The Day We Say Goodbye

I have been to 6 funerals in my lifetime.

The first, I barely remember. It was my great-grandmother. I vaguely remember seeing a person in a really big box, lots of tall people walking around in dark clothes and people looking sad. I was maybe 3 or 4 years old so my memories are a bit skewed. The third was my great uncle. I was in university at the time. I went back home to bring my grandmother to say good bye to her brother-in-law. The fourth was my friend's father. A group of us brought her home and stayed with her throughout the days of the visitation and funeral.

The second funeral I went to was in the fifth grade. A friend had been killed in a skiing accident. I remember being so scared to go into the church. I didn't know what a dead body looked like. I didn't know a lot about funerals. I didn't know a lot about death. It just wasn't something we talked about in our house. I remember trying to peek in the doorway of the church and I caught a glimpse of my friend. She had beautiful curly hair. I remember that. And she looked like she was sleeping. She seemed so peaceful. We sat near the front of the church, in a pew near her parents. I don't really remember much about the service. But I remember her mom. I was captivated by her. I watched her and saw every emotion. She was clutching a teddy bear and blanket and crying. She would sway with the music and cry out in pain, her hand stretched towards the heavens as if she was asking God to give her baby back to her. She prayed silently, her eyes closed, the bear held tight against her heart. I didn't know, at 10 years old, how profound this memory would be.

The fifth funeral I attended was my son's. I had a dream early into Cam's cancer battle that he was laying a a white casket with a sweet little black suit on. Little did I know that 4 months later that dream would be my reality. I remember walking into the funeral home with my husband. My stomach was in knots. My whole body physically ached. I was exhausted. I hadn't seen my child in three days. We walked to the doorway to the visitation room and I noticed a lady bug on the doorframe. I focused on that lady bug while the funeral director spoke to us- I still have no idea what he said. I tore my eyes away from the lady bug and looked past the director. I saw my son laying in his small white casket in his black suit and blue tie I had bought him the day he died. He was beautiful. He looked so peaceful, like he was asleep. The next thing I realized was that he was in my arms. I don't know how I got across that room. My arms ached so much and longed to hold him. I held his cold body so close and sang to him. I told him repeatedly how sorry I was. How much I loved him. When it was time to close the casket, to say my final goodbye, I sang him our song one last time, kissed his hands, cheeks, mouth and nose. I touched every part of him I could. As they closed the casket, my heart shattered again. When they put him in the car and drove away, I broke. It was the last time I would ever see my son. As a mother (as a parent), that is a memory, a visual and a feeling that will forever be with me.

Today, I drove three hours away to say goodbye to another child. One I had a pleasure of a few brief but lovely meetings while Cam was in treatment. Her mother and I have grown close and bonded while our children fought for their lives. Friday, sweet Lily won her battle with rhabdomyosarcoma and joined my Cam in the skies. Today, I joined her friends ans family as we said our final goodbyes. I walked to the doors of that church and had those same knots in my stomach. I wasn't sure I cohld walk through those doors. But Lily's mom needed someone in the room who knew how she felt. Who knew her pain, her anger and fears.

As I sat in the church, I was brought back to that second funeral. I now know every feeling my friend's mom felt. I feel those feelings too. I have asked the same questions, why did you take my child? Why was it his time? How do I go on in this life without him? I have begged, over and over again for God to give me my son back. And I wake up every morning, wash away the tears, find a smile and live each day.

The day we say goodbye to our loved ones might be one of the hardest of them all. For me, it was the finality of it. One man closed the casket and hid ny baby's face forever. Friends put the casket into that car that drove his body away. I can still remember how the cold pavement felt on my knees as I fell, crying for my child the way my friend's mom cried for hers.

It's been 26 months, 12 days and 9 hours since I held my son. The day I said goodbye is a day I will always remember.