The Need for a Proper Goodbye

I was at a funeral yesterday - not of anyone with whom I was close, or who I even knew very well. But she was someone very close to someone close to me, so I was there to show my support. It was terribly sad - funerals always are, I suppose. I always struggle the most with the moment when family members first lift the coffin. There is something about them bearing the physical weight of their lost loved-one in this moment of grief. As if suddenly there was a physical manifestation of the heaviness of losing someone you hold so dear.

On our way to the cemetery, Max and I talked about what we would want done with our remains after our passing. We both agreed that the thought of being put in the ground and taking up valuable countryside was unpleasant, but that it was nice for friends and family to have a place to go if they wanted to feel the presence of a lost loved-one. Really, when you think about it, the things we do to honour our deceased aren't much about them at all. It's for us - for the living. Thinking yesterday about our recent loss, I began to feel a sick sort of jealousy for the bereaved in the church. There they were, able to listen to a priest say kind words, able to weep quietly in public and receive warm embraces and words of consolation. They threw flowers and other symbols of love into a waiting grave, they were allowed to bear the physical weight of their grief for all the world to see.

After the dark day, I cried quietly in the bathroom, careful not to upset anyone. I questioned the legitimacy of my grief given the tiny lifespan of an unnamed person whom I had never met. Oh, how there is part of me that wishes I could have donned a black dress and cried over a coffin that day, surrounded by friends and family all offering warm hugs and kind whispers.

My mother told me early on that I should do something to bring closure to my loss. That I should give my unborn child a name and say goodbye. For many reasons I have avoided doing that - fear of feeling silly or being over dramatic, fear of making it too real. Yet now, two months later, I still feel unable to let go. Still crave the comfort of my grief and wish for some sort of outlet. Max and I went shopping this morning for friends who have just had a baby. Standing there amid pink ruffles and booties I thought I would be sick. Max noticed my shaking hands when I picked up a little red dress and began walking toward the counter. He put his arm around my waist to steady me and squeezed a little while I paid for the outfit and "congratulations" card. I dropped him off at work and cried for baby in the car, the first time in several weeks. Over a dress.

Two days before we were married, Max and I met the priest to go over the ceremony. Father Rob talked about having children. He said that a family is a gift, a beautiful symbol of god's grace. I am no longer a religious woman, nor can I remember exactly what Father Rob said that day, but I do remember the feeling I had in that moment. I was so moved by what he said, and so excited to begin my life. The word "grace" stayed with me. I thought it was a beautiful way to describe a child. So, yet again taking advice from my mother at which I had previously scoffed, I am naming baby. I am not going to make a memorial or weep in a church, but I will post this poem. Just remember that I am not a poet or a writer.

Full of Grace

Faceless and formless,
the most beautiful nothing that never was.
How unimaginable that a blue line could be come a bright soul, could become three days of red
And then nothing.
If only emptiness bore visible scars,
like stretch marks.
I would wear them as badges of honour-
A memorial to a brief moment of Grace.

Where are your mourners, Grace?
Where are your flowers and wreaths?
What becomes of the mother of a blue line that became a bright soul, that became three days of red,
And then nothing?
A childless mother with no grave to weep over,
no face and name to miss.
I will remember you, though.
My moment of clarity, my glimpse of something miraculous,
My Grace.

This is my goodbye,
My love song to you.
Full of all the words I can't find,
and all the words that don't exist,
and all the sentiments that fail
to describe the love of a mother for her child.