Doing it my way. Part 1.

Trigger warning: Some of this may be uncomfortable to read and see but it is our story so I'm sharing it how I want to. Hint: doing it my way.

As my Aunt Cindy said in regard to my last blog: "And you're off!" It felt good to finally put some words together and collect my thoughts to share with you. However, I'm reminding myself that this is for me and processing my grief. Some things may be painful and uneasy for you to read but I feel like expressing grief in our own unique way is vital for authentic healing. I know we all grieve differently and I'm choosing to process part of my grief through words.

I think we all agree that losing an infant isn't how life is "supposed to be." You're not supposed to bury your children before you, yourself lay in your final resting place. My husband and I hadn't even thought about burial plots for ourselves before all of this, nonetheless our children. 

Things go so quickly after death; you're bombarded with questions, decisions to make, and sometimes, such as in our situation, legal obligations. Punctual decisions quickly became a relentless tide: Where do you want to hold services? Where do you want to bury your loved one? How do you want to handle their body? These questions (and so many more) feel heavy and each decision carries weight and assumingly carries a ripple effect on the mourning process. What I wanted when making these choices was clarity but clarity is hard to find while engulfed in confusion. Was I making the right choice? I knew in my heart that decisions made in haste may very well echo through the journey of grief, shaping its entire trajectory. With all that being said, we decided to do things our way (or my husband might say, "my way" - but he will tell you he is grateful we did). We did a lot of "out of ordinary" things so I'm splitting this post into two parts. Let's be real though: it's "out of the ordinary" to wake up in the morning to your deceased (almost) 2-month-old.

The morning we lost Knox, the decisions started rolling in. Thankfully our families helped to shield what they could to let us try to process what had happened that morning and to try to let us have some quiet moments with Knox. My husband and I have both lost loved ones but we have never been directly involved in making arrangements for them. I knew services (if families opted for them) came on fast following a death but I wasn't prepared for it. Then again, I wasn't prepared for losing a child. 

I can't say the same for bigger towns and cities, but I had no question where we would go in terms of who would handle our arrangements. That's the nice thing (and sometimes not-so-nice thing) about small towns: everyone knows everyone. It may not be on a personal level or even a first-name basis but you know faces. If you don't know someone, chances are you probably know their grandpa, mom, or second cousin.

Which leads me to why we chose the funeral home we did. It's in our hometown of Camp Point and although we aren't on a personal level with Ben, the funeral director, we knew him from around town and mutual friends. It was nice to have a friendly face and I firmly believe there is trust in familiarity. Hamilton-Lummis Funeral Home was also the same place where my grandpa's services were held.

We had the option to go to the funeral home the same day Knox passed or to wait a day. I knew internally that there were going to be questions that I wanted to answer with some time, even if it wasn't much. We decided to go that same day so we could "sleep on" some of the decisions we had to make. I felt that some distance from the immediacy of choices would allow for a clearer perspective, hopefully, detached in a way from the emotional intensity of that morning. As I mentioned in my previous blog post, I'm really good at compartmentalizing. I think this allowed me to have as much of a clear head space as one can in this situation. While it can be a really unfortunate (and almost dangerous) characteristic to have, throughout this process I feel like it has acted as a mental and emotional survival strategy for me. It has granted me the ability to focus on immediate tasks without being overwhelmed by the weight of intense feelings and has shielded me against emotional spillover. I know in my heart that this cannot be the permanent solution in processing the loss of our sweet Knox but it has provided a very necessary breathing space. I truly believe it has allowed me to process this grief gradually instead of all at once.

We met with Ben on the afternoon of Knox's passing and we were faced with the hard decisions mentioned earlier. One of the very first we had to make was choosing between burial and cremation and if we decided to bury Knox, choosing his eternal resting place. Each option carries its own set of considerations and although there is no right or wrong answer, we went with burial. I think for me personally, it was a decision grounded in a desire for a tangible, lasting connection to not only me but the Earth. We wanted a physical space--a grave--where not only us, but friends and family could visit and hopefully sense Knox's presence. Again, there is no right or wrong answer here but I, just in my point of view, feel like there is some symbolism of returning the body to the earth, reinforcing a sense of continuity and a connection to the cycles of life.

In our small town, infant death is not a familiar thing (as it shouldn't be a common thing; that's not how life should work). With that said, there weren't a lot of options for infant caskets. We had 3 selections, none of which seemed good enough for our little guy. In a normal death instance, you would have color, textile, and design options and we just didn't have that experience (to no fault of anyone). I told Devin to text Ben and tell him that "he wants to know if his crazy ass wife can pick up the casket to spray paint it." He let us.

My husband and I picked it up, sanded it down + spray-painted it white. To me, white served as a symbol of innocence; a visual embodiment of the unspoiled and pure. It felt like an act of love that my husband and I could do together for Knox. It felt therapeutic, channeling our grief into a creative outlet. We finished it off with a quote that has served so true in relation to Knox,

"No footprint is too small to leave an imprint in this world."

Even though we had performed this act of love, seeing this picture of his little casket right now brings forth such a profound sadness. I feel like it just symbolizes the loss of potential and unfulfilled dreams for not only him but selfishly myself. The small size of it just seems like it starkly contrasts the enormity of grief and the tragedy of a life that had just barely begun.

Even though I'm having those emotions seeing it above, I still feel grateful that we took the time to do this for Knox. I know just his body, not his spirit, resides there. It may seem strange to some but I just feel like my husband and I shared such a tender and compassionate moment through our efforts and it was a way for us to honor him.

I'm going to leave it at this for today because seeing his little casket has some of those emotions arising and I'm starting to not feel so strong.

The moral of the story though (and I'll elaborate later,) do things your way through grief. I promise it will help with preventing regret later on and it will make you feel like you honored and celebrated your loved one in a way they deserve.

As always, thanks for being there for me. For my family. And for Knox.