so there was no use in pretending. The sobs started. I remember feeling physically sick and having to rush to the bathroom. Waylon was once again by my side  trying to calm my cries and reassure me that the task at hand could indeed wait. I perisstantly wiped my cheeks, and walked into the nursery immediately placing myself in the rocking chair.

I don't remember the particulars, but I do remember us both weeping and moaning with pain as we looked around our son's room. We talked for a few minutes about where to start and what to do with all of the "stuff" that we had accumulated for our precious newborn. And the process began. We cleared out the armoire first. We thumbed through all of those little pieces of clothes and outfits, separating them into piles: a pile to keep for possible future children and a pile to keep to remind us of Wyatt. The changing table was next. We placed all of the diapers and wipes in a plastic tub with my maternity clothes and later gave it to my brother and sister-in-law (they are expecting a baby boy in September). The decor in the room was immeditaely stripped from the walls and shelves and placed in a box; we later distributed pieces to various family members for keepsakes.

The wooden sign with our sweet baby's name now sits in the garage, by his daddy's work bench.

After all was said and done, we had filled a laundry basket full of items that we were going to put in a chest to always remind us of the sweet boy that never got to come home. It included anything with his name on it, blankets, and anything that was made especially for him. The furniture was taken apart and donated to Good Will, along with other baby items that I couldn't bare to see in our house.

The very next week, my sister and cousin came to stay with me and Lyla when Waylon went back to work. Our first stop- Home Depot to buy paint for the nursery. The room is now a gray color and only contains a ladder and painting supplies- still.

Although I was in a rush to erase the new baby items from the house, I NEVER intended to erase Wyatt from our home. In almost every single room of our house there is a picture of our boy. I placed one on the fridge so that I can see him while I am cooking. There is one in a frame on the wall in the Living Room so that I can stare at his beautiful face when I am relaxing on the couch. Lyla asked for the picture of his feet to be placed in her "Big Sister" frame in her room. The canvas that was present at his funeral now hangs dominatingly on our bedroom wall. One of the airplane frames that was meant for his nursery now sits on Waylon's nightstand with a picture of the most precious baby boy I have ever laid eyes on.

It no longer appears that we EVER expected to bring home our baby, although our hearts tell a different story.