After Maddie died I didn’t change the sheets on our bed for months. She’d spent her last night at home laying on those sheets, snuggled against me. I’d press my face into the spot where she slept, breathing deeply, hoping to inhale her essence. Even after we finally put new linens on the bed, I didn’t wash the sheets. It took until last month for me to feel ready, and I cried as I watched the water rise in the washing machine.
I had a pillow that smelled exactly like her. I took it everywhere, it was my security blanket. During Rigby’s horrible bout with bladder stones, she peed on the pillow (she couldn’t help it). I flipped out. I screamed at Mike, screamed at Rigby, and wailed that my pillow, Maddie’s pillow, was ruined. I curled into a ball and wept at the absurdity and unfairness of it all.
After Barf-o-rama 2011, I stripped our sheets to go in the wash. A dark spot on the bed caught my eye…upon closer inspection, I discovered it was mold. Annie had spilled a bottle, and we hadn’t done a good enough job of cleaning it up. I knew instantly that the bed was ruined.
Of course I cried. The mattress was only three and a half years old, and it took Mike and me months to save up for it. I knew a new bed would not be cheap. But I really cried because that bed arrived only days before Maddie came home from the NICU. She slept in it with us when she was on oxygen and when she and I needed middle of the day naps. Eight weeks after Annie came home, she dozed in the same spot her sister once slept in. I taught both girls how to sit up in that bed. We all jumped on it, played on it, had tickle fights and games of peekaboo.
Yesterday the mattress was carted off, and a new one (with a protective cover this time) is now in its place. I’m afraid to lay on it. Will my dreams be different?
It’s just a stupid mattress, right?
But why am I still crying?
Keli says:
I consider myself to be among the absurdly blessed – those who have not had to suffer the illness or loss of a child.
I’m also terrified to think about one of my children becoming ill because I doubt my frail sanity could handle it.
Reading your posts about loving-adoring Maddie and the raw and truthful pain of mourning her are so saddening but also so inspiring. I’m so sorry for the loss of Maddie, but I’m so grateful you share your memories and your love for her. I wish you all the lovey, squishy happiness that the good times on that bed brought you.
(ummm… I don’t mean that in the pervy way it sounds.) It’s really late here where I am and I hope I don’t sound like a raving lunatic here.
Jenn says:
*But why am I still crying?*
You’re crying (I thought you sounded sad when you DMed me last night) the same reason why my eyes weld up with tears. That mattress was more then a mattress Heather, it was in many ways ….”Home”. Your safe haven and the memories it held are priceless….the first matress you probably bought as a married couple, your safe place when you felt overwhelmed or scared, a beautiful family bed for 2 special new borns, a hospital bed when Maddie was ill, a family play place, a place where dreams were made…literally and otherwise. It was your solace when Maddie passed and while you woke every morning waiting to feel your unborn 2nd daughter to move so you knew she was okay. The mattress….well….in many ways it was your “Life Line” and suddenly, just like Maddie…..it left too soon.
A stupid mattress? NO WAY!!! Cry as much as you want Sweetheart as you grief the lost of that special history BUT, take solace in knowing your new matress will bring new, sweet moments and memories as your family continues to grow and change and although it may never physical hold Maddie…it will be FILLED TO THE BRIM with her BEAUTIFUL Memories and hopefully many, MANY past and new dreams.
A stupid mattress?? Not on your life!!!
Daphne says:
This post moved me to tears.
Jenn, your comment also brought on the tears. You words captured the thoughts and feelings of so many people who were not quite sure how to express them.
Heather – I have never commented before, although have been a reader for years, and I wanted to let you know how badly my heart aches for you and your family and how PROUD I am of you for being so open and honest about everything in your life.
Lots of love to you, Mike, Annie, and Rigby. I’ll never forget your sweet little Maddie.
– A friend in Canada
Megan@TrueDaughter says:
This comment is perfect. It said everything I was going to say. And Heather, when I read that you had to throw it out, my eyes filled with tears for you, too – so go ahead and cry if you need to. Much love and prayers – Megan
katrina says:
I would feel the exact same way. I save everything that reminds me of my kids. If one were to pass, I don’t think I could ever get rid of anything that the child had touched, or something that held a memory of him or her. I would grieve a mattress, yes. And sheets. And a pillow. Just about everything.
I think it’s all a part of “the process” — it’s not just a stupid mattress. It was something of Maddie. It’s understandable that you’ll mourn when something of hers is taken away from you.
Kim says:
Your feelings are completely normal. That mattress held a lot of sentimental value for you. It was never “just a mattress.”
Holley says:
Hugs.
I still have a sweater I haven’t washed since my nephew died because I cuddled him while wearing it. He would be 12 and he died as an infant.
It is not a stupid mattress.
You aren’t losing Maddie all over again just because the mattress left, even though it feels that way. You have her with you always.
heather says:
It’s easy to attach grief to tangible items because pain is so hard to physically feel. Memories aren’t cuddling and don’t smell like our loved ones.
When my grandfather died (I know, not the same thing) after living with us for almost a decade I was given his car. It was this huge, hulking early 80s crown vic. The thing cost us a ridiculous fortune in gas but he loved it, so I loved it and drove it instead of my new flashier car. When I was rear ended by a snow plow (with my 6 month old sleeping in the back seat) I balled like a toddler… none of us were hurt in that accident because that giant boat of a car was made of solid steel. It was a write off and before the insurance towed it from my dad’s autoshop I would walk over there, sit in the front seat and cry. I felt like I was losing him all over again. It felt like the grief I carried around inside was pulled open a little and fresh.
It wasn’t just a stupid car, and it’s not just a stupid mattress. Heck, I still have pictures of that car post accident because I was so afraid to let it go and my daughter is now 9! I showed her those pictures and tell her that the car her great-grandfather left me kept us alive in that accident because it may have been old but it was solid, reliable. Just like him.
Those memories aren’t going to go anywhere because the mattress is gone.
Stephanie says:
Cry all you want and don’t feel bad about it. I know I teared up reading your post and I have never had the privelage to meet you or Maddie so shed those tears of love. Each one represents a memory that is forever with you.
Momma Lioness Michele says:
I totally agree with Stephanie. Mourn for the old mattress but also remember your memories are in you, not in the mattress. Thinking of you and hoping you have lots of reasons to smile today.
jenny says:
I am so sorry. I understand your pain. It really isn’t “just a mattress”. If it were this would only be financially difficult.
This might be just a case of me being an armchair psychologist (which is just as useful as a Monday morning quarterback) but it has to be hard to lose the mattress at the same time that you are leaving the condo (or trying to) for your new house. You are surrounded by physical memories, standing on the edge of change. My thoughts are with you.
Jamie says:
Those steps you make forward feel like they’re away from the person you loved and lost. It sucks.
My Mom (and myself and my brother and sister) had worked at a grocery store for years. I worked there with her during high school and college. Last year, the store closed. I sobbed. I hadn’t been in that store for years, but I liked knowing I could if I wanted to. That I could be where she’d spent so many hours. Those tiny steps hurt. It’s painful. Wrenching.
You’re crying because that step forward of getting a new mattress makes it feel like you’re taking another step away from Maddie. And who’d want to do that? It was more than a stupid mattress. Your babies were there.
mccgood says:
I love this answer there isn’t much more to say but what a wonderful answer
Mary says:
Things that hold memories for us aren’t just things. As much as the rational part of us tells us they are, the emotional part of us has just as much reasoning behind it when it says that they are more than things. (That makes a lot more sense when I say it in my head.) I kept Jim’s car for a year even though I didn’t drive it and it didn’t start after awhile (squirrels chewed the wiring because no one was driving it). I paid the insurance and the registration for a second car that no one drove because I didn’t want to let it go. There is still most of a closet and a dresser full of his clothes…three years after he passed away. So no, it’s not just a mattress. And the people who care about you will support you as you cry about your mattress, the pillow, anything else that you need to mourn.
But you will keep moving forward because you are stronger than you know. Even when you don’t feel that you are and you don’t feel that you want to move, you will. And all of our collective and figurative hands will be reaching out to help you go.
Hugs to you all.
Dayna says:
you cry because you’re the mama. and that was your safe place – with both your lovelies. and probably because you weren’t ready to see that part of your life change.
my almost 11 month old daughter is still riding in her infant carseat. we’ve had the “big” seat for about 4 months now. my husband wants to move her up. i will not let him. in my defense she still has 4 inches to grow and about 12 lbs to gain, before she “outgrows” it. even though it’s heaving as all get out with her in it. but my husband carried it into the hospital empty, and carried it out full. it’s a big deal. and it matters to me.
the mattress may seem like a silly thing to cry over to anyone else. but it matters to you. it held memories for you. and you don’t need to justify your tears. i would sit and cry with you too.
Rachel says:
It may be just a stupid mattress, but it is the memories you are crying over. Not the springs and foam. The mattress may leave, but the memories never will.
I will never forget her.
Paige says:
Heather, it is not a stupid mattress, everything you are feeling is okay. The mattress and the pillow are very significant in your mind, of course they would be. I can completely understand why you would feel that way, it is a small semblance of control – keeping things that remind you of Maddie.. and when they have to go, you probably feel like you are losing what little control you have. I’m so sorry you are hurting. I love hearing and reading all about Maddie and Annie, your precious girls. Holding you in my heart.
Paige
Rebecca says:
I can see why it hurts so much just remember that Maddie lives forever in your heart. And, I read this book recently called “Heaven Is For Real” It’s about a little boy who went to heaven and came back. This book has renewed my hope and strengthened my belief in God and Heaven.
Ninabi says:
All the everyday items that hold a connection to your sweet Maddie are so important in your heart and they are not stupid, not at all.
There are a lot of memories and love attached to your current home and items within and you have the upcoming move. There is the physical move- but also an emotional move. Is there some way to acknowledge that? When people move, sometimes there is a house blessing upon the new house. I’m struggling to find the right words, but how do you bring all the love, memories and connections to those you love with you?
I think about you every day and I’m so sorry that you have had such sorrow.
Jeannine says:
I saw my grandpa tear up for the first time when one of my younger cousins nearly ruined his grey sweater. He hadn’t washed it since he snuggled up with my brother while wearing it the day before my brother passed away, almost 24 years ago now.
Sweater or mattress, they are more than just the objects that they seem to be.
Hugs
Melissa says:
*hugs*
I would cry too (I am for you, actually) at the loss of something tangible, no matter that it is “just a mattress”. But, your memories live in your heart and mind and throwing out the mattress is not throwing away your memories of Maddie. She knows you love her more than life still.
Trisha Vargas says:
(((HUGS))) just lots of hugs for you today Heather. No words!
Janet says:
what she said. And everyone else….it’s not ridiculous….it’s our way of dealing…..((hugs)))
giselle says:
If the rest of us are still crying, it absolutely makes sense that you are too. I’m sorry a million times over =(
Kristi says:
No, it’s not silly mattress. I have many objects that are connected to sweet memories and I have a hard time parting with them. So, I understand the connection you are feeling to that mattress! You cry as much as you want!
There are probably going to be a lot of tears when you move. It’s completely normal!
Shanna says:
My best friend died 7 years ago. He was my brother. I still have a jacket with his smell, wrapped up in plastic. It’s not just a stupid mattress.
Brandy says:
Obviously you know this better than a lot of people but it’s easy to attach sentimental value to something that truly doesn’t mean much in the scheme of things. Very few people know this about me outside of my house and a few of my family members, but I still have the last empty bottle of Tide from my father’s house. I can’t explain it. It’s obviously of NO use to me whatsoever. But there it sits on the shelf above my dryer. It was his. He touched it. He used it continually before he left us so suddenly. He’s been gone almost 9 years and there that Tide container sits. I may get rid of it one day but I may not. And I don’t feel bad or guilty for that. It’s what I need and how I have dealt with it. I’m sorry you have had to get rid of your mattress, no matter how small it could seem to someone else.
Kristin (MamaKK922) says:
Oh Sweetie it’s not just a stupid mattress, I completely understand where you are coming from. I have many things I can’t let go from different people. All I am offer is hugs and love. And say I am so sorry.
LisaJ says:
Cry as much as you need to, Heather. I have never experienced the loss of a child, but I can tell you that I went batshit crazy on my family last week when my computer locked up with 30,000 un backed up images and videos. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but I was so devastated and the thought of losing my memories turned me into a crazy person. I cannot even begin to fathom how much worse the mattress ruination is for you, but please know that I am thinking of you and crying right along with you. I tend to attach a great deal of sentiment to things, and I can’t even imagine how awful you feel right now.
cathryn says:
Hugs!
i certainly haven’t lost my baby, but this still makes perfect sense to me. let it out…
Hugs! Hugs! Hugs!
Molly says:
It’s painful to let go of objects, especially big essential ones like mattresses, because they’re a reminder of much bigger losses. Change will always be difficult because it always be a change without Maddie. But your memory, your love for her, and her spirit, NEVER changes, and you’ll never lose it.
Sarah R says:
I am like you and would be the same way. I am very sentimental. I won’t even throw away the pacifier Andrew never took, the one he had as a baby (almost 4 years ago). Hugs to you. I am sure this is normal. I am glad you have many pictures of your angel…. hugs
JenC says:
Its not a stupid mattress and you’re not stupid for feeling that way. Nothing changes though the way you remember cuddling with Maddie, and all the times you spent watching her sleep. That part will never go away and you can hang on to that as long as you want. Peace to you.
Tami says:
Its not stupid for how you feel. You had only a few things that Maddie touched and shared with you. Just hold on to the memories. Its never going to be easy no matter where you live , what you have,or what you do. You are normal to ache for your baby. My heart goes out to you Mike , Annie and Rigby!! It breaks my heart knowing
Maddie isnt with all of you.
Mrs Marcos says:
Its not a stupid mattress, it is a piece of tangible evidence that Maddie was there with you.
Losing a parent is not in the same league as losing your child, but I have similar connections to things that my mom shared in…even down to mourning television shows that we used to watch and then they are canceled or have the series finale…it is one less connection to her. It is kind of a weird analogy but I think of my life with my mom as a marionette puppet and when something goes away that connected us then it is like one of the strings holding the puppet together is snipped away.
Pattie says:
It was much, much more than just a mattress. It’s understandable that you’d grieve over having to get rid of it. I know you’ll miss it forever, but I hope you make happy new family memories on the new one.
falison says:
Why throw it away? You could have had it professionally steamed cleaned for about $100… If something like that happens again, just get your mattress steam cleaned. But make sure the company uses a truck mounted steam cleaning unit. (for better, more powerful deep cleaning(
Rumour Miller says:
I would be the exact same way, I am sure of it. Wanting to remember her smell forever and cling to anything that was shared with her.
I don’t think it is just a mattress.
amanda says:
I’m so so sorry. It is completely understandable why you are sad. Love to you.
Donna P says:
Heather, that mattress certainly held a lot of memories for you and it is upsetting that you had to let it go. But I am curious as to how you’re going to feel when you move into your new house soon and will be saying so long to your present residence that holds so many memories as well. All I can suggest is to try to keep the memories in your heart, the physical objects will always come and go.
Glenda says:
Your feelings are so normal. It’s not just a mattress. It has tangible memories. You carry your memories in your heart. Maddie will move with you to your new home. She’s always with you. She will forever be with you and Mike.
Peace and strength.
Sending you hugs!
Jennie B says:
We know that these are just “things” but somehow they hold a dear connection to the ones we’ve lost. I watched as the mattress that my brother spent his last days in was taken away from my parents’ house. It wasn’t supposed to ever have to be there in the first place, and watching it go, despite the good reason (making room for my kids to be able to visit grandma and grandpa), was really hard.
Hugs to you.
Katie says:
Everyone has already said what I would – it’s understandable, we all want that physical reminder and closeness to someone we love; but I’m glad you’ll also always have the memories – they won’t go anywhere, except for wherever your family goes.
Also – *hugs*
Kelly says:
I’m so sorry. Things give us comfort in different ways. I understand completely.
Michelle says:
My husband has been deployed to Afghanistan for a year and I sleep with his dirty shirts so I can try and remember his smell, and I didn’t wash the last of the dirty laundry he left here for months because I was afraid it was all I would have left if he doesn’t come home. I know this in no way compares to your experience with Maddie, but I can totally understand why you’re sad about your bed. I know if something happened to my husband or daughter, I would be the same way. So many hugs to you!
Reese says:
Under my kitchen sink, jammed way in the back, I keep the bottle of dish soap I last had when my son was alive five years ago. It was the last bottle of dish soap I washed his bottles out with….so for some ridiculous reasons I still have the bottle. I can’t seem to throw it away. No judgment on the mattress.
Kim says:
I get it, I get it, I SO get it.
Sometimes it is the little (or big bed) things. They get us when we aren’t expecting them to.
Love you sweet friend.
mccgood says:
Hugs to you thanks for such an honest post. It helps others who are going through a loss.
Vickie says:
It’s not stupid. It’s not stupid at all.
amourningmom says:
Very normal and not stupid at all. Sending you hugs and peace. Take care.
Marsha says:
Oh how I wish you had posted before you got rid of the mattress! It could have been cleaned because there are a lot of great products to get rid of a mold spot and you could have kept it….dang I am so sorry Heather!
MelissaG says:
To echo previous posters…it’s not a stupid mattress. I totally get it. As much as I want new couches in our family room, I think of all we’ve been through together (yes, the couch, love seat and I) MANY (MANY MANY) hours of nursing 3 babies, sleeping with sick children, snuggling, crying (myself and my children), siblings holding new siblings, laughing, reading and so, so much more. Wow, I actually hadn’t thought about it that deep until just now. I am still so incredibly sorry for your loss and pain. I do hope your new mattress is comfortable and I know you will have wonderful dreams to come.
Penbleth says:
Having to change things we had while we still had our loved one is so hard because it is one more connection gone. Love and best wishes for your move and the future and for two beautiful daughters whom you adore with your whole heart. That will never change, Maddie will never be gone from you while you live and love and remember her.
Kristin says:
Oh honey, I’m so sorry. {{{Hugs}}}
Jessica says:
Oh I would have been hanging onto that mattress as it was carted out the door. I can only imagine your feelings as things like this happen. I remember for the first year or so after my daughter passed, as much as I wanted the pain to get a bit more bearable I didn’t want to get further away from the day she passed and that last time I got to see and hold her. There truly is no easy way to deal with it. It shouldn’t have happened to either of us.
Ally Acord says:
When I came back from the hospital after my son died, I HAD to change everything. The placental abruption started with a big gush of blood in the bathroom, and so I got blood on the floor mats in the bathroom. As I ran back and forth to get to my phone, my feet stepped in the blood and I had bloody footprints from where I walked. I stood in the tub and bled until the 911 operator told me to grab a towel and lie on the couch until the ambulance came. The towel got soaked and so did the couch cushions. After I came home, the house smelled like cleaning product, from removing all the footprints and blood stains. I had to get rid of the bathroom mats, the towel, and the sheets in our bed. Because I had too many memories of being pregnant and lying in those sheets and it was too hard for me. If I could have gotten rid of my tub and bathroom, I would have done that too.
xo
Erica says:
Heather, it isn’t a stupid mattress. It isn’t a stupid anything. It was and is a big deal and that’s ok. I am so sorry, just as I am in every other sad post where I feel heartbreak thinking of what you’ve been through. I wish that my words made a difference and that they’d make it go away. All I can say is that your dreams won’t be different. You will always have your Maddie right there, along with Mike and sweet Annie. Hugs and more hugs.
Ray says:
It’s not just about a mattress, it’s about the memories that lie there. I’m sorry that you had to throw it out. But Maddie’s memory will live on Forever.
Elizabeth says:
Sending big hugs to you!!!!
MamaRobinJ says:
These things are symbols and they’re important. I would feel exactly the same way and I understand your heartbreak. You want to do everything you can to keep her with you, but she is and always will be.