Entry 024

I was cleaning out my closet today. It’s a Saturday and my husband is at work, so it felt like a good day to organize and get rid of things I told myself I’d wear but have since shoved to the back. I made my way through my clothes from left to right, humming to myself as I slid hangers across the wooden rod, tried things on and folded what I no longer want in neat piles in the middle of the room.

When I was done with the clothes, I moved to the shelve above the rod. My husband added this shelf for me shortly after we moved in. It’s where I keep the shoe boxes of heals I wear maybe once a year, extra handbags and three cute little cloth baskets of miscellaneous things that don’t really have a place anywhere else. Inside the third basket, I found old birthday cards I saved, a watch that doesn’t work, and a small pink plastic bag with rainbows and a shipping label on it. Inside the dust-covered bag was something wrapped in white tissue paper with a sticker still stealing it closed. It was a onesie that says, “handpicked for earth by my siblings in heaven.”

I stared at the wrapped up onesie in my hands. I recognized it—but not really. Like it was maybe something I’d seen online. I sent my husband a picture of the white, newborn-sized onesie with words you could hardly read through the paper. He probably had no clue the onesie existed. His response? “Damn.” 

With a foggy mind, I gently set the onesie in the basket, walked down the hall to our room and sat on the bed. I opened the Etsy app and scrolled through my purchases to see when I placed that order. It was February 2, 2022. I was pregnant with my third baby and must have made a “faith purchase” thinking that baby would surely live if I bought something. I now vaguely remember planning to announce our pregnancy with that onesie.

I’ve been sitting here on the bed now for an hour—just scrolling through pictures and thinking about how hopeful I must have been ordering that onesie that’s been tucked away for 17 months now.

The light in the room with my closet is still on. There are piles of clothes on the rug, hangers needing to be rehung, and a onesie still in tissue paper inside a basket to be put back on the shelf.

Emily Lindquist