Grief Week

With seven years of grieving experience, I have come to know what to expect during my grief season and what I need. This week is A’s seventh birthday. I planned ahead by taking the entire week off of work so that I can fall apart and get in touch with all of the emotions I so often quell throughout the year. I also stocked my freezer with ice cream and my pantry with Oreos*.

This morning, E and I drop the girls off at their schools and he continued on to work. I returned home and set up (grief) shop. A thick blanket on the recliner, water bottle and coffee within arm’s reach, a box of tissues, A’s tiny urn. I settle in and delve into books that get me in touch with my grief and that validate my feelings and my experiences (like They Were Still Born and Bearing the Unbearable and Love You Forever – all of which were written by bereaved parents).

This week, for me, is an opportunity to inhabit my grief. I wade into the thick stew of emotions and, without judgment, embrace whicheverfeelings come. I give myself permission this week to fall apart; to abandon my usual responsibilities (ie regular showering, laundry and making meals for my family – we’ll subsist this week on pizza, frozen chicken tenders and mac-n-cheese) and to do whatever feels right in the moment. Could be sleeping. Could be exercising. Could be gardening. Could be journaling.

I will go through A’s pictures; all of the ultrasounds and also the photos of our one day together. I will watch the short video my husband took, unbeknownst to me at the time, while I cradled that long, limp boy and delicately caressed his perfect body while quietly uttering, “I don’t understand.” over and over again.

I will listen to songs that trigger tears. I will bawl, howl and sob. I will re-read the condolence cards we received seven autumns ago (only those with heartfelt, genuine notes). I will mound the used tissues up, wet with tears and snot, until they topple onto the floor.

I will honor my love for my boy by honoring my grief over his absence.

*I am in no way compensated for promoting Oreos. I doubt Oreos need any promotion.

Crazy Scale

While going through A’s box this week, I came across the cremation certificate – because, you know, that’s a normal part of baby books. Anyway, I read it over and noted the address of the crematorium is very close to our house. I know this crematorium because we have passed it many times. The actual funeral home that handled all of A’s arrangements, including picking him up from the hospital and coordinating his cremation, is a 30-minute drive from our house, but the crematorium is in our neighborhood.

I also note on the cremation certificate the name of the gentleman who signed it. I wonder if he is the one who actually cremated A. The next thought that popped into my head is that I could go to the crematorium and meet this man; shake his hand; look into his eyes and get a sense of who he is. This man is (quite possibly) the last person who touched my baby.

I’d like to think he’s a quiet, older fellow who has been in this line of work for some time and who respects the reverence of his occupation. But what he isn’t. What if he’s gruff and disgruntled? Would I regret having met him? Is the fantasy of Mr. Cremator better than knowing the truth?

This idea is not one I can share with many people because it is morose and a little batty. But I’ve always felt safe sharing these sorts of thoughts with the babyloss community. What do you guys think? Where does tracking down the man who cremated by baby fall on the crazy scale? Total lunacy?

Homecoming

My mother-in-law, bless her soul, took care of all the arrangements with the funeral home and cremation. She graciously kept A’s urn at her house, safely and lovingly watching over him until we were ready to bring home. It’s been over 4 months since A died and was born. Just this past week we brought his ashes home.

Cupping the tiny urn in the palm of my hand I gave A a tour of his home. The home we joyfully prepared for him.

This is your front porch. Remember how we used to sit in the summer sunshine out here? This is your living room. You surely would have loved snuggling up on our huge couch. This is a spider plant – it doesn’t have any spiders in it; it just looks like a spider. This is a basil plant – can you smell it? This is your dining room. You’ll recall all the delicious memories we had in here! This is Mommy & Daddy’s room. You can come in anytime. We’re always here for you. This is the bathroom where we were going to have such fun at bath time. This is your room. Mommy & Daddy picked out everything here special for you. These are your books and your toys. Whenever you want a story, just ask, we’ll always read to you. This is the kitchen, Daddy’s making dinner right now. Do you smell that? Those are onions! And this is your backyard. In the spring, Mommy will teach you all the names of the different flowers. Daddy will grill up snacks during the summer. And we can all run and play in the yard.

After the tour, we returned to the nursery and I rocked my little boy’s ashes as if it were really him. “You know Love, this is the same chair that your grandma rocked me and your Uncle in when we were babies. And before that, your Papa sat in it when he visited his grandmother’s house. This rocker belonged to your great-great-grandmother. And your dresser is special too. That was Daddy’s dresser when he was a baby. Before that it was your great-aunt’s when she was little. It belonged to your great-grandparents. And now it’s yours my son.”

Finally, as we prepared for bed, E said, “Should we put him in his bassinet tonight?” I replied, “Of course. That’s where he belongs. Snuggled in, right next to our bed.” So I tucked A’s little urn in, wrapped in a flannel sheet and fluffy Sherpa blanket. Bending down to kiss him goodnight.

It was an intensely emotional day. I am so very happy to have A at home with us. We still haven’t decided if we’ll keep his ashes forever or if we’ll spread them somewhere special. But as I’ve learned during my tenure in Griefland, do not rush decisions. With time, we’ll know what the best choice is for us. Until then I am looking forward to more rocking, chatting and storybooks with my little guy. Welcome sweet boy.