Okay I have been thinking about cleaning and reorganizing my second bedroom for a couple of weeks now. I am not sure if putting it off means that I have really made the decision to just stop the crazy life of waiting for a child. It’s been a very long process to have gotten to where I am today. I have been in the process of reorganizing it, but this past weekend I finally have moved somethings out of this room to signify the decision is final. We are moving forward and have decided to stop trying to find a child for our family. We have decided that we already are a family, my husband and I.
I began with the chest of drawers that had blankets and extra bedding for the little single bed in the corner. Some I am giving away and some I’m keeping in the cedar chest for company. I removed the “rock you to sleep” rocking chair into another part of the house for the sheer joy of reading. I have boxed and stored some toys that will be used for a future possible Child Care business. I am an Early Childhood Educator you know!
I had adjusted the location of a new pen holder several times on my writing desk. No corner or area seemed fitting. All was going well. Then I looked heaven-ward to the top of a bookshelf and there he was. A small sized fuzzy chocolate-brown bear with big brown eyes and a sad sort of turned down pout stared back at me. His expression seemed to be mourning the change in me and the function of the room he observed.
“What are you doing?”
I was shocked how loud his imaginary voice sounded to my ears and the immediate sense of guilt that this voice implied.
“I… um… just cleaning a little and moving a few things into storage.”
“Well, I’m sure glad to see that Cabbage Patch Doll get boxed. She was so annoying. Where did the other things go and what happened to the rocking chair?”
“Well, Mr. Bear” I stammered, “I am reorganizing things to make this room more purposeful. You see it’s time to move on as my husband and I are becoming child free.”
The stunned silence that followed gave me the opportunity to contemplate whether or not this curious little bear needed a place to rest for the time being in the special plastic box for stuffies that I kept. I wondered how this fuzzy friend would handle it. Seeing my chance I snatched the bear, he somehow missed my full grasp and tumbled to the floor.
“Hey, that hurt!! Pick me up! Put me back! Put me back!”
“Okay little bear, simmer down. You know you have always stood by me and all our children’s bedroom things for 7 years now. You’ve grown a little dusty and a little cranky. It’s time though to put aside this constant struggle of finding a child. We cannot put our lives on hold inevitably. It’s time to let go. This room will be a music room and office now. ”
“A…a…are you letting go of m…m…me?”, he asked. His imploring eyes went through my heart.
I thought for a moment. I’d held him in my hands far too long and I couldn’t just let him go could I? He stood for my hopes and what my dreams looked like. He had been with me a long time and I couldn’t just toss him in a plastic box with mere stuffed toys for storage. Yet my rule for all my things to have a purpose seemed suddenly cruel. Two little bears appeared on each of my shoulders whispering opposing views. One carried a tiny pitchfork while the other angel wings. I brushed them off and returned to gaze at the frozen stare of my bear.
“You and I have been together a long time haven’t we buddy?” At this his tiny face softened as I squeezed him close. Enough cleaning for now I thought as I placed the bear down. Walking out of the room, I smiled.
This little brown bear will always remind me of the struggle and pain and cost of infertility and searching for a child. Looking at him I realized I cannot file it all away and put it all out of my mind. This would be a process… a slow letting go of what was. A grieving of what could have been and moving forward. For now my little brown bear sits smugly on my desk, almost clutching the pen holder there. He too has a purpose. He fits perfectly.