Sunday, April 14, 2019

Scattering Love

It has been four months, three weeks, and two days since our kids lost their mother. I don't know what the hardest part is for each of them, but I would guess it is trying to make it through every day as though everything was normal, when it so clearly will never be the "normal" they once knew ever again. It might be the fear that everyone else has forgotten, that everyone has moved on with their lives, and they have been left behind in a space of despair, desperately yearning to talk to her again. They each vocalize (or don't vocalize) their grief in such completely different ways, but all equally profound and deeply heartbreaking. We never forget what they've gone through, the sadness in their eyes won't let us forget.

Today would have been Rebekah's 39th birthday. To commemorate the day we made a pilgrimage to her favorite beach, Scarborough Beach in Rhode Island, to scatter some of her ashes at the spot where her family has vacationed for years. The day was warm and sunny when we arrived at the beach, but a thick warm fog quickly rolled in and enveloped us. It felt like a spirit embracing us, and I can't help but wonder if Rebekah wasn't with her kids as they sent her ashes off to sea. The kids wanted to walk quite a ways out on the jetty, to a small inlet that was protected from the wind. They took turns sprinkling the ashes and watching the water sweep them away. It was a beautiful moment, one that I know would have made their mother proud.

After the ashes scattering we headed north to Enfield and met up with Rebekah's family at the cemetery to bring flowers to the space where the rest of her ashes are buried. The kids were very happy to see their grandparents, and it was a nice way to end the day.

Jon and I are beyond proud. We are in awe of these kids. Their kindness, grace, strength, and perseverance in the face of such a deep and profound loss never ceases to amaze us. They are beautiful, resilient humans who I am certain will grow up to become beautiful, resilient adults.

I want it to get easier for them. I don't know when or if that will ever happen. I cannot imagine losing my mother, not even now at 38. Thinking about it makes me weep. I want to shoulder some of that for them so that they can feel joy for at least a little while. I am hoping that at some point they will find some peace. Until then we will continue to hold them up with love as best we can.