What do I do? How
do I bury my child? How can I walk away,
on a cold February morning, and leave her laying there, alone? I can't do it. Maybe I'm not ready to give
her up yet. I'm only 40 years old. I haven't thought about being buried myself,
how can I decide what to do with my beloved Lauren? I know I want her with Terry and me, but
where will we be? I don't know where
life will take us in the next 40 years, I just know that I can't leave Lauren
behind.
I remember thinking these thoughts before, when my friend
June lost her daughter. I remember
watching June agonize over burying her child, and lamenting over graveside
visits. She felt guilty for not going enough, but the pain of visiting her
child's grave, was too great to allow her to do it. How do I get myself out of
that quagmire?
Terry felt the same way I did, so we decided to have
Lauren cremated. We would receive her ashes, and decide where to inter them, at
a later date. My heart was lightened at the thought of receiving her ashes
three days after her funeral. It was something to look forward to. It felt like
the only piece left of her would be coming home.
I remember watching the hearse pull away from the church
after Lauren's funeral. As I watched it disappear from my sight, a part of me
was looking forward to her return. I was not going to have to walk away, and
leave her in a cold grave that day.
Three days later, the funeral home called, to let us know
Lauren's ashes were there. London asked if she could be the one to go get them.
I can still see London carrying the box of Lauren's ashes when she came home.
She looked so proud, with a smile on her face, as she gingerly brought the box
to Terry and me. Lauren was home.
For several months, I kept her ashes in the box they came
in, in my bedroom, on Lauren's bookshelf. I was relieved to have her with me at
all times. Strange as it may seem, I felt good when the weather was bad, to
have her inside. I felt that having Lauren's ashes physically present, had
definitely lent itself to the overall feeling of her presence in our
lives.
Lauren's ashes now grace the fireplace mantle in our den.
They are kept in a beautiful white and gold, cloisonné urn, with an iris, and a
butterfly, on the front of it. Terry picked it out for her last Christmas. I
like to keep a holy candle burning, and a picture of Lauren next to the urn.
I love the feeling of her being with London and T.j. when
they watch t.v. I love the way the
soft,dancing, glow of the holy candle lights up that corner of the room. I love
saying good morning to her every morning, as I walk past her place, to make a
cup of coffee. I love making the mantle a special place for her, and still
sharing pieces of our every day lives with her. I love that she's with us on
Christmas morning, when London and Tj get their gifts, just like she always
was.
Sometimes I feel selfish keeping her ashes. I feel like
I'm just thinking of my own happiness, and not hers. But until I know where
Terry and I will be, I'm not willing to separate from her. I can't stand the
thought of her remains being forgotten somewhere because we have moved on.
Since she will never have descendants of her own to tend her grave, we will
keep her with us.
I cling to the advice of another good friend, and fellow
bereaved parent. In the days following Lauren's death, my friend Joyce was my
rock. She had lost an infant daughter several years before. When faced with a
place to bury Lauren, she shared her advice, to keep her with us. Joyce had
buried her baby in Connecticut, but now lives in Louisiana. She told us how she wishes she had her
daughter with her, because she never gets back up to Connecticut. Through her
tears, and pain, I realized her
predicament, and I knew what I had to do.
I guess all
parents lament over dealing with the remains of their child, and there is no
painless way to do it. It's one of the harshest parts of losing your child.
It's the end. The final resting place.
Its where we have to leave them,
and go on with the life of the living.
For now, Lauren's resting place is with us, her family, wherever we find ourselves. We enjoy her being in our home with us. I cant describe the feeling I get when I sit in her chair, next to the mantle, with her. I talk with her, and I pray with her, in the quiet flicker of her holy candle. I feel peace and warmth there, and I hope Lauren does too.
T.Rodney
11/13/10