a birthday and a funeral

I sat down here to write and the scene surrounding my computer screen is a painful depiction of my life. Just above the row of font and paragraph tools on my word processor sits a stack of books. This is not unusual in my house. To my left and right are shelves laden with books, literally bowing under the weight. But this stack of books speaks to pain, fear and desperation. “When God Doesn’t Answer Your Prayer,” “Get Out of That Pit” and “A Grief Observed” are among the titles. Behind these stands a world of fantasy and adventure; “Eragon,” “The Fellowship of the Ring,” and “The Silvership and the Sea.” The latter has long sat untouched. I discovered early in this agonizing journey that the escape is not worth the price of return. I stay firmly in this world these days. The former group has been searched, scoured and discarded. There are no answers here.

To my left a topper for a birthday cake sits. Winnie the Pooh, Tigger and Piglet bear gifts and balloons and, if I remember correctly, they sing too. It screams agonizing memories of happiness, of a future, of hopes shattered. I cannot touch it. I cannot move it. There it sits.

Further left is a stack of thank you cards, virtually untouched. How do I say thank you? I stare at the cards trying to pull words from my exhausted mind. They don’t come. Thank you for… that’s as far as I get. Inside the box is a stamp and an orange stamp pad. The stamp reads “Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” I’ve tried… I can’t. The cold seeps into my bones and the water rises above my head. I can’t.

In a sickening representation of my reality a stack of birthday invitations from Damon’s first birthday is hidden beneath the Thank You cards. On the front is a big blue “D.” You can’t see them but I know they are there. I remember making them, hand writing each invitation, buying little zoo animal stickers to decorate them. There they sit, burning a hole in my soul.

And on the same desk sits a stack of cards from my baby’s funeral… not even a year after those happy birthday invitations were mailed we sat in a church with our son in a casket while friends and family wrote these notes.

This is a four by six foot space in my house. Every inch is the same, loss, pain, confusion is everywhere.

Today is a screaming day. This morning I sat in the car and sobbed and screamed until my throat hurt. I beat the dash and screamed some more.

Damon.