"You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." -Counting Crows

Why We're Here...

My husband David and I delivered a stillborn Baby Boy that we loved, and wanted. Our first and only son, Logan, had Down Syndrome. Our daughter's smile is a little light in the darkness. She turned one year old three days after our sweet Logan tip-toed away on January 24, 2009. After 2 1/2 years we found out we were having another baby, whom we affectionatly called Rudy. Just shy of 6 weeks we found out Rudy was Ectopic. Rudy was surgically removed on May 26, 2011 delivering another blow to our already broken hearts.


Logan just sits there

Logan just sits there in his stupid tupperware bowl, in that stupid box. Sitting, nonchalantly, on the top of my armoire. Like one more piece of clutter. One more "thing" I don't know what to do with, or where to put. He just sits there. It makes me sad. I was in such a hurry to get him here with me. I fight the weird "crazy lady" urges to take the box down and caress it, or carry it around with me. I fight the weird "crazy lady" urges to put my hand in the bowl so that I can touch my son once again. And I feel weird just letting him sit there, like a discarded item, like the box is forgotten. It's not. I see it several times a day. Sometimes I go look at it on purpose. But I don't touch it. I don't take it down. I don't trust myself. I don't want to be a crazy lady. I think holding him, burnt to nothing but dust, would be too much for my feeble mind to handle. I think it would literally make me insane. I think it would push me over the edge of reason. I just can't bring myself to do anything with his remains. I don't want to look at urns. I don't want to have to decide. I don't want to have to ask questions, make plans...relive. I think I would like him in a nice urn, sewn inside of a teddy bear. Actually, I prefer a fish. I call my daughter Muffin, she is my little bird. I always pictured my son as a fish. A cartoon like fish, soft blue and green with big squishy cheeks. Maybe large polka dots. It seems irreverent. And an old teddy bear, made special for Logan seems more appropriate. But then what? Where do I put the Bear? In my closet, so that my daughter doesn't try to play with it? I've thought about a Niche. I've thought about burying him with a grandparent. I've thought about burying him at the base of his new tree, once it's planted. But to be honest, I just don't think I can let him leave again. I think that perhaps if he was in a bear, I could hold the bear...and not be a freak. But I still can't work up enough umph, enough courage, enough strength to get an urn. So, he sits...in his stupid bowl, in his stupid box on top of my stupid armoire...and I see him every day.

5 comments:

Lea said...

Oh Heather, I know how you feel. We had Nicholas' remains put into a beautiful little blue heart ceramic holder with his name engraved. I hate the word urn... and this doesn't look like one. Nicholas is still with us too. I can't bare the thought of putting him into the cold, wet, dark ground (as crazy as that sounds). He is where we feel he belongs right now, and I'm okay with that.

Thinking of you

Inanna said...

I've held William's ashes. I've held his tiny little urn, cradled them, rocked them, and cried. You're so not crazy. No matter what. Everything we do on this journey is, by definition, insane. This is our normal.

Aunt Becky said...

Heather, my heart aches for you. I'm so, so sorry.

carlamichelle said...

Heather - Hubby is in your neck of the woods every Wednesday. If we plan it, can I help you with this? Would it help? - Carla

one_plustwins said...

Freak? I think not. I cannot imagine your pain, I will not pretend to but my mother is in a small 6x4x4 plastic, rubber sealed box. And I would give nearly anything to have her near.
Hold Logan. He is yours. His ashes are what you are left with. If holding his ashes brings you peace of some sort then by all means hold him. Hold him. Hold him.

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