We are starting to introduce Jackson to bottle-feeding breast milk so that Ed can feed him once a day and so that I have a tiny bit more mobility than a two-hour window of time that I can be away from him.
In the process, I had to decide what to do with all of Hudson’s old bottles and sippy cups. Given my general wariness about plastic (I would use glass bottles all the time if I could, but day care doesn’t allow them), I decided it would be best not to reuse them.
In order to get them ready to recycle, I had to collect them from all the various places we’d stuck them last spring. We were in the process of trying to wean her from the bottle to a cup, and while she’d mostly made the transition, she still much preferred her milk in a bottle. So we kept a few out in case she just refused to drink her milk from a cup on occasion. Those were still in our kitchen cabinet, along with all the sippy cups, the take-and-toss food containers we sent her lunch in, and the colorful pocket bibs we used every night at dinner. For the past year, every time I opened the cabinet for a plate or a bowl, I would see all of these Hudson things on the shelf right above the dishes.
Today, I pulled everything out of the cabinet. I tossed the bibs, as they had been getting ratty anyway. I pulled all the rest of the bottles out of the storage closet, along with a bag full of pacifiers, teething rings, and plastic baby spoons, which I also threw away.
In order to recycle all the bottles and dishes and sippy cups, I had to remove, one by one, the little adhesive labels with her name on them, marking them as hers. The labels were old and shot from having been washed many times, and there was nothing to do with them but throw them in the trash. One by one, I peeled them off and threw them away.
Hudson Chaney.
Hudson Chaney.
Hudson Chaney.
I know there will never come a day when she is not physically represented in our house—we will always have her pictures and her books and her toys and many other things to remind us of her. But at some point, all of these reminders of our everyday life with her will be gone.
Why must I keep having to say goodbye, over and over again? Every time is another terribly painful reminder of how our life should be, how it will never be. It is just so wrong.
It is so, so wrong, Mandy. I'm aching to think of all the lettings go you have endured, and to think there are more to come is just too much.
ReplyDeleteMuch love to you. She will always be there, in the thick of it, in your hearts. xoLiz
It took me a long time to realize that letting go was a long process that happens in steps and stages. It is so hard. It took me three years to throw out a prescription of Henry's, and I still have a piece of tape with his name on it on the CD player we had in the hospital. Big hugs—it is not easy.
ReplyDeleteOh, gosh, each little label must have felt like a punch in the gut...at least, that's what it felt like to me merely reading your words...I cannot fathom having to endure what you are going through...it's truly just so wrong...
ReplyDelete{hugs}
So sorry Mandy. I know how hard that is. I still have yet to remove Veronica from my health insurance or to throw away a prescription of hers.
ReplyDeleteOh gosh, Mandy that must have been so hard. I am so sorry you have to face these moments all too often. When you are going thru these seemingly unbearable moments...remember the moments like at Hudson's bench with the special turtle visitor. I so wish she was here with you, Ed, and her baby brother...but I feel like she is smiling down on you from heaven. Be good to yourself, and continue to be the strongest person I have known. Love you.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry, Mandy, she should be there, in your loving home, "helping" you with Jackson. It's wrong.
ReplyDeleteHugs from afar,
Claire
Aleksandar Hemon writes a heartbreaking story of the loss of his baby daughter in the current New Yorker. His description: "Her indelible absence is now an organ in our bodies, whose sole function is a continuous secretion of sorrow."
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry for the many, many goodbyes you've had to say to your sweet girl, Mandy. I'm sorry that these small things hold more significance than they ever should have and that she's not still here creating more reminders of her every day life. Much love to you. ~Stacey
ReplyDelete