Resting Place

      Today marks a year and a half since we laid Wyatt to rest. That morning was the first time I had ever been to Babyland. As the days go by, more of what went on that day become more clear for me. Granted, majority of it is still a blur, but every so often pieces of what happened pop up. The drive from the church to the cemetery was TORTURE. It really isn’t that far, but it felt like forever. I kept thinking about this ride will become a new path I take, literally. I thought, “How am I going to get up out of this car and do this?” I had barely made it through mass. When we got graveside I stood there and watched our dear friends carry his little body in his little casket over to his spot. Everyone got there and Father Y.C. began the graveside service. I’m sure he said phenomenal things about the Lord and loss and Wyatt going to be with the Lord. I can’t recall. What I remember is sitting there staring at his casket covered with flowers while holding my husband’s hand and sobbing. “If I stay right here and don’t let them lower him into the ground, this isn’t final, right?” Everyone started to get up, go touch his casket and walk over to an area not so covered in trees for the balloon release. I just wanted to stand there. I didn’t want to leave him. Right as we were about to release the balloons, I gust of wind whipped by as to say, “I’m ready to take your gifts to him.” One got caught by a tree, but the rest flew off without any hesitation. If only a balloon could take me to heaven to see him.
      Cemeteries are not for everyone. Before Wyatt, I had visited a cemetery maybe 3 times in my entire life. It is now a monthly, biweekly, or even weekly thing.  I’ve written before about why I go to the cemetery and what I personally feel my role and duty is as his mom. My faith tells me that he isn’t there. What’s there is simply a vessel. His soul is with the angels and his heart is with us. I don’t always feel him there, but I like being where he was and is. Since the only placed where he lived was in me, I don’t have physical places that I can attach with him. So, even though the important stuff that is left of him isn’t in the ground, I still have a connection because his body is there. There are times when I want to go out there and just lay down next to his marker to rest. I don’t, but I don’t think there is anything wrong with that either. Other times when I go, I clean his area up, switch out flowers, if needed and then leave. To some, it is just an area with stone monuments and flowers covering it; and to others, it is where they left a piece of his or herself.
    A verse from Sara Bareilles “Chasing the Sun” always chokes me up because there is so much truth to it.
“So how do you do it,
With just words and just music, 
Capture the feeling that my earth is somebody’s ceiling
Can I deliver in sound
The weight of the ground
Of a cemetery 
In the center of Queens”

With Love- Heather 

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