At some point after the loss after my baby girl, I began to turn my bedroom into a sanctuary. After the loss of my second baby girl, it became even more so.

There was the tray. A mirrored tray on a stand where I put things to honor Nelle: a box of things that meant a lot to me, like ultrasound photos and cards I received. A candle. A photo of the tree where we scattered her ashes. Tiny photo frames of my two boys and her footprint: my three children.

Above the tray is a framed quote, illustrated by DangerDust: “Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.” -Emily Dickinson

During my subsequent pregnancy, I bought a diffuser, trying to calm my trembling body and mind with essential oils.

After I lost Iris, I added a canvas of Monet’s painting “Irises.” My tray now has footprints from both of my girls.

The room is pristine. I take better care if it than ever before. It is my “space.” I make the bed every day. There are never clothes on the floor. I replaced an inadequate reading chair with a more comfortable variety. I have spent more time lying in bed in the past few months than I would care to admit, so I crave serenity.