My parents and I have bought Brielle a few outfits. And I’ve hung them up in her closet. I originally thought this would make me sad. Wouldn’t it be heartbreaking to go into a room that was supposed to be hers and it go unused? Or to look into a closet that was filled with her things and know she’ll never use them? So I didn’t go into her room for weeks. I didn’t put her nursery together and I didn’t hang things in her closet. And then I did.
I’d stand there with a huge smile on my face, looking at her frilly outfits that she probably wont fit into and really not caring if she did or didn’t. David would come in and join me and we’d laugh about how cute she’d look with her beautiful smile and a ruffly dress with a big bow on her small little head. We’d stand there and happily dream about a future with her.
I decided I wasn’t going to let her room sit empty. It’s still her room. We even call it Brielle’s room. So we’re going to hire painters and paint it for her. I’ll leave the guest bed in there, because we’ll need it and I didn’t plan on putting her crib together until she was older anyways. I’ll buy her bookshelves for her books. And keep her special blankets and toys in her room too. It feels wrong not to.
I think about when her younger sibling comes someday and telling them, “This was Brielle’s room, but we didn’t finish it.” And I don’t like that train of thought. I like the idea of saying. This is where we hoped to bring your big sister. Here are her footprints and this blanket was made special just for her. I imagine showing them who she was and what she was like.
I imagine the days after she’s died, sitting in her room and looking at her cute little things and thinking, she lived, she mattered. Maybe not for long, but she was real. I like the idea of having proof that my daughter existed and meant the world to David and I. We’ve let her fill every nook and cranny of our lives. Why would we let an unused room that we pass every single day go untouched by her?