Remembering: The Expressioins of Love

The time has come to work on Merideth’s room. As the spare bedroom, it has become the catch-all to store extra furniture and clothes, in addition to the pictures and other mementos of her life. Thanks to renewed energy from the sunshine this week, a general drive for spring cleaning, and moving out the big kid bed for Natalie, I have felt an urge this week to put some things in order. In particular, there have been stacks of papers and things related to Merideth’s pregnancy, time in the hospital and death that have just sat for months on the dresser. In the back of my mind I knew what was in those piles and could find something if I needed it, but the mental energy to actually think about how to organize it eluded me. But, as I say, I was in the organizing mood this past week and finally turned to tackling the piles.

It was refreshing to put some things in order. As I went through my trusty binder that I took to my Salt Lake doctor visits, it was nice to realize I could discard some of the papers: paperwork that no longer applied to us, housing options for a long term stay in Salt Lake, the phone tree to keep my family updated, and the incomplete list of everything I wanted to do the week before Merideth was born. I will of course hold onto all the doctor notes and resources that were useful to me while preparing for her birth. They serve as part of a history of her life and our experience. Next, I sorted through all the handouts from various sources about grief and infant loss—there are so many that I still don’t know if I ever read them all—and I’ll still file those away somewhere because I am the type of person who likes to hold onto things in case I need to look something up again or share with someone else.

Then I turned to two huge mailing envelopes. I knew what was in them, but I still needed to make an attempt to sort through the countless sympathy cards and try to decide what to do with them. Originally I thought I might keep a handful of my favorites to include in Merideth’s scrapbook, but as I reread each of them, I didn’t know where to draw the line.

I sorted them in piles of “family,” “friends,” and “people from church,” but that is where my categorizing ends. “Family” includes distant relatives I don’t know well but who cared about me because of the connection with a closer family member in between. “Friends” includes people from my hometown, former co-workers and roommates, and even unmet friends of family. “People from church” includes cards from so many who offered support throughout the pregnancy or who didn’t even know about Merideth’s condition but readily shared their love at her passing. I don’t feel like I can throw away any of the cards at this point (besides the fact that I’m a pack rat, if I haven’t already pointed that out) because each one touched me then, but more especially now: sometimes it was the words of the poem on the front of the card, sometimes it was the sincere personal heartfelt message, and sometimes it was simply the signature on the card that made me tear up because it was from someone I didn’t expect to be aware of our situation or that I didn’t even know.

People frequently told us that they were thinking and praying for us, but reading these cards brought it to a tangible level for me. The outreach of love from so many people has inspired me to do better when I know of someone who has lost a loved one. Although I sometimes don’t know what to say, I trust that the Spirit can convey the comfort that my inadequate words are trying to convey.

Incidentally, some of the most cherished cards I received are the ones that were baby-themed celebrating a new life, even though the person sending the card knew that the life would be brief. I am also reminded of the beautiful vase of flowers (the first of many delivered between Merideth’s birth and funeral) from Aaron’s co-workers that greeted us when we came home from the hospital. Such simple gestures remain dear to my heart.

The piles on the dresser don’t look a lot different from when I started, but they are condensed and have a better system now. I have appreciated the mental and emotional catharsis. I still don’t know where I will ultimately keep my Merideth binder, the guest book from the funeral or the stacks of cards. As much as anything, I wanted to acknowledge my appreciation for the love of so many at that time and the support I continue to feel from so many. Thank you.