Resting Place

This weekend will be the second hardest event of my life.  The first was the entire span of finding out our baby was gone through her birth the next day.  The second will be scattering her ashes beneath the tree where my grandfather’s ashes rest.

I have been on the brink all week, knowing this was coming.  I couldn’t really talk about it or hardly think about it, but now as we pack up to drive to Wisconsin this afternoon, I can’t avoid it.

Sometimes I feel like this isn’t real or didn’t happen to me – like it was some bad dream I had.  That I was never pregnant, never had a baby.  But holding the small box of her ashes makes it inescapably tangible.

Some of my family wanted to be there, but after thinking about it carefully, Ger and I decided that we would rather be alone with our grief.  How I will manage to make that walk to the tree and back, I’m not quite sure yet.  I don’t think it is yet possible for this weekend to feel like closure.  How can it when I am faced with constant reminders every day?

So the universe needs to give me a giant arm of support and a giant shoulder to cry on while I pray for strength.  I feel like I might break into a million pieces.