Hard doesn't even begin to describe today. There are some things I could very easily avoid or refuse to participate in. Many moms who have lost babies do. One thing that I am incredibly blessed with is my faith. A big part of having faith is letting go and being there for other family members in their time of need.
My husband and I laughed on the way to today's funeral for my cousin wondering if it will be said in English or Polish. The amens and pew aerobics are the same regardless of the language. I was actually hoping the mass would be said in Polish so that I wouldn't understand the homily.
To my dismay, mass was said in English. We followed my parents into the second pew in the center of the church. I was directly behind his widow. Not exactly where I could be inconspicuous. But I allowed myself time to let my mind wander to other things while going through the motions of mass.
After communion I thought I was home free. I had managed to make it through my first funeral since losing my son and had not collapsed. Not bad I thought. Then the final rites were said. The priest walk down to Arnold's casket with that smoking lantern that I can never remember the name of. He gave the final prayers while walking around the casket and instantly I was brought back to the moment when I realized mass was over and it was time to put my son in the ground. I tried to hold my breath so that I wouldn't cry. The problem with holding your breath, is eventually you gasp for air. And heaven almighty did I ever gasp! And not just the typical grasping for air type of gasp, but the type that leaves you in a puddle of tears that you cannot control.
My husband held me up for the final few moments. At that moment I don't think I realized how loud I had been. With the final processional songs playing I realized the 2 pews surrounding us with all of my close family all had eyes on me. These are the people that understood that Gasp had nothing to do with my current happenings. Cousins and aunts kissed me and grabbed my hand in acknowledgement of my pain. I was hurting too much to be embarrassed.
Then as we walked to the back of the church, as if on cue, that wacky Holy Spirit decided to bring a bit of comic relief to my tears. A woman who I have never seen before grabbing my sleeve and started speaking to me in Polish. I very politely told her I did not speak Polish and when to walk away. We were standing in a tight mass of mourners shoulder to shoulder and there was no escaping her as she continued to excitedly speak to me as if we had not seen each other in years. Luckily one of my aunts was standing next to me and I was able to look at her and mouth the word "help". As she smiled and jumped in trying to explain to the stranger that I was not who she thought I was, the giggles overcame me.
In this ridiculously painful moment, once again I was brought to giggles by the antics around me. CJ was there letting me know it was OK I cry, but also to laugh.
Later at the luncheon, a bit of humility washed over me as I realized my melt down occurred right behind his sweet widow. She took a moment to come over and hug me extra tight/long and whispered to me "you are so strong". I smiled and told her to just take it one day at a time. While I was afraid there would be hard feelings over my focus being on my own pain, there was only love.
In the end, I needed today. I needed to be reminded off my faith in our eternity. I was yearning for my hands to be held and extended family to simply let it be ok for me to cry. I felt validated in my pain and reasonable in my grief.
Why do we wait for these occasions to be comfortable with someone's feelings to surface? Why isn't Christmas dinner a good time to show a few tears and hugs of support? Or any given Wednesday in a grocery store? Why is grief kept tucked away for similar moments to commiserate? I'm here if you ever need to be miserable on a regular day. Or a day that should be happy. Or any time anyone needs an ear. CJ taught me that.
#doitforcj
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