Kaden’s memorial is Saturday.
We received his ashes a little while ago.
Monday we received his death certificate. Along with it came his clothes he was wrapped in when he passed away.
We still have to deal with insurance and bills. Each addressed to him.
Texas sent us a friendly reminder that we hadn’t vaccinated him yet.
I have to go through his pictures for the memorial.
Each month has a birth date and a death date and in May we’ll have three events. The twins and his.
Each time I wonder if this is going to be it. This is when I’m going to just completely lose it and fall apart. The straw that literally breaks my heart.
Each time it’s not.
And I wait for that moment with a kind of dread, not knowing if it will ever come and if not – why? How on earth can I physically, mentally, emotionally stand all of this again? When will my world simply collapse in on me and I have a breakdown I don’t ever come back from?
Isn’t that supposed to happen after all of this? Aren’t I supposed to be a bigger mess?
The twins’ death was more traumatic. Kaden’s was more profound. His runs deeper because I had no expectations of any risk once he was born. It’s not that it mattered to me more, it’s just very different.
Like a pain so horrible that you just have to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and not think about it much. Because nothing can take it away.
There is always the thought of, “This event, this will be it. I’ll be so upset I won’t be able to pull myself out of it.” Yet I let it wash over me, whatever it is.
The other day I sat down on the floor, naked out of the shower, phone in my hand. I was suddenly ready to see his little video, the one I made of him in the hospital for Bella. I watched it as hot tears poured down my scarred and postpartum stomach. I watched his little hands move and his hiccups happen and I bawled and curled up with it, trying to understand once again the depth of this loss.
I let myself be intensely, totally sad. So uncomfortable. I just wanted to make it stop. But I let it happen. I fell apart on my bedroom floor and sobbed and cried out to God until I couldn’t do anything but lay there. Then I wiped my tears, got up, got dressed, and went about my day. It’s never over, I don’t ever not think of all three of them, but it felt like I’d made a connection to him as his mama in my grief. Once more. After that I could be ok for a while.
I wait in fear of not being able to handle any more pain, and it doesn’t happen. Therapy, prayer, my family, a purpose, God.
Let’s not pretend I’m not on anything. I don’t know that I could even function without being on it.
They all combine at those moments to pull me back out. Grieve and let go. Grieve and move on. Grieve and find the joy.
I wait to collapse, and a small voice inside me says, “I don’t think you ever will.” Not on myself anyway.
I just collapse on Jesus.
And then He gently carries me back.