Friday was the 24th of October, exactly six months since the birth of Maxwell. Every time the 24th hits I always get a little more sad, a little more aware of our painful loss. This month was particularly extra incredibly terribly sad. I cried when I woke up. I cried in the shower.I cried in the car taking my kids around town. Ugly cry. And after lunch, Lincoln and I went to visit Maxwell’s park. We took some flowers with us, and also a pumpkin covered with messages from us to Maxwell. Isabelle wrote “I miss you.” Lincoln drew a spiderweb. Still no headstone and it breaks my heart. I sat in my folding chair at the foot of his plot and cried and cried and cried while Lincoln ran around collecting acorns and spinning pinwheels.
I remember driving to the cemetery way back in April to choose a plot for Maxwell. A piece of ground. I remember gingerly lifting my post surgical body into my dads tall suburban. I was self conscious to be wearing stretchy pants in public. My incision was still fresh. We drove to a cemetery tucked away in the trees, one I didn’t know existed. Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah played on the radio. I cried thinking about the times I had rocked my babies to sleep with the chorus of that song. We parked and got out, a kind woman opened a big map of the land and told me to select something I liked and she would see if it was reserved or not.
I didn’t know what to choose. What makes a good piece of ground. What is beneficial when being buried. We ended up choosing a spot for Max up high on the hill, under a big oak tree. Quiet, secluded, with wind chimes. The woman hugged me and told me to drink lots of water. I’m still not sure what she meant, but she was nice.
When we had his service his little casket was so small. It seemed too small. You shouldn’t ever have to bury someone that small, it is just too sad.
On Friday I remembered all the people that were there with us, and the songs that were sung, the lullaby that Sean played from texas. I remembered that Margo wanted to sit on my lap. I remembered the visits to his park over the last six months, the seasons that have changed, the leaves that have fallen. I looked around at that little place, my own sacred grove, for my son’s body lies in rest there. I always feel a sense of reverence.
On a scale from 1-hard, Friday was HARD. It was sad. I cried kind of a lot. Linc asked “aww you miss bayee max?” and when I said yes he said, “I miss disneyland.” Me too buddy, me too. The kids had a fall festival at Isabelle’s school that night and I could barely get it together to attend. I felt like a non-person. I felt like a sub-par mother. But we went.
Grief comes in waves- big rolling thunderous waves. Just when I think I am in a good place, a day like Friday comes and it feels so fresh and stingy that all I can do is go through the motions until the wave passes and I feel more like myself again. It makes me tired.
How has it been six months since I held my baby!
the sorensen six 