Sunday, January 25, 2015

Zachary's funeral (deja vu)

In our funeral clothes, we carried boxes of Zachary's stuff into our church.  Photos, candles and flowers to beautify the one and only event in honor of our son.   

Standing beside the casket where Zachary's body lay, as mourners embraced me, commented on the beauty of my son's dead form and offered their most sincere sympathies, I was not really present.  A shell of me was all that stood there.  A bug eyed shell, still in utter shock and denial, wondering how the hell it was that my body was standing erect at the front of my church, marking the life and death of another of my sons... 

This is what our family does when we have a baby.  There is no baby shower, no welcome baby stork and balloons in our yard.  There is no beginning of a whole lifetime of watching that specific little person grow and mature and delight and drive us bananas.  There are only medical bills, a funeral and utter devastation for us.   

...If C.T. wasn't there watching, if I hadn't worked so hard on my prepared eulogy, if they wouldn't have thought me insane, I might have calmly picked up Zachary's dead body and walked out.  I might have refused to go through with the funeral service.  I had imagined carrying Zachary into the church to be baptized there, to attend Sunday school there. 
 
 
Three hours later, I lifted his cold, stiff body from the casket and wrapped him tightly in a hand-knit blanket.  Our tears splashed and muddied the subtle bit of make-up on his perfect face.  Then, we carried out the same stuff we dragged into the church and it was over.  
 
    
I remember the cruelty of having to stop at home to pump and dispose of the breast milk that had accumulated during our early morning preparations and the funeral.  I remember the day coming to a end, as the funeral luncheon wrapped up.  People were already making small talk, uncomfortable I suppose to linger too long on the topic of Zachary and our shattered lives.  As my empty form received the last traces of sympathy hugs and offers of support, my gut knew with a familiarity that sickens me, that most everyone would essentially go back to their normal lives that very day.  But that our new grief, the full-on impact of Zachary's life, suffering and death, was just beginning. 

When I went to bed that Saturday night, no longer burdened and busied with preparations for the funeral, knowing a bit about what was ahead for us from the experience of B.W.'s death, I hoped I wouldn't wake up on Sunday.       


12 comments:

  1. Thanks for sharing. It is very special to me to be allowed to see these pictures and to read your words. I hope that some people who attended Zachary's funeral continue to grieve with you and your family. It's so painful when you are bullied because of your ongoing grief. Someone who never experienced a major loss in life once told me, she knows so much more about grief than me, because she often goes to the dentist and while waiting she reads a lot of magazines. . . Crazy world. . .
    It is not fair and not right what happened to Zachary, and B.W., and you and your family.
    Again, thank you for sharing!

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  3. Everything that Florence said
    Thinking of you and your beautiful boy

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  4. I'm so sorry mama. There are no words. I'm just so sorry. Your beautiful boy. :,(

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  5. Oh, it is so awful. Awful to be at your child's funeral, and terrible to suffer through this twice. I am so sorry Gretchen.
    You and your sons are in my thoughts. xox

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  6. I can't say thank you enough, ladies.

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  7. Oh shit, this is so awful. You are an amazing person and deserve so much better. Zachary deserves to be here, in your arms. BW should be here, looking after his younger brothers. I know you live this every day, but these pictures make the senselessness of it seem so REAL to me, here in cyberland. I'm so very, very, sorry...

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  8. I have been reading your blog throughout January, but haven't posted until now as your posts - no fault of your own, except for your vivid writing - have made me feel disconsolate, as last year, too - very similar time frame - we also learned our son was dying in the NICU, held him as they removed life support, as he died in our arms. So your posts this January have felt so resonant and brought back the memories that this year, this first year, I still do not feel strong enough to dredge to the surface. Maybe next year. Maybe not. The poignancy of your remembering - his life, the hope, the crashing defeat, the numbness of his funeral, the mental preparation for the aftermath, the "tomorrow".... I can feel both your grief and your deep love for Zachary. I am so, so sorry he is not still with you. I wish I could give you a hug in person!

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  9. Oh, Gretchen. Your poor sweet boy. And CT, too. His sweet little face here. These pictures make my heart ache, and I wish I could give you a very, very big hug.

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  10. Gretchen, I read every single post but my words are so lacking. My heart just broke seeing these photographs. It was a real privilege to see them. You and your family are so brave and beautiful. All of you.

    It is all so unendingly cruel. I still can't believe that this happened, that B.W. died let alone Zachary.

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  11. Dear Gretchen, There really are no words. My heart goes out to you, to your beautiful family, to your precious boys. XO

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  12. Thank you all. I have been so humbled by the words of support you've all given me during the past year, and especially this January. I am so sorry you too know the pain of child loss.

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