The breeze is cool this morning, but the sun is shining and the snow is melting. Today was the first day in months I was able to get to Koen's grave at the cemetery. His stone has been covered by a deep blanket of snow. There is something about physically being able to touch the place where his little body lays. His tiny casket rests directly under his headstone. I lovingly rub my hand over his name, it's as close as I can get to touching him. I have missed that.
Today the clouds were spectacular and the sun shined so bright over the cemetery covered with tall trees, something that doesn't happen once everything begins to bloom. I love it there. It is peaceful. The tears that I often bottle up, seem to flow easier. When I am there, I feel close to Koen. Sometimes I find it hard to leave him, so I drive around the cemetery roads like I did this morning. In the distance is the little chapel where we had his funeral, where I last touched his tiny blue casket. I am 35-years-old and I have buried a child. At times, that is so difficult to fully comprehend.
I am not alone in losing my baby to stillbirth. Last night I was watching "Alaska: The Last Frontier" (just discovered it and quickly became obsessed - even more so when I learned it is Jewel's family). On the show a cow gave birth to a baby, and Otto, who seems to be able to do anything, could not breathe life into the baby that was born still. I grieved with that mama cow. It hurt to watch.
I am reading a book about a mother who lost her daughter to stillbirth. One line has stuck with me all week. She describes that she able to slowly leave that dark place of grief once she came to terms that her baby no longer needed her, and when that happened she was to admit that she no longer needed to hold on so tightly to her baby. It is so true. Koen is safe in Jesus arms, he is not longing for his mommy, in the same way I ache for him. I find myself needing that reminder, because at my core my motherly instincts scream something different. I am slowly learning that it is not a betrayal to use phrases like "there is all my boys", even though it is difficult for me, knowing that one of my boys is not present.
Some days and moments are hard. But I found reason to rejoice when looking at the wonder in the clouds and the sun shining, knowing that Jesus and Koen are watching over me.
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