This is Viggo's old nursery, now a prayer and meditation room. When we brought Viggo home, his room became a sacred space. Upon entering, more than a few guests commented on the feeling that they were on holy ground. Perhaps because Viggo was so generous, so accepting of all who wished to hold him in their arms. In return, he would you in his gaze--the most patient, accepting, loving gaze. The room held, and still holds, a palpably peaceful energy. Somehow, on the day after Viggo's memorial service, and with the help of my grandmother (who lost two sons in the span of a week, one of them my Dad) and my Aunt Mel (whose husband was the other son who died a week after my Dad), we dismantled his nursery and transformed it into a different kind of sacred space. I was worrying that morning about how the kids would react, about whether I could manage it, about what we were going to do with all the medical and baby supplies. And then a kind acquaintance showed up, unbidden, and offered