Making space

It all happened so quickly. We got the call on Monday and by Friday we were driving away from a CPS office in Texas with a child we had never met before that day in the backseat of our rental car.

Given my tendency to overthink, I know the short turnaround was for the best. Truthfully, there was really only 24 hours to prepare since I wouldn’t let myself get my hopes up that this was actually happening. Any number of issues could have arisen preventing Strawbaby from coming into our lives and I was terrified of having this dream dashed. 

So, that meant the day before we flew to Dallas was a busy one. Jackson and I made a pitstop at Target for essentials: pajamas and several outfits in multiple sizes because we didn’t know her size, sippy cups, activities for the plane ride, and an enormous Minnie Mouse stuffy that Jackson picked out personally. I also put a call out to several local mom friends with daughters asking for anything they might have laying around that they’d be willing to let us have or borrow.

The biggest adjustment, though, was making space in our home because it meant Adelaide had to, in a sense, move out. When we moved back to New Jersey it had been important to me that Adelaide have a room in our new home. She would never live in it, obviously, but I wanted her to have a space where any one of us could go and feel close to her. The room doubled as my office, a guest room and the place I ran to when I needed a quiet space to scream into a pillow and drown in my own tears. 

A framed scrap of wallpaper from her Chicago bedroom along with art created in her memory adorned the walls. Her IV pole that had held her feeding pump sat in the corner and was now hung with the mobile that a had hung over her crib, a flower crown made for her by my cousin for her Make-A-Wish birthday party, and other mementos. Her favorite books were lined up on the bottom shelf of a bookcase that had once held some of her medical equipment. I had bought new bedding and hung fresh curtains so it didn’t feel like a total shrine to Adelaide, still, her presence there was undeniable. 

But, now, Strawbaby would need that room. 

There wasn’t time to redecorate for her the way I would eventually want to, but I wanted her to feel comfortable in the space when she first arrived. I wanted her to know that this room was hers and that it was safe. 

With only hours until we boarded our flight, I didn’t have a lot of time to think about the emotions tied to my next actions. I moved my desk out first, along with my personal books and office belongings. I sorted through various stuffed animals boxing up Adelaide’s favorites: in part because I didn’t want anything to happen to them, but also because I got this strange feeling that Adelaide wouldn’t want to share them. Which sounds bizarre but, well, that was Adelaide and also what three year old wants to share their favorite stuffies? 

Miguel walked in as I was taking some of the pictures off the walls and almost immediately his eyes went glassy.

“If you’re going to cry I need you to go somewhere else because I can’t stop to think about what I’m doing. If I fall into the dark place right now, I’m not sure I will be able to climb back out.” I told him refusing to make eye contact as I rolled the IV pole out into the hall. 

I went down to the basement, to the massive black trunk that Miguel had been given to use when he was on tour with the musical, 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, and opened it for the first time in years. Inside were Jackson’s favorite toys that I had held on to for Adelaide. I had known years earlier that Adelaide would never play with its contents but I had never been able to bring myself to go through it. So, it had sat in storage collecting expensive dust. 

I opened the heavy lid and stared at the trucks, plastic pots, pans and wooden building blocks. Had I been holding on to these for Strawbaby all along? Nope, too much emotion tied to that thought train. I pushed it all down and as I carried the well-loved toys up. 

A couple months later, this situation would arise again. Clothes, books and gifts that my mom had bought for Adelaide but never been able to give her were opened by Strawbaby at Christmas. I was thrilled to have Strawbaby, to be able to give her a Christmas of her dreams, to cuddle her and love on her and let her unfiltered joy wash over us. BUT/AND it was entirely unfair that Adelaide wasn’t here to enjoy the gifts that had been meant for her and to feel our love physically. It wasn’t fair that this little girl got to step into her life - no matter how much we love them both.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been so happy, depressed, grateful and angry all at the same time. I tried to push the emotions down, to just enjoy the moment, but there was no more space inside me. So, instead they exploded out of my face in sobs. Miguel quietly hugged me as the kids, distracted by Santa’s offerings tore into their stockings in the next room.

A consistent theme of those early weeks with Strawbaby was making space. Both physically and emotionally. Fortunately, our home and our hearts have plenty of space for her, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t aches and pains as we abruptly rearrange furniture, dreams and expectations. Adelaide is with us even without her own room or the gifts she could never receive. And, in some ways her presence is stronger than ever.

“Baby!” Strawbaby cries out pointing at a large black and white photo of Jackson and Adelaide.

“Yes! That’s your big sister, Adelaide. She was a fierce warrior and we love her very much.”

“I wub YOU, Mommy.”

“I love you too, my little Strawbaby.”

The car seat straps in the above photo were fixed before we started moving, I swear!