For us Cassia and her creation in our hearts and in our imaginations has become an icon to what infertility has meant to us. She has a face that for us is what we have lost. This blog speaks to that loss a million ways. I am consistently reminded of her almost daily.
Earlier this month I had turned our additional bedroom area into a music room and office for my own reading and writing and other projects. I replaced the bookshelf with a leather chair. I replaced the toy shelf and some additional toys with a medium desk and chair. The dresser now contains my winter clothing instead of the plastic storage bins I had been using. We were able to move my husband’s keyboard and music to a side wall. The room is full and the earlier appearance of a child’s room is a fading memory.
It was an important process, and in a sense a healing one. I found as I was clearing out toys and other items I noticed a medium plastic pouch containing several things. I carefully unzipped the pouch and to my amazement there was a small pink woolen suit. The leggings and socks where all one knitted piece,. They were pink and new looking. The sweater was a complete match with attached knitted hood. I had found it years ago at a yard sale. It was so tiny I had seen it had hardly been worn. I had bought it at that time when dreams were still real in my heart. Years before I was even married.
It seemed so odd now to know that this little sweater was never to be worn by Cassia. The odd part was that I felt no pain, no hurt, and no tears. Just a little quiet as I fingered the soft knit.
I have learned that all grief has an expiry date, only it is often unknown to others and to oneself. No one can tell you when that is and how long it will take to “get over it”. The key is to get up each morning and regardless of the type of grief, just keep reminding yourself to breathe.
Sometimes what is lost stays lost and what is found stays found. Sometimes they are not the same thing.