We had just finished putting together our daughter’s new big girl room. We traded in the toddler bed for the twin-size bed. We switched out the curtains and bedding to everything princess. Then, when it was nearly done, I put the big pink stuffed elephant on the foot of the bed. No hesitation on my end, and no questioning from the usual inquisitive little voice behind me on the other. It was the final, perfect touch.
When I stood in the doorway looking at the new room, I had expected to feel a rush of emotions. The feeling of not seeing that crib turned toddler bed in the same spot it had been for the past five years. The feeling of having this real little person in here calling the shots on how they wanted their space to look. The feeling that my little girl wasn’t so little anymore. I did feel all of those things, but I also felt something so much more.
It came in the form of the fluffy pink elephant at the foot of the bed.
You see, that elephant was a very specific gift. It was a gift picked out well before the mobile had been hung up or the ballerina bedding was placed on the bright, shiny new crib. It was handpicked for our daughter by her great-grandmother, whose path she never crossed on earth.
Things with my grandparents ended up coming full circle. We shared a home with them growing up, and just before I found out I was pregnant, they decided to pick up and move back north. Or, as my grandmother had always said, “back home.” And they just so happened to stumble upon the perfect little apartment directly next door to me.
Their excitement of learning they were going to be great-grandparents was unmatched. I’d pop in after every appointment because they wanted to know right away how each one went. Unfortunately, it all came to a screeching halt when my grandma passed away quickly and quietly just three months before our little girl made it earthside.
But in her true, insistent fashion, my grandmother had enlisted my aunt’s help to buy a baby shower gift long before one was planned. That’s how she was. She wanted something done, it was done. Period, end of discussion. She could be tough and incredibly direct. And she wanted her new great-granddaughter to have this big pink elephant.
It had no particular meaning. No connection to her or our family. She just chose it. And that was more than enough for me. When I opened the gift at my baby shower, after my aunt explained what it was and where it came from, there were very few dry eyes in the room.
It immediately brought me back to her wake. I recalled standing there, calm but heartbroken. My uncle stood beside me and told me not to worry, that my grandmother was now in Heaven taking care of our little angel until she was ready for Earth.
Every fiber of my being believes that to be true. I believe my grandmother met her long before we did. I believe she was in that labor and delivery room when everything was going so very wrong, and she made sure to make it right.
And that pink elephant? There’s magic in it, and you can’t tell me otherwise. It was one of the few places my daughter would actually lie down and take a nap when she was an infant who refused to sleep—cozied up in its pink fluffy belly. It’s moved around the house with us. Never talked about. Never questioned. Just always exactly where it’s supposed to be.
I find myself snuggling up with the pink elephant reading a bedtime story on a bad day. I am constantly fluffing and readjusting it. It may be beaten up and stained, but it tells a beautiful story all on its own now. It’s still our safe space. Our comfort zone. Our earthly connection to our angel in Heaven.
by Chelsea Skaggs 
