It's snowing again today. It is so white, so pure, so peaceful outside. I think of you each time I look out the window.
We brought you home this past Sunday. The funeral home called the Thursday before to let us know that we could pick up your ashes. We didn't go right away. Please forgive us. I just wasn't ready to face that we would be bringing you home for the first time in a tiny box instead of in your car seat like I had always imagined.
When I woke up on Sunday, I had this overwhelming urge to go get you. I couldn't stand the thought of you being in that funeral home or alone any longer. It was so bitter cold that day. I took the blanket that we wrapped you in after you were born with me in the car. I know it sounds silly and completely irrational, but I wrapped the tiny box with your remains up in that blanket so you wouldn't be cold. Your daddy probably thought that I was crazy, but to his credit, he just smiled at me.
As we were leaving the funeral home, I asked your daddy if we could go visit your great-grandparents' grave in the cemetery across the street. I know your great-grandfather would be so very proud to know that you share his name. We stood there for a few minutes and I asked them to take good care of you, although I already know that you are safe and happy in heaven.
After we left the cemetery, we drove around for a while just looking at houses. I've lived here my whole life, but your daddy took me down streets I'd never been on. He pointed out the houses where someone he grew up with had lived. We talked about the houses that were our favorites and the ones that it would be neat to live in one day. If the tiny box with you inside hadn't been sitting on my lap, it could have been like any other Sunday drive. I know it seems odd. I think in that moment, we just needed something to seem normal since what we had just done was anything but.
I haven't been ready to think about or make decisions for a memorial service. How do you go from planning for a life to planning for a funeral? I still don't know. Your daddy and I have talked about it, but we don't know yet what we will do with your ashes, when we will have a service, or what type of service we will have. I keep hoping that much like Sunday when I woke up just knowing that it was time to pick up your remains, we will wake up one morning and God will have placed in our hearts the right way for us to honor your memory.
Morris, I'm sorry if these letters are mostly sad right now. You've only been gone three short weeks and the pain is just too fresh. I hope you know that I'm not always sad when I think of you though. There are times when I am able to rejoice in the happy moments your daddy and I had with you. When we talk about you, we are often able to smile and sometimes even laugh. You are still our sunshine. I know in my heart that one day these letters to you will be more happy than sad. And I also know that one day we will see you again, and on that day, there will be no more sadness or tears for any of us.
Love,
Mommy
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