We brought our son home yesterday. It was harder than I thought it would be. I cried the whole way home and then I cried some more. I feel like I keep having to say goodbye over and over again. When the dr told us he had no heartbeat. When he was delivered and we held him for the first and last time. When we told him we loved him one last time before leaving without him. When we gave the funeral home permission to cremate him and give us his death certificate. Then again yesterday when I had to carry my little boy into our home in two little containers. And I’m sure it’ll feel like we’re saying goodbye again when we spread his ashes and release balloons. But at least hopefully that should be the last time.
I told everyone I wasn’t going to make a big shrine in our house or some creepy memorial that everyone that entered was forced to see and feel sad or uncomfortable. We planned to spread his ashes in a place we can visit him anytime we want and to put the ones we kept in our safe. But I felt like he’s our son and he’s finally coming home and he deserves a place in our home with his family. I didn’t want to just bring him home and put him away in a box or the closet. It just didn’t feel right.
So yesterday Z and I took a trip to the store and I bought and painted a big R for him and Z picked him out a teddy bear. Then I used one of the blankets the hospital gave us and hung up the only thing we ever bought him while he was alive, his ninja turtle onsie, and made him a little corner in our bedroom. We also got him his own piggy bank to match the rest of ours. I know it’s silly but it makes me smile. It also makes me feel better to know he’s not just tucked away somewhere and it’s at least somewhere for him until we are able to spread his ashes and give ourselves a little closure. Then maybe I’ll feel better about putting his kept ashes in our safe because I do want to make sure they are kept safe forever.
But it also makes me sad. It’s not how I imagined him sleeping in our room when we brought him home. It’s a lot sooner than I imagined we would be bringing him home. Nothing about any of this is how I imagined it would be.
I’m glad we decided to purchase a copy of his death certificate as well. Even though I cried when I read it, that little piece of paper is the only thing that shows legally that he even existed. When a baby is born alive, even if it only lives for a minute, it receives a birth certificate and a social security number. But when baby is born still, they get nothing but a death certificate. I guess I understand the logistics of it, but even though he wasn’t alive when he was born he was still born. He still existed and was alive and moving in my stomach. I still had to give birth. I’m still healing from the surgery and the heartache. The hospital gave us a memorial certificate to have something with his birth information on it so at least it’s something but it’s not a legal document. It’s sad really. It’s so hard to even begin to know how to heal. It’s been two weeks today since he was born. I know it’s going to take time but I sure don’t feel much better. I guess I don’t wake up in tears every single morning anymore, only sometimes. I’m not as afraid to go to bed, probably mostly because I’m just exhausted. The crying isn’t as frequent but I still get hit with random overwhelming emotions that bring back the tears. Physically the dr said everything looks good, but I think I’ve been trying to do to much. I needed to keep busy the last two weeks to keep myself sane, but now my stomach muscles are super sore this week and still bruised. Today I am on strict orders from my husband to rest and relax so Z and I are having a jammie party and just trying to rest and let my body heal.