The day was brisk, but not too cold. It was beautiful when it was supposed to be stormy. The sun started to peek through the clouds just as we showed up at the cemetery for the graveside service. We released royal blue balloons and I remember I didn't want to let go of my balloon.
Ironically enough just today was the first time I have seen the pictures from Corby's funeral. I went back and forth for two years about getting them from our friend who was so wonderful enough to take pictures that day. I finally bit the bullet and asked her for them. When her sweet daughter handed me the flash drive that they were on I smiled and said thank you, but my heart sank. Could these pictures really exist? Is this proof that my son is for sure gone? All these questions raced through my head as I casually made conversation. I couldn't look at the pictures right away because I was at work, as well as I needed to catch my breath before I could muster up enough courage to do so. I decided I would give myself a time limit. I knew if I took my lunch break and opened them up at the start of my break I would spend the whole break crying and I probably couldn't recover from it at that point. So I decided to give myself 10 minutes. That way when my lunch was over, no matter where I was at, I could close them and concentrate on my work.
As I opened them I remember thinking about how I remember only bits and pieces of that day. I only really remember talking or seeing maybe two or three people. I don't remember any particular conversations. I remember tucking my son in one last time with one of his favorite blankets. I remember Brock putting one of his missionary name tags in the pocket of Corbyn's suit jacket. I remember them telling me I had to say one last goodbye before they closed the casket for the last time.
I remember screaming in my head as they went to shut it "NO WAIT!!" over and over again. Wishing I could climb in there with him. I remember that finalizing sound as he put the key in and locked my baby's casket like he was shutting and locking my heart in a dark dungeon. It had a very distinct noise that I can only describe it as I remember it being like locking of an old age door where you put the key in to lock it as well as unlock it. It was so finalizing. It could have all been in my head, but I remember looking over as the funeral director did it and to me it had a clicking sort of sound.
One thing that I remember very clearly was how I tried to hold it together. I thought that I had done very well. That was the only thing that surprised me when I opened up the pictures. There weren't very many pictures of me sobbing, but in almost every picture I am physically frowning.
I had no idea that I even could frown- let alone that I was doing it. My emotions didn't need to consist of crying. I had done that enough for the last 10 days- I probably didn't have any tears left anyway. Instead my face showed more emotion than I ever thought it did, or ever could. All those same emotions are still so fresh to me. It's still a very real part of my life. It's still a life that I live. Every. Single. Day. Now, two years later, it's a life that stays hidden from most people, on most days, because it's not accepted. I yearn for someone to ask me about my "other life". About my son that is not seen nor heard. I yearn to hear someone say his name and want to talk about him. That's one thing that I wish I could go back to two years ago because two years ago every second was about Corbyn. His name was said over and over again and people were there for him. They were remembering him. For some reason, now it's awkward for people to remember him. To talk about him. To even say his name.
As I opened them I remember thinking about how I remember only bits and pieces of that day. I only really remember talking or seeing maybe two or three people. I don't remember any particular conversations. I remember tucking my son in one last time with one of his favorite blankets. I remember Brock putting one of his missionary name tags in the pocket of Corbyn's suit jacket. I remember them telling me I had to say one last goodbye before they closed the casket for the last time.
I remember screaming in my head as they went to shut it "NO WAIT!!" over and over again. Wishing I could climb in there with him. I remember that finalizing sound as he put the key in and locked my baby's casket like he was shutting and locking my heart in a dark dungeon. It had a very distinct noise that I can only describe it as I remember it being like locking of an old age door where you put the key in to lock it as well as unlock it. It was so finalizing. It could have all been in my head, but I remember looking over as the funeral director did it and to me it had a clicking sort of sound.
One thing that I remember very clearly was how I tried to hold it together. I thought that I had done very well. That was the only thing that surprised me when I opened up the pictures. There weren't very many pictures of me sobbing, but in almost every picture I am physically frowning.
I had no idea that I even could frown- let alone that I was doing it. My emotions didn't need to consist of crying. I had done that enough for the last 10 days- I probably didn't have any tears left anyway. Instead my face showed more emotion than I ever thought it did, or ever could. All those same emotions are still so fresh to me. It's still a very real part of my life. It's still a life that I live. Every. Single. Day. Now, two years later, it's a life that stays hidden from most people, on most days, because it's not accepted. I yearn for someone to ask me about my "other life". About my son that is not seen nor heard. I yearn to hear someone say his name and want to talk about him. That's one thing that I wish I could go back to two years ago because two years ago every second was about Corbyn. His name was said over and over again and people were there for him. They were remembering him. For some reason, now it's awkward for people to remember him. To talk about him. To even say his name.
I want to give a special thank you to Whitney Cahoon with Cahoon Studios for taking these pictures for us and capturing this emotional day. We will be forever grateful for what you have done for us.
1 comment:
I'm sobbing looking at these pictures! You are so beautiful and so sad and I can't imagine even the tiniest bit of how your grief has felt these last two years. I speak of Corby whenever he comes to my mind and I promise you it happens often. I only met him after he was gone, but I will never forget how perfect and handsome he looked. Like he was sleeping! I have told many people about him and even though he's not mine, I've noticed that some people don't want to have that conversation. I can't understand it. I want to talk about him and he isn't even mine! Don't ever stop. Some of us will NEVER feel awkward or uncomfortable talking about him. And some of us will be there to listen no matter how much time passes. I love you! And Brock and Addy and Corby and Ledgyr!
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