Were you ever really.

There is no more. No more "Savannah's room." Yesterday afternoon, like a infected wound from a stabbing with a butterknife, I took every last outfit off of the tiny pink hangers. I took down every last blanket, towel, washcloth, shampoo, and lotion. I removed butterflies from the walls, and giraffes from the shelf. There is no longer quotes on the walls, or teddy bear nightlights to brighten the darkness. Every screw on her crib was wound tighter than I ever remembered them being. It was as if the grip each bolt had wasn't ready to let go of her yet either. But it was time. And now, there is a quiet emptiness. Far quieter than before. Because now, though her presence there never was, it never will be either. It is so sad that a life, so small yet so important, can be contained into plastic rubbermaid tubs. I wonder if the warehouse workers ever stop to think about the things that those tubs might one day hold. Unused baby outfits? Probably not.

I went to the Social Security office yesterday as well. Unfortuate for me, after having filled out the paperwork at the hospital for Savannah's social security number, when we resubmitted the birth certificate, it was after she had passed, so they denied the application for needing one. Little did I know, until a few days ago. Tax season is upon us. For the mere eight days Savannah was "ours" we can claim her as a dependant. {For those woman out there who may not be aware of this, yes how ever short their life was, you can claim them on your taxes. And yours and their medical bills are also tax deducatable! Just for the record!}

I walked up to the counter when my number was called. "I need to apply for a social security number for my daughter," was all I could say. After all how do you spit that mouth full out in one sentence? I handed my paperwork through the slit in the window. The lady looked as though I was trying to pull a fast one on her. "Deceased?" I tried to explain the situation. She excused herself from her desk for quite some time. I sat there corraling my three kids from wiping sticking fingerprints on the window and coloring on the counter. When she finally returned {literally fifteen minutes later} I think she really didn't know what to say to me. All she could muster was "what do you need this for?" Trying to refrain from coming back with many sarcastic comments that flashed through my mind in that brief second {to get some great interest rates on a credit card, to steal her identity, file for social security} I answered honestly. "I need to file our taxes." She looked at me with that heartbroken look I've become all to familiar with receiving. 

"I'm going to be frank with you... You can get a "TIN" number for her from the IRS if filing taxes is all you needed a social security number for. You will NEVER EVER need a social security number for her after this tax season. For ANYTHING. I'm so sorry, we never have these things come across our desk" she said. She passed Savannah's birth certificate and social security application back through the window. This is Redding. It may be a "city," but it is still very much a small town. As I got my things together, and got up from the chair many people in the small waiting area sitting behind me were staring. For a split second I wished I wasn't standing in the Social Security Administration office alone, while everyone stared at me gather my remaining children up hand in hand and walk to my car from being denied a Social Security number for my Savannah. 

She will NEVER need one. For ANYTHING...

Just like the nursery that once was. 

I went back into her bedroom one last time last night. I picked up her famous pink polka dot blanket. I smelled it as hard as I possibly could. But there was still nothing. Ofcourse I didn't think I would smell her again, but I hoped one last lingering scent might be left in the fabric particles. One more? But I was denied her beautiful smell, just as I was her social security number.