Matt and I spent time last weekend cleaning and organizing. Matt focused on the outside, whilst I worked on the inside. My area of concentration was Waverly's room. It has been stuck in a netherworld of no longer her bedroom, but no other purpose. I decided to make it into an office/sitting room. There is a comfy chair with her quilts nearby to cuddle up with a book. Our desk is in there for days when Matt is able to work from home. I consolidated her belongings to one small bookcase. Other items were moved into the closet for storage. And the final box of her clothing was mailed to my dear friend for her two daughters. It is a bright, cheerful space that is ready for houseguests and visitors.
Waverly's urn has been in her bedroom since the day we brought it home from the funeral home. I had a candle nearby and her favorite stuffed lamb. Each morning and evening I would go in and kiss it, loving the cool feel of the pottery. I remember cradling the urn in the days and weeks after Wavey's death. I loved the weight of it and it's delicate floral design. When we went away a month after she died, I took it with me. I was unable to leave her behind. And when the time came when I could no longer travel with it, my mom was given strict instructions to greet it each day as she cared for Watson. I found myself forgetting to kiss it goodnight and then feeling guilty for forgetting. Eventually it became a beautiful vessel, but the realization that her essence was not contained in the clay became clear. I decided to move the urn into our bedroom. It feels right. I put a beautiful blue vase with a blackbird next to it filled with dried heather from her funeral.
I miss Waverly. Being in her room and removing her things always bring up a lot of emotion. It is confirmation that death is final. She isn't going to fill that space again.
There is one pink hoodie hanging in her closet. It wasn't added to the quilt we had made. I couldn't bring myself to send it in the final box of clothing for our friends. And unlike a stack of t-shirts I still have saved for another quilt, I couldn't bring myself to add this sweatshirt to the plastic storage bin. I hung it up in the closet on the little hook, as if it is waiting for its owner to return.
In my time. No right or wrong.