Carrying Your Child's Casket-The Weight is on Your Heart, Not Your Shoulders

This past week I spent some time, just quietly reflecting at my son's grave, and walking to the Oak Tree that's about ten yards away. It overlooks so many graves, and often I think about those other parents, whom I sometimes meet there. A lot of time it is empty though, and that seems to be the feeling when sitting on a nearby bench, listening to the wind chimes that families have placed upon the trees branches. Death is an uncomfortable subject, its not like discussing a favorite basketball player's triple double, or that the weather appears to be changing. Its a word that is synonymous with pain, tears, love lost, dreams crushed, guilt, and gloom that just seems to be a albatross around your neck. Its always there, and as I looked upon the sheer number of graves on my last visit to where Tommy is buried, I was struck by the sheer amount of little ones whom have gone to God far too early. There are hundreds of them, and I spent some time reading them.

There's not a lot of information on them. A name. Dates of birth and the day that little boy or girl was called home. Some having sayings on them, and there are a few that provide some solace during these walks in this place, that is beautiful even in the midst of heart pulling pain. My son's grave is close to the memorial hall where his service was, and looking at that building, I don't think I'll ever be able to walk in there again. I remember the funeral director, whom I greatly admire, as she has a special needs child, closing his casket. It didn't make any noise, it was silence aside from the tears of family members falling down their cheeks. Carrying my son's casket out the room, and down into the waiting limo was so painful. It wasn't the weight of his remains or the coffin itself, rather it was the weight of the pain on my heart, and the rest of my family's.

There are families right now going through this same experience. They are having to bury their loved, cherished babies. The pain of picking out clothes, coffins, and shoes and toys to be buried along with their child is a punch to their soul right now. They are going to have to make arrangements that they never could be prepared for, and may they find comfort one day in walking around where their little one rests. I never thought a graveyard could be a place to find refuge, but it is. I have seen all of the markers, and know that I am not alone, nor are these families whom recently have had to go down this road that no one wants to. At Tommy's grave, I have witnessed kindness, such as a young man putting back the flags after a storm. Hopping off his bicycle, in the middle of a workout, he didn't see me or anyone else. Yet I saw this act, and it made me smile, as it provided hope. The gentlemen whom tend this area are kind folks, and I am thankful for them keeping this area a sanctuary of reflection, that involves tears, depression, but also some smiles looking back at my boy's life. May these families find this to be the case one day, because while the pain will never go away, may they realize that they are not alone.