I’ve spent today going through maternity clothes that were given to me, as well as little toys and things people bought for my daughter. Now, I’m trying to get the courage to take them to Goodwill. It’s odd, though, looking at those bags and thinking all of the plans I had for my daughter are stored away in them, on their way to being part of another family and the life of another child. I want to hold on to each tiny toy and each little book. I want to cherish them as part of my daughter, but I know they can’t bring her back. And I know the first step in coping with a loss is the breaking of physical ties. It’s part of processing the loss. This is my child we’re talking about, though. She was a physical part of me, growing inside of me as she prepared to make her entrance into the world. I guess that’s why people say children who have died live on in their parents. That will never be good enough.