Holy Angels...

I went to visit Ethan today. I usually see him once a day, but today’s visit was a little different.

Shortly after I arrived at the cemetery another set of parents, an older Filipino couple, came to visit their child. Much like Ethan’s, the grave was still fresh with the telltale sign of perfectly cubed grass. Like Ethan’s, it still didn’t have a headstone. I’m not 100% sure, but I’m assuming they were visiting their daughter because the plot was decorated with purple and pink flowers. I always noticed that particular grave since it was one of the few there that had decoration. There are a lot of neglected plots at the children’s cemetery. I’m assuming the barren headstones belong to parents who perhaps hurt too much to visit their children or may have "forgotten" about their children over time. Either way it still breaks my heart and I hope to God I never forget about Ethan. I know I won’t, but that’s an underlying fear I have. I don’t ever want to forget.

I made eye contact with the parents as they walked toward their child’s grave. Their daughter is only a few feet from Ethan so it was pretty much unavoidable. Their child passed away before Ethan did, but I’m not sure by how much. I wondered if they lost an infant as well, but I didn’t dare ask.

I mean, what could possibly be said to someone at the cemetery?

After we exchanged awkward nods I tried to mind my own business, but there was something distracting about that couple. Maybe it was because they were Filipino or maybe it was because we shared the same heartache of losing a child, but whatever the case may be I felt compelled to watch them interact with their child. I suppose I was trying to find some sort of sign or answer since they lost their child before I did.

I was caught off guard when the Mom knelt down and began to weep. I wasn’t expecting it and suddenly, I felt completely alone. This Mom lost her child before I did and she still had tears to shed. Her tears hadn’t dried up yet. My grief is fresher than hers, but I don’t have the urge to cry when I visit Ethan. I’m in mourning, but I don’t cry when it’s "expected". My tears always come at the oddest times and never at the cemetery. I’m sad, but it just doesn’t come out when it’s "appropriate".

This woman was a lot older than me, at least in her early 40’s, and I think it’s safe to say she’s more experienced with life. Although nothing can be compared to losing a child, I’m sure she’s dealt with death before -- surely she has lost a grandparent or maybe even a parent. Seeing her cry made me feel like an "inexperienced Mom".

Shouldn’t shedding tears be second nature for me?

I was hoping that watching them would help me identify with someone more, but it made me feel even more isolated.

Do I lack the "emotion" because I’m so young?

Ethan was the first major loss in my life -- I haven’t lost a parent or a grandparent. I’ve lost loved ones before, but he was the first direct link I’ve had with death.

So why wasn’t I crying for my baby at his graveside?
Shouldn’t this be worse for me since it’s my first "real loss"?
Shouldn’t this feel even more tragic since my first "real loss" just so happened to be my son?

It’s not natural to bury your child. It’s not natural to visit your baby at the cemetery. So why do I cry when I see his bottle or his clothing, but not when I see his grave? I feel sad, but my sorrow doesn’t manifest itself physically as often as I’d like it to.

I feel like my emotions are trapped inside of me. The confusing part is I don’t want to bottle it up nor do I try to hold it in. I want them to come out. Crying physically and emotionally hurts, but it’s healthy. I feel cleansed after I cry. I just think that I’m feeling so many things that it’s hard to make sense of it all. Everything is clouded by my own doubts and insecurities as a mother. My very own grief is creating a thick fog in my heart and in my mind. My vision has been compromised and I know shedding tears will help my acheive clarity. All I can do it wait for those tears to come.

I know time will help me heal, but I wish that time would come soon.