Last Thursday I drove up to the city to be with my grieving children on the day that would have been Liam’s due date. I stayed until early Sunday morning. We had very “nice” visits, and “nice” talks on Thursday evening at dinner and later at their apartment, and the same Friday night. On Saturday I spent most of the day with them, shopping, watching a downloaded movie, having burgers for lunch and sushi for dinner. We talked a lot about Liam, but we never broached the nitty gritty grief mode. Although my daughter in law and I had a good “talk and listen” about losing a child on Thursday night, it was as if the three of us were skirting around anything that would bring tears, that would break through the protective walls we had built around our grief. They had to turn off the raw intense pain so they could function, so they wouldn’t fall apart. I turned off mine so I would be able to get up there and function. But I wasn’t too concerned about skirting the issue, because this was all building up to the memorial service, which I suggested/initiated, that we had on Saturday after dinner. I knew that would break through the walls, release the built up pressure, and let the grief flow. And it certainly did.
In the week prior to traveling up there, I searched online for songs and poems that would be appropriate for a memorial service for our beautiful child. The only song that I felt was appropriate (and boy is it ever appropriate) was Still by Gerrit Hofsink. The lyrics are amazing, the music and singer are perfect. It pulls the tears right out of your heart. And then I found a poem by Cynthia Kelly ("My grief is like a river") that was also perfect, if I would be able to read it through my tears. I brought my ancient copy of The Prophet by Gibhran, planning to read a few passages. I also brought the healing pouch I had made for them, some crystals and rocks, candles, a few potholders that had Navajo rug designs, and a sage smudge stick to cleanse us. I knew my son would also add some crystals and rocks to the mix.
To set the scene, we cleaned off their coffee table and set it up with the rocks, crystals, candles, etc., lit the candles, turned off the lights, turned on the song (Still). Within the first few lines of the song my daughter in law began to cry, keeping me company in my sobs. When the song was over, I read the poem, and read from The Prophet, my voice breaking frequently, almost not able to make it through. Then I said a few words, I don’t even remember what they were, and my son did the same. Meanwhile my beautiful daughter in law was still sobbing, and sobbing, and sobbing. She obviously needed a release and the beauty of the music, candles, crystals, rocks, and verses brought it out. We ended up standing, hugging her to me, rocking her as a mother rocks a hurting child, (or as a mother in law hugs a grief stricken daughter) as her tears soaked through my shirt. I tried to send every bit of strength I had through to her – my son hugged both of us for a while, then got out his guitar and played some of his beautiful music, as I continued to hold and rock his crying wife. That lasted for a long time. Then we sat on the couch for a while, as my son held her and we both held her hand as tight as we could, as we both rocked and comforted her and each other, not saying a word. Then we used the smudge stick and smudged each other with the healing sage smoke. After that we sat on the couch again, holding each other; she was then able to say a few loving words to Liam. We just sat and looked at the candles, crystals, etc., on the coffee table until we were able to function, blow out the candles, turn on the lights, and join the world again. It was beautiful, and a fitting honor to a beautiful child who wasn’t able to join us in this world.
I’m sitting here at my computer sobbing yet again, but that is ok, it will help me reach resolution of my profound grief, some day....
Every bit of my love goes out to you my dear children and I hope that the memorial for Liam was able to help release some of the pain and ease you through your grieving process just a tiny bit.
And maybe this blog entry will be able to help someone else who is experiencing the same pain.
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