Keepsakes
How About Two? | April 8Yesterday, we received a personal, handwritten note from the Children’s Hospital staff, expressing their sympathy at our loss. It was touching, especially considering what an organizational leviathan CH is.
Of course, that might explain why it is just now arriving, a month after his passing. No matter, it’s the thought that counts.
As you might imagine, I spent a good deal of time thinking about Doss and what he meant to us and the world at large. Not so much time that I don’t do other things because of it. Nor do I dwell on it in a morose or morbid way. I just think about him and the 242 days we talked to him (231 in utero) as well as the 11 days we were able to touch him.
Among the grief services Children’s Hospital offered was a framed shadow box of Doss’s hands and feet cast in plaster. We accepted the offer, but I remember thinking that they would wind up in a cardboard box of the painful memories of the last 11 days in the garage. I didn’t think I really wanted any more heartache, nor did I believe I could have any emotional attachment to the casts.
Perhaps I just wanted it to be over.
A week later, the woman who created the casts called to say that they weren’t quite done and rather than us coming to the hospital to pick them up, could she simply drop them off at our house when they were finished?
At my core, I am a curmudgeon. The thought that she had broken the casts and needed to replace them with someone else’s casts occurred to me. After all, how would I really know the difference? It’s awful of me, I know. But I can’t help it.
Any doubts I had about the casts were dispelled when she arrived with the shadow boxes. I took one look at the boxes and I had an epiphany; I had held both Doss’s hands and feet every one of the 11 days he was with us, sometimes for hours at a time. I know those appendages as well as I know my own. These were perfect representations of them and the perfect reminder of him. When a child passes, you are so stricken with grief, you don’t think about the future and you don’t want to think about the past. You can only live in the now and you want that to be over as quickly as possible. So the idea of a reminder of that moment is too painful to think about at that moment. But once the pain has passed into a dull ache, you realize you need mementos of that time.
And rather than renewing the pain, these perfect keepsakes bring bittersweet memories that should be kept and cherished rather than discarded and forgotten.
Rob-
First, let me say that I was so sorry to read about Doss. I am mom to twins and started following your blog about midway through your wife’s pregnancy. After taking a break from reading all the blogs I’d grown attached to, I was heartbroken to see all that you and your family have been through.
No words can possibly ease your pain. But please accept my condolences.
What a fitting tribute and reminder. I’m glad that you are able to cherish his footprints & handprints. I still think of your family often…
I am so glad to read you agreed to have the casts done and appreciate them so much. He was your son, and always will be. Good to have as much of him as you can.
I am very sorry, but heartened to see that you are doing the best you can. So so sad.
Rob,
I came to this blog because I followed you. I read your blog often and was touched by your fatherly words, concerns, hopes, fears, and of course love. The love.
My heart broke right along with yours and your family. I believe that families are meant to be together forever and that God will reunite us. I believe that God will give you the opportunity to rear the perfect little boy you have already met, little Doss will be a part of your family and you will not miss out on any opportunities, they will just be delayed.
In the mean time, and it is mean, hold on to each other and build a family that can be welcoming and sweet when God places Doss into your care again. Families are eternal, this life is but a very short speck in time.
Thanks you for continuing to share your heart and sweet thoughts. I feel privileged to read them. You have all the good blessings I have to give. Thanks again.
A beautiful tribute and a beautiful post Rob.
I’m glad you kept them. I think it’s better than deciding, years down the road, that you wish you had them and have it not be possible.
This goes out to all the BlogFathers,
Because the group of you man have shown such insight and wonder in the matters of fatherhood, and due to the fact that your writing usually includes sage wisdom or out and out questions to the cosmos, I nominate the group for a “Thinking Blogger” award:
http://www.thethinkingblog.com/2007/02/thinking-blogger-awards_11.html
Feel free to nominate 5 blogs you feel help us all think a bit more.
It seems like it would be nice to have something tangible like that. I’m glad you took the offer.
I really don’t have words to express how touched I am with your piece. I’m sorry for you and hope that you find comfort in your keepsake…even if they end up in a box…the idea that you can pull them out at will, that will help the healing process greatly.
- Jon
- Daddy Detective
- www.daddydetective.com