The Life I Almost Had

I long for the life I almost had. The one we devoted the last nine years to. The one our final IVF nearly gave us. It was so close. Mere months away. Evelyn was supposed to be born in early December but arrived mid-August instead and then the bottom fell out of our lives.

Her nursery is much like it was, with the exception of her crib, which we removed to the basement about two weeks after she passed away. Jason's best friend had flown in to support us and he took it apart because neither of us could bring ourselves to look at it let alone touch and disassemble it. But aside from the absence of the focal piece of furniture (and all it represented), Evelyn's nursery is much the same as it was. Rocking chair and side table in the corner, specially-made bedding {our one splurge} I designed with a quilter in Greece folded with care and anticipation on the rocking chair, accent wall painted a pensive dark grey, sunny yellow dresser/changing table, light gray blackout curtains, a standing lamp, and the bookshelves Jason had lovingly made his daughter with his own two hands. The shelves are filled with the children's books I've collected over the years, which, incidentally, was the theme of Evie's room. Aside from finishing touches -- framed prints of female characters from some of my favorite children's books one click away from being ordered, another shelving unit behind the rocking chair made from a pallet to be filled with knickknacks and stuffed animals, etc -- her room was just about ready. All that was missing was her. Our Evelyn. Our long-awaited, hard-fought miracle. Just mere months away...

Evelyn is indeed in her room now, but not at all in the way we'd planned. Hoped. Dreamed. Imagined. Instead of finding her napping in her crib or lovingly cradled in our arms as we rock her to sleep or doing a bit of tummy time on a blanket in the middle of the carpet, she is in the urn resting atop that same sunny yellow dresser which was supposed to be where we kept her onesies and burp clothes and spare wipes, and where we changed her diaper. Instead of butt paste and diapers, a changing pad and side lamp, there is Evelyn in her urn, a bouquet of fresh flowers (always), a few precious photographs, several figures of birds and angels and hearts, her memory box from the hospital, an owl doll a dear friend started to make for her when she was still in utero and finished and gifted us following her passing, her Evelyn Bear ordered from the Molly Bears organization, and a blanket my best friend's mother made her/us hanging like a banner from the top shelves: E V I E.

Our beloved child is reduced to ash and forever entombed in a cold, brushed-gold metal box, a quote from one of the books on the bookshelf above inscribed on top.This life is nothing like the one we thought we'd have. The life we, quite frankly, thought we deserved after so many long, difficult years. Where is that life? Reduced to ash, just like our daughter.

So yes, I long for the life I almost had, and for the future that should have been ours and hers, together. As long as I live, I will never understand why this is the life and future we got instead.

One day at a time...