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The following is the true story of my daughter, Freya Rose. She passed away on January 21, 2016 and was born a day later.

Part 3: The Instructions

I find a pamphlet that was hiding under the changing station I had built for her. In it are the directions on how to take the two boxes of scrambled parts we were given by my mother-in-law and turn them into a crib. Everything is simple: pictures, not words. As I flip through it for the second time in the span of a few months, I remember how complicated it seemed to put together despite the man in the instructions showing me plainly what to do. 

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The following is the true story of my daughter, Freya Rose. She passed away on January 21, 2016 and was born a day later.

Part 2: The Mattress

I wrap the mattress tighter than I do the wooden slats. I know that if I could just put enough pressure on the mattress, if I can squeeze it tight enough, it might just take up less room in our crawlspace. Maybe then I’ll have room for something other than this crib.
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The following is the true story of my daughter, Freya Rose. She passed away on January 21, 2016 and was born a day later.

Part 1: The Screws

The screws are hard to take out. I’ve assembled and disassembled a lot of furniture in my time but I’ve never encountered any screws that were this hard to take out. Were they this hard to get in when I put it together? I can’t remember now. 
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I haven’t written anything for a while. In fact, it’s been over a year. It’s always been normal for me to take long breaks from this platform, whether that’s a few weeks or even a few months. This is the first time I’ve had a good reason.

Over the next little while, I’m going to be sharing the story of my daughter’s birth as well as her death. It isn’t an easy story to tell but I feel that, on some deeper level, its telling will be therapeutic for me. I’ve told my story to many people in my circle of family and friends but some of you, including you internet strangers, haven’t heard it before. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to accomplish in writing this all out: dealing with the death of a child is a strange and uncomfortable experience because no one talks about it. The death of a child is so unnerving to some that they would rather ignore it altogether than acknowledge the deep impact it has on a family. I hope that by sharing my story I can change that, even just a little.

This is the story of how I had to take my daughter’s crib apart before I ever got the chance to lay her down to sleep.

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