106

It has been 106 days since I last held our daughter in my arms. 108 days since we started grieving her loss.

The journey has felt long. I feel weathered and tarnished. I have learned a lot. More than I would have liked to learn by the time I turned 23.

I went in Brooklyn's nursery for the first time today. I just got an overwhelming feeling that it was finally time to confront all of the baby things that we are not getting to use. The room was jam packed with everything we have of hers - clothes, books, photos, diapers, bathtub, stroller, car seat, swing, bouncy chair, crib, toys, soothers - everything.

The last time I was in there, was during the day I went into labour. That day, I sat in the rocking chair, holding my belly and praying for the safe arrival of our baby. Praying that she would be healthy and that we would be good enough parents for her.

Today, I sat on the floor sobbing for the loss of our daughter - the loss of all of the memories we would never get to make with her. We will never get to bathe her, to rock with her in the rocking chair, to use her change table or go on family walks with her in her carrier. We will never be able to read her story books, to put headbands in her curly hair, or watch her exploring her world on her play mat.

In my heart, I know that what Brooke is experiencing in Heaven is so much more than anything we could offer her on this earth. But this doesn't take away the ache or pain I feel over the loss of everything we had pictured getting to experience with her.

As I unpacked her diaper bag - full of the things we had expected to use at the hospital, I began to mourn in a new way. Until now, I have been mourning without having to be confronted with all of her things. I checked all the dates on the wipes and diaper creams to see what we should donate or what could potentially stay long enough if we are lucky enough to parent another baby. I wondered if we will ever get to use her baby girl clothes and headbands sometime down the road, or if that was our only shot at parenting a daughter. Even if we have a girl one day, will we even want her to wear the things we had specifically bought for our Brooke?

Despite all the hurt and aching my heart has done, it is still so full of love for our baby girl. Being in that nursery, gave me a sense of renewed hope. This hope may be naive, but I know I need to hang onto this because some days it is the only thing that gets me through. I hope that one day, I will be sitting in that nursery with a living, breathing, screaming baby that reminds me there are still good things that happen in this world.

Until then, the door of the nursery will now stay open instead of closed. I'll continue to go in there and read Brooklyn's story books to her. I can still feel her with me, and smell her from time to time. There is this relationship that starts with your child after they die. Unless you've experienced it, it is hard to explain, but it is something I will forever cherish.