An old (unpublished) post

Funny - I just came across this post from this time last year.... for whatever reason I didn't post it... didn't even finish it I don't think. Anyway, thought it warranted a "publish".

PS. I still didn't finish it.....





From May 2011


I just finished giving the house a good clean. Feels good. Smells good. Looks good.... until the onslaught comes home after school, that is.

While I was dusting, I held Nicholas' tiny, blue, heart shaped urn in my hands, as I always do. I wiped it off. Made it shiny. Cradled it a few moments... gave it a kiss. I then set it back down, beside his picture, beside his perfect, little footprints.

There was a time when I couldn't do it. I couldn't even look at that tiny, blue heart without feeling the lump rise into my throat. There was a time when just catching a glimpse of it would make my tummy do flip flops and my body cringe. I remember when we first brought Nicholas home. The funeral home had his ashes delicately wrapped in a green, velour bag. It reminded of one of those fancy gift bags you get from the liquor store to protect an expensive bottle of scotch. For weeks I couldn't bring myself to even touch the bag. It took many, many weeks before I could bring myself to reach in that bag and pull my son out.

I'm not sure what I was afraid of. Maybe it was the finality of at last having his ashes home. For some, I've heard that touching the urn and having it close is a comfort.... I couldn't do it. As much as I wanted him home with us... I wanted to remember holding his beautiful, little body, not a cold piece of ceramic. The thought of physically seeing and coming to the realization that his perfect body now fit into a container the size of a ring box almost choked the life out of me.