Monday, August 26, 2013

August 26th 2013

Two years ago today the body of my gorgeous baby girl became ashes.

Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down (and weep).

I hate thinking about what her body endured in life to stay and I hate thinking about what her body endured in death to become ashes.

The rational part of me knows she felt nothing as the skin melted from her body. As her hair was singed (probably the first part of her to be in flame). As her bones succumbed to the heat and crumbled. The mom part of me would nevernevernever let that happen to my child. How could I let that happen to my child? And I weep.

I hate today almost as much as I hate the 15th. I hate that this was the last time I held her beautiful body. Christians will tell me that her body is merely a shell (and I agree) but, you see, I loved her body. I loved her ears and her toes. Her hair and her eyes. Her belly and her soft shoulders. Her eyebrows and her mouth. I loved every.single.inch of her. And I miss her body. And my body remembers the weight of her in my arms. The feel of her against me. And I miss her. Miss the only daughter I ever nursed. The daughter who once shared a body with me only to leave me behind.

Eva my darling, my dear, my precious, my sweet. All the sweet things I want to whisper in your ear...all the moments of joy and sweetness I want to share with you. All the love I want to lavish on you. All the everything that I miss...where are you?

Two years of ashes. Two years of ashes.

10 comments:

  1. I know. You loved her, her body, her growing up. You still do.

    Sending you much love Em.

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    1. A3B, I'm sorry you know. I remember Ryan.

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  2. I had a complete meltdown at the funeral home where we had to sign paperwork the day after I left the hospital. Since we had already elected to have Grace cremated I was blindsided when I found out that her body was there. I wanted to hold her again so badly, to feel that 4 and 1/2 pounds in my arms and kiss her sweet face, but I also knew that she would look worse than she had the day before and that I wanted to remember her when she was warm from my body and not so bruised and her skin not so torn. It was brutal to know that she was there and that I was not holding her. My husband quickly got me out of there. Some days I regret not holding her again that one last time...Maybe that is why I sleep every night with her Bear and her urn.

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    1. A mama (or a dad) should never know what it feels like to feel their child's body growing cold. No matter what choices we made and how 'good' they were. They are all choices we never never want to make about our child. And we will regret them because all the options suck. Other than them suddenly taking a breath, of course.

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    2. I got to hold my baby boy the next day and he felt foreign, not warm and soft like when he was stillborn.

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    3. I held Eva after she was embalmed. For some reason it did not feel strange. It felt right. I wanted to run away with her. But where? Everywhere I could go...she would still be dead.

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  3. I am moved. I have so much guilt about James' cremation, not b/c I wish we made a different choice, other then not having to make the choice at all, but b/c I too imagine, visualize, can almost smell and taste all the things you described & more about James' was cremation. You captured it perfectly when you said that we all regret b/c the of the options we are faced with. Thank you for honesty here, you make a difference in my journey.

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    1. Thank you Caroline. For telling me I (and Eva) make a difference in your journey. Isn't that what we all want...to matter, and have our children matter, just a little, to someone else. Thank you.

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  4. I am so, so, so very sorry! I am crying reading this.
    I feel your love and your pain and don't know what to say.
    Just so very sorry.

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    1. Thank you. I'm sorry you know how much it hurts.

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