I just Freecycled my entire living room set. Couch and loveseat.
Why?
Because I was lying on the couch and looking across at M. and the kids sitting on the loveseat watching while the midwife was checking for the heartbeat and not finding it. I'd had all my prenatals in that room, on that couch, and I couldn't stand looking at it anymore.
Every morning I sat there and felt him moving, waking up with me, his sharp little elbows poking me from the inside, making me gasp and shift, and prompting M. to ask, "What?" and me to just shake my head and smile and mumble, "Baby."
That morning was when I think I knew for sure, some part of me did, as I sat on that couch and didn't feel his little elbows. Quiet day, I thought, and tried to remember a morning when I hadn't felt him...and couldn't. My midwife appointment was that day, I rationalized. He's just tired from all the contractions last night...
Then we couldn't find his heartbeat, no matter how long we looked. He was gone.
And I hated that couch, hated that room, hated that suspended moment in time hovering above me forever. Now I sat there every morning, and I remembered. Maybe some childish part of me believed, if I got rid of the couch, I'd get rid of the memory. Totally crazy, irrational thoughts, more magical thinking, but I did it anyway - I posted on Freecycle, sending my couch and loveseat to a good home, bidding them a fast farewell.
Now the room is empty...but my womb is still empty, and my arms are empty, too.
It didn't change anything, not really, but for some reason, when I walk into that room now, I can take a full breath. For that first instant, I don't think about that horrible day we found out he was gone. It settles in mere seconds later, but for that one, brief moment in time, the memory is held at bay, a momentary reprieve - a short, bittersweet taste of freedom from the weight of my grief.
Even that, just that, is a relief.
10 comments:
Though I've not Freecycled our furniture, I understand the need. I take injections to prevent preterm labor. I took them during my pregnancy with Zachary, which was of no use, and I take them now. The nurse who came to visit me then is the same nurse that comes to visit me now, and for a while, it was on the same day at the same time her appointment always was before.
Because we live in a more remote area, I can't change nurses. Fortunately, her coming her has not been as bad as I thought it would be. That said, I've not been able to bear letting her all the way into my home, into the family room situated in the very back where her work always was and would still be very easy. She's only allowed in just inside the front door to a rarely-used sitting area on a completely different set of couches. It's surprisingly easier to shift my focus there in that other room.
Sometimes we need that. And that's okay.
We have a black leather sofa. A big three seater. It's gorgeous and just over three years old.
Kees was lying on that sofa when his heart stopped. He was lying on that sofa when Craig found him and when he started CPR on him. He was lying on that sofa when I woke to hear Craig screaming. He was lying on that sofa when I called for an ambulance.
I'm not ready to part with this sofa yet. But many times I have thought about it.
I'm so glad someone finally talked about this! I refused to do anything to our house when Somer died. It was the house where she died and I couldn't get past it. It was already on the market and thankfully it sold! I refused to decorate the same room for Clarissa that had been decorated for Somer. When Clarissa was born, her nursery was our living room. I slept on the couch while she slept in her sleeper. Clarissa never entered Somer's room until the day we moved. Never. Thank you for talking about this. I'd never been brave enough to mention that.
How strange--I just posted today as well about the impact furniture and things have been having on me and then I stumbled on to your blog. I say do what you have do so freecycle away. New furniture is ultimately a small price to pay for even a tiny reprieve. I'm sorry to see a new babylost mom and so sorry for your loss, but hello anyway. Hang in there.
I think that's an excellent idea. Sure, intellectually, we know it's ~just furniture~ but the connections are way too strong. Getting rid of it (and on Freecycle--brava!) is a very good idea!
Hugs, Dear One.
it must be so cathartic to get rid of everything and start from scratch. abrazos y besos.
I totally understand this. It's weird what hurts you after your baby dies. Everything that used to be normal is excruciating. There were even pairs of socks that I couldn't wear because they made me sad. Honey Nut Cheerios--I ate them the night that everything went to hell. It's been three years, and I'm just now able to eat them again. After Nate died, we had to move. I couldn't leave my bedroom, I couldn't live there anymore.
We *just* (9 year after moving in) got our bathroom remodelled - and it hurt. Because as awful as our old bathroom had become, it was where I labored with Emma. I sat astride the toilet or knelt in the shower for what seemed like hours while my birthpool was filling. It was one of the last places where I had her within me alive and it was another wrench to let it go.
We lived in a one bedroom apartment while I was pregnant with my son; we put his crib in our master bedroom and his changing table by the window (so he could look outside while I changed him). I started bleeding while putting my makeup on in the only bathroom we had, gushing blood in the toilet, on the bath rugs, even the carpet running to the living room and back to the bathroom. When I came home from the hospital 3 days later, the blood was cleaned, the bath rugs tucked into the linen closet. But the memory of that day, the feelings I felt as he died in my belly, came back to me every time I showered or put my makeup on, that still lingering hope of him coming home stayed up until we took the crib and table down. I am so glad we moved out of that place.
At least it gives you a good excuse to get new furniture.
((hugs mama))
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