I buried my son in a 36 inch long coffin.
Shalebug was 37 inches tall.
I buried my son in a coffin one inch too short.
I am haunted by this.
I know, heck I knew at the time, it made no difference. Bug’s feet were twisted and curled and even in life he preferred to have his little legs curled up instead of stretched out, but I can’t stop fretting over the fact I crammed my son into a box one inch too small for his wee body.
What kind of mother does that?
Grief is a funny thing. It’s a palpable emotion that will consume every ounce of joy and happiness if you let it. It’s the monster that lives in your closet, a parasite feeding off your love and memories and always looking for your soft underbelly of pain, the chink in your armour.
This week, through a series of events I have had no control over, the monster rattled at my closet door and managed to find a way to slip through a crack to rip my shirt up and expose my garishly pale underbelly.
With it’s plaque covered pointy teeth, this monster leaned over me during my emotional weakness and ripped through my defenses so that I am once more bleeding tears of pain and sadness and loss.
There is no bandaid for this oozing wound, as all the joy I have managed to harvest since my son passed seemed to quickly seep out of my soul and into the monster’s foul, gaping mouth.
Which leaves me struggling with the knowledge once more that I crammed my little boy into a box too short for his small body.
Today I feel broken and hollow as the monster once more recedes into the darkness of the closet I wrestle to keep locked.
Today I exam the past and savour the what-if’s as they roll around my brain.
Today, I try to remember that at the time, it seemed like the right choice. We didn’t have the money to have a coffin custom sized for our boy, and there were only two options available to us. A three foot coffin or the next size up, at five feet.
The thought of my son lying in an adult sized box for all of eternity seemed ludicrous to me. What did he need all that space for? So I chose the smaller version, thinking I would find comfort in knowing he was snug as a bug as he lay beneath the soil.
I can’t for the life of me shake the image of that tiny oak box covered in white daisies being lowered into the ground.
I suppose I would be haunted by this vision still, even if I did choose the larger coffin.
I buried my son in a box because I couldn’t handle the idea of cremating him and the flames surrounding him.
The truth is, today, I can’t handle the knowledge I ran out of tomorrows with my son.
I’m grieving the fact he never had the chance to grow taller, get smarter, become more.
I’m struggling with the fact the only tangible evidence he once existed are the stretchmarks on my body and the stone marker on the ground.
The monster won last night as he terrorized my hard fought peace and bound me tight in the cloak of sadness once more.
Today I grieve; for tomorrow I will have no time to as I once more set out to find joy that is not lost, but eclipsed by this eternal darkness that rolled in like the fog on a gloomy day.
But today, today is for knowing I buried my boy in a box too small.
Stretch marks and stones, reminders of how I miss you so, Shalebug.
Cassie
oxoxox
Lori
I understand why that haunts you and why reasoning doesn’t rid you of the guilt- but at the same time I want to tell you to not let it. You love your son, always have and always will. You gave him your very best while he was here so he could live a happy life with a family he adored and was adored by. Our bodies are only our physical shells and when we die we shed them and our soul lives on in memories of others. it’s like the poem i carry your heart (i carry it in mine) by e.e. cummings. Put that vision of that box out of your head and see his heart in yours instead. This stranger loves you and wishes she could give you a hug to help ease your pain. Stay strong.
Hockeyman
Although I cannot possibly understand and offer any meaningful tips, I send hugs and prayers to you and your family in hopes it makes you feel even a tinge better today.
Lori
So you don’t have to go elsewhere to find it:
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
Meg
Awwww, muffin. I’m so sorry that grief is rearing its ugly, asshole head today. I think Shale would have liked being in a little-weeny-bit-too short coffin, cuz then he would feel like he was being cuddled by his mommy and daddy.
Ariel
I wish I could help. Hugs to you!
Perhaps I’ll share our regret, because it’s sad and also funny as hell.
My brother was in a car accident 9 years and passed away. And we buried him. And my mother and I feel bad about this, because my brother wanted to be cremated and his ashes “Sprinkled on whoever it would piss off the most.” We all laughed at this remark, said during a random conversation… But six weeks later we remembered this as we were trying to decide what should be done. And because we didn’t think we could actually fulfill his wish to piss people off, we went with what the other people wanted.
Its been 9 years, and I miss him, and I love him, and not a day goes by when something he did or said doesn’t make me laugh. And if I know my brother, he’s up there making everyone else laugh, just like he did down here.
He was such a gift.
Just like your little man.
Heather
Much love to you, especially while you are hurting. <3
Twinkie
There is no greater pain than a mother outliving her child. I am so sorry that you had to go through this. I am a new reader and I don’t know you too well but can I give you a big hug anyways?
((((HUG)))
sashalyn
although I know it doesn’t matter, I think you made the best decision you could at the time- and no matter what you’d decided, you’d be second guessing it today. grief is there, knocking at your door, and he exposes all of the questions that we wish we had answers for.
today, I wish you strength and peace as you fight to get the monster back into the closet. we all know that you will fight the good fight.
red pen mama
I am so very sorry.
ciao,
rpm
Maya
I am sure he was a special little man.
You are a strong woman.
now i must go and cry.
Kris
Stupid allergies. *sniff*
Snug is exactly how he wanted to be, I’m sure.
Hugs to you…
Tricia
(((hugs))) I know this won’t change anything, but the only thing the box was too small for was the amazing spirit of your little man and the love you all shared – and there’s no box in the world that could contain them.
Sara @heartmychloe
this breaks my heart…i’m so sorry you had to go through any of this…and that you continue to…
hugs
Lindsey
Snug as a bug. You did the right thing. Hang in there.
I am not a religious person and I do not know what happens when we die, but I can’t help but think that Shale is running and laughing with a new puppy.
ingrid
xo
you loved him fully. it is so clear to anyone reading this.
thank you for sharing this.
FishyGirl
Peace and love going out to your heart.
Pgoodness
Oh, honey, I am so sorry for you ache and that you have to go through this.
Xo
Adrienne
My heart is breaking for you and your sweet, sweet little Bug. I think the coffin was the perfect size. I’m sure a snug coffin to remind him of being in his mother’s womb, so loved and happy and taken care of are exactly what he needs. My thoughts and prayers are with you as you grieve.
JRT
As someone who just recently dealt with a situation very similar to this, my heart goes out to you. I’m not near as strong as you, the monster breaks gets to me way too many times. I just have to remember what someone told me when we were going through this, “Don’t worry, he may not have been whole on Earth, but he is in heaven now as a whole as anyone else and being protected by all of your loved ones.”
As far as the coffin, you did what almost everyone else would’ve done in that situation. I would’ve made the exact same decision. The one thing I know you can never question (and I haven’t even met you) is that you loved your little one for every single moment you had him, and you still love him.