August 15, 2011
Today was completely surreal. We buried our son today. While we were sitting there facing that beautiful white casket that held the tiny body of my angel Ezra, I couldn't help but think how he should instead be in the bassinet that his daddy put together for him. I longed to rip the top off the casket and hold him just one more time. But one more time would never be enough. It would never be enough. So instead I sat in between Randall and Daddy and cried. My heart was broken....is broken.
The only consolation on this horrific day was that the temperatures were cool and it didn't rain. When I woke up this morning and saw the dark clouds, I at first thought that it was fitting for my mood, but then I prayed that it would clear up because that would just bring me down further, if that was possible. While we were sitting there during the ceremony, the sun seemed to break through the clouds like my precious little boy was shining down on us, letting us know that it was going to be okay. Although I can't seem to get this through to my heart right now, my head tells me that there will be brighter days, even if I cannot see them right now.
After the service was over, we sat there and just stared at the casket. It was as if I could not will myself to get out of the chair and move away from my baby. Perhaps it was because I knew that as soon as I did they would begin the process of putting his casket in the ground and all that would be left for me to see would be dirt and flowers. I know that Ezra is sitting in heaven with Jesus right now, but just having his little body close to me gave me a sense of comfort. Strange, I know. I miss him so much. Mostly I miss what I never got to have with him. All the dreams I had for him were buried with him this morning. All the plans I had for us as a family are under the red clay dirt at the cemetery. I wanted so bad to hold him and rock him and sing lullabies to him. I wish so much that I had had done this at the hospital when I had the chance with him. But I didn't and I regret that so much. I wanted to read books to him and hear him say "mama." I wanted to watch him toddle across the floor and clap when his chubby little legs made even one step across the room. I wanted to play cars with him and build castles out of playdough. I wanted to walk him to his first day of kindergarten. I wanted to hug him and kiss him and chase the monsters from out under his bed. But instead, I have a room full of baby stuff that I can't even bear to look at, a living room full of flowers that are making my allergies go crazy, and a book of condolences. Where do I go from here?
Today was completely surreal. We buried our son today. While we were sitting there facing that beautiful white casket that held the tiny body of my angel Ezra, I couldn't help but think how he should instead be in the bassinet that his daddy put together for him. I longed to rip the top off the casket and hold him just one more time. But one more time would never be enough. It would never be enough. So instead I sat in between Randall and Daddy and cried. My heart was broken....is broken.
The only consolation on this horrific day was that the temperatures were cool and it didn't rain. When I woke up this morning and saw the dark clouds, I at first thought that it was fitting for my mood, but then I prayed that it would clear up because that would just bring me down further, if that was possible. While we were sitting there during the ceremony, the sun seemed to break through the clouds like my precious little boy was shining down on us, letting us know that it was going to be okay. Although I can't seem to get this through to my heart right now, my head tells me that there will be brighter days, even if I cannot see them right now.
After the service was over, we sat there and just stared at the casket. It was as if I could not will myself to get out of the chair and move away from my baby. Perhaps it was because I knew that as soon as I did they would begin the process of putting his casket in the ground and all that would be left for me to see would be dirt and flowers. I know that Ezra is sitting in heaven with Jesus right now, but just having his little body close to me gave me a sense of comfort. Strange, I know. I miss him so much. Mostly I miss what I never got to have with him. All the dreams I had for him were buried with him this morning. All the plans I had for us as a family are under the red clay dirt at the cemetery. I wanted so bad to hold him and rock him and sing lullabies to him. I wish so much that I had had done this at the hospital when I had the chance with him. But I didn't and I regret that so much. I wanted to read books to him and hear him say "mama." I wanted to watch him toddle across the floor and clap when his chubby little legs made even one step across the room. I wanted to play cars with him and build castles out of playdough. I wanted to walk him to his first day of kindergarten. I wanted to hug him and kiss him and chase the monsters from out under his bed. But instead, I have a room full of baby stuff that I can't even bear to look at, a living room full of flowers that are making my allergies go crazy, and a book of condolences. Where do I go from here?
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