Sitting quietly up in Savannah's closet sat one of her many bottles of Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo. The chaos of children around me was silenced as I stood in her closet doorway staring at the bottle of golden soap. It stared heavily back at me. I felt my body begin shaking as I slowly reached for the full unopened bottle.
I saved her shampoos, her body washes, and her lotions. I saved her desitin, her baby q-tips, her baby powders, and the bottles of hand sanitizers. All in hopes and knowledge that they would come to use someday. That they would be used someday. I just didn't expect the need to arise so soon.
I lowered my body into the glider that sits in the corner of her nursery, cradling the bottle close to my chest. The door was closed. A crack of light shown through at me. I hadn't sat in her chair in awhile. It was our favorite place to rock together while I was pregnant. It eased my back pain, and soothed her to sleep when she found herself doing gymnastics in my tummy. I would sing her lullabyes and would stare into the words written upon the wall next to the rocker.
"Some people dream of angels... I hold one in my arms."
I looked to those words as a reminder that I would hold her in that chair so very soon. I wish she could have seen her little room. But tonight... tonight, I was rocking a bottle of her shampoo that I dreamed of caressing into her beautiful brown hair. I opened it, and closed my eyes. I smelled it again and again picturing Savannah. And I finally, slowly got up. I walked back to her closet. I ran my fingers across all of her precious little outfits, and shut the closet door yet again.
As I poured the shampoo into my hands and rubbed it into Sarah's pretty brown hair, I held back tears. Here she was... Savannah was humming right in front of me... and I was washing her beautiful brown hair. My tears then dripped off of my cheeks into the bathwater. But it was a good thing.
I think I will save that bottle when the last drop finally leaves me down the drain...
2 comments:
Oh, the ache. The terrible, terrible ache.
Only you can know the particular pain you carry, but there is something in me that says: I know what you mean.
Oh I know - it is so hard. You are doing really good.
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