Secret Hiding Spot
I suppose February is no time the better than to get an early start on Spring cleaning, especially when Abe is restless at home and very helpful. We've pretty much rifled through everything in the mysterious basement "cave room" and thrown out several bags of trash and sent several more to the thrift store.
With the spirit of a place for everything, and everything in it's place, I've been putting the top of my closet on my to-do list for a little over a week and this morning the forces that be finally brought me there.
I know damn well whats up there, and no mother should have that stash. I hate that it has collected dust but I also don't care to see it often. It's the reassurance at times that no one believes I did anything malicious. Sometimes it's the tenderness of knowing that so many people were aware of Ezra, his short life and tragic death. Ultimately it's me hanging on to something that try as I may will always be leaving me.
It's three boxes stuffed to the brim with sympathy cards, sympathy I want desperately and hate passionately. It's the one blanket we borrowed from a neighbor in Alaska because he arrived before his box of clothes came from Washington. It's the shirt I wore to his memorial service and the onesie he's wearing in my favorite picture of him and Abe, just days before he died. It's the couple of pairs of socks and a diaper I found stashed in the truck a few weeks after he died. It's a picture Malachi drew trying to remember what it was like to have Ezra here. It's the little green hearts that have an impression of his hand and foot from the hospital and the blanket they wrapped him in to hide the tubes and his green skin so we could hold him longer and say good bye. It's the packets of information on SIDS that declare me a bonafied member that I have yet to even glance over.
We have a phrase in our house that just recently became off limits. The boys use it against me and Abe when they don't like the way things are going and today as I sat there trying to dust the ends of a stack of cards I caught myself..."it's just not fair"....and as I try and sort this out still, going on 5 years later, I think of God and what this all means for me, how hard it is to focus on goodness, and what I'm supposed to make of it and if I can ever forgive myself for a precious baby dying in my care.
But the top of my close is clean. I put a picture of me and Ezra on the mantel and lit a candle. I'm taking the memories to my parents house where I keep a special family trunk with the clothes we kept that Ezra wore and a few other things. It will be all in one place, and I'll keep whats in my heart, and work on it and keep working on it until I find that hope, the one that lets me think there is an end to this and that we will see our Ezra again.
It's actually a good day to do this. My brother is booking our campsites for the 4th annual Ezra camp-out. It feels like it's going to be a heavier year than last. He would be 5, and it seems so big and empty to not have a 5 year old. I can still feel what it would be like to have him here....it would be so full.
One secret revealed, one still being kept.
I love you little boy...
Momma
With the spirit of a place for everything, and everything in it's place, I've been putting the top of my closet on my to-do list for a little over a week and this morning the forces that be finally brought me there.
I know damn well whats up there, and no mother should have that stash. I hate that it has collected dust but I also don't care to see it often. It's the reassurance at times that no one believes I did anything malicious. Sometimes it's the tenderness of knowing that so many people were aware of Ezra, his short life and tragic death. Ultimately it's me hanging on to something that try as I may will always be leaving me.
It's three boxes stuffed to the brim with sympathy cards, sympathy I want desperately and hate passionately. It's the one blanket we borrowed from a neighbor in Alaska because he arrived before his box of clothes came from Washington. It's the shirt I wore to his memorial service and the onesie he's wearing in my favorite picture of him and Abe, just days before he died. It's the couple of pairs of socks and a diaper I found stashed in the truck a few weeks after he died. It's a picture Malachi drew trying to remember what it was like to have Ezra here. It's the little green hearts that have an impression of his hand and foot from the hospital and the blanket they wrapped him in to hide the tubes and his green skin so we could hold him longer and say good bye. It's the packets of information on SIDS that declare me a bonafied member that I have yet to even glance over.
We have a phrase in our house that just recently became off limits. The boys use it against me and Abe when they don't like the way things are going and today as I sat there trying to dust the ends of a stack of cards I caught myself..."it's just not fair"....and as I try and sort this out still, going on 5 years later, I think of God and what this all means for me, how hard it is to focus on goodness, and what I'm supposed to make of it and if I can ever forgive myself for a precious baby dying in my care.
But the top of my close is clean. I put a picture of me and Ezra on the mantel and lit a candle. I'm taking the memories to my parents house where I keep a special family trunk with the clothes we kept that Ezra wore and a few other things. It will be all in one place, and I'll keep whats in my heart, and work on it and keep working on it until I find that hope, the one that lets me think there is an end to this and that we will see our Ezra again.
It's actually a good day to do this. My brother is booking our campsites for the 4th annual Ezra camp-out. It feels like it's going to be a heavier year than last. He would be 5, and it seems so big and empty to not have a 5 year old. I can still feel what it would be like to have him here....it would be so full.
One secret revealed, one still being kept.
I love you little boy...
Momma
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