Things have been rough for my father in chemo land this week. He's gotten some form of colitis from his chemo and been on a solid diet of ice chips. His heart enlarged and they put him on meds for that which seem to have helped. And they think he may have a blood infection caused by the colitis. So hopefully his blood counts go up in the next day or two so he can fight it off himself. Right now he is on a lot of meds. That is to be expected with chemo, eh? Not exactly a day at the zoo, that chemo.
And we haven't been able to visit for awhile. Steve got the stomach flu, and then Caeden. Who next?? Oh please, not Joel!!
And I am afraid this email is going to take a very morbid sort of turn. So this is a warning. Seriously. I know warning you away from reading it will make some of you out there want to read it all the more. So be it. The people I'm saying this to are the ones I am worried about hurting by writing all this stuff, and putting you in a bad place with everything. I'm writing here about what will happen when Joel dies.
Cause I have been thinking about death related stuff, and I am going to take this opportunity to explore some thoughts and feelings. In particular, thoughts and feelings about, well... about how am I ever going to let someone take Joel's body away and bury it in the ground? If that is going to bother you, then maybe skip this blog. This might get a bit graphic, but I'm still sort of trying to "protect" you by using more euphemisms. To bad the realities of life never come to us in euphemisms...
I know that Joel's body is just the empty vessel where the "real him" lives. But I have gotten really attached to that little container. It is the connection I have with him. And I love his little person.
I hold him. And I just cuddle him close to me. I kiss his little temple and I stroke his soft, soft cheek. He's got these glorious high cheekbones, just tiny and fragile, and I can feel them when I kiss him on the cheek. Amazing. Beautiful and fragile, like baby birds.
His tiny little feet are so adorable. They tend to curve inward due to his muscles being strongest on the inside. But they are so cute. Just like his little hands. He can't move his arms or wrists like a healthy child would, but it feels so wonderful when his little fingers wrap around mine. Or when he struggles to reach them up towards me.
His soft, wavy hair. His big toothless grin. (yup, tooth is just sitting there. I can feel the sharp edge, but it doesn't seem inclined to move further.) His tiny little nose. His blue eyes rolling around all over as he is locating the sound of a voice, and then straining in that direction, though he can't really see...
It is hard for us to separate the body from the spirit. Sure, I know that the body itself is not really Joel. Not his essence, not his soul. But it is where he lives, and I love it.
So it troubles me. The thought that one day I might be calling a funeral home to come and pick it up to get it ready for burial. And then let it get put into the ground. When I think about it, I just want to fight it. And then this helplessness rolls over me. For I can't fight death on this one.
I know it is just his body, and he'll get another, better one someday. And, of course, once he is dead there are other factors that will be very convincing of the necessity to let go of his body.
Which is really even worse to think about. Death is not kind. It doesn't wait for an hour or two so you can gently get used to the fact your loved one is gone. It sets to work almost immediately on the body. You can't ignore it for long. So my last moments with Joel's tiny, sweet little person will be tainted by physical realities that refuse to be ignored. His body will start to cool and to stiffen. I can't even imagine how his beautiful eyes will look, once he has left. And other indignities...
I know that in a way, that is good, even though at the same time it all seems pretty horrific. I say that because the realities of death force us to realize that the soul has moved on. They force us to let go of that body. Otherwise, in all honestly, I'd never let his body go. It would be there, perfectly preserved, for the rest of my life. Some room in our house would be the "Joel" room, and there he'd lie. That might not be healthy...
So those "death realities" make me face that what was truly him is gone. They make me realize that I have to let go of my connection to him here on earth. I might still, at times, slip into a sort of ...hmmm.... icon-ism??? when it comes to Joel. I mean, I might take his pictures, his clothes and other things, and over time they may take on a sort of "sacred" type of meaning. They might become symbols of Joel, which over time are less and less close to the real child. This is what death does. We are separated, and it is easy to slowly let memory transform our beloved. And let objects related to them take on more meaning then they were meant to have. Think how that would happen, if I could keep his body forever.
I'm absolutely NOT saying we shouldn't keep pictures or videos, or even a special piece of clothing. I admit that I am going to. But for sure it is a good thing that I can't keep Joel's body as a type of "memento" of him. I guess you can see where I am going with this. It just wouldn't be right or healthy.
Despite the fact that I know this. And despite the fact that knowing all this might help on that terrible day. Despite all that, I think it is going to feel pretty terrible and be awfully hard to watch death stake its claim on Joel's body. To have to see that final corruption start to take hold and destroy what I love... and have to release that dear little container and watch it lowered slowly into the ground. I wonder how other parents do this? How do we let go??
While he is here, I'm going to cuddle him, and kiss him, and look at his dear, dear little face. I'm going to snuggle in close and smell that wonderful sweet smell that is him. I'm going to enjoy this connection while I have it.
And I'm sorry, but that is about as positive as I can get on this one. Though I know you have been warned many times that my purpose here is more to be honest than to be positive. So what you got today was a whole lot of honesty. Even if it was a bit grim. And maybe a bit more than you wanted. But maybe that is, in itself, positive, if it means you go find someone you love and just enjoy that physical connection with some good ole' solid affection.
I have wondered several times about how parents of terminally ill children let them go physically. No one has ever really spoken of it or described it like you. I didn't find it morbid or even scary....but as a mother I do feel for you. I'm not sure I would have an easy time letting my child's body go and I don't think any other mother would either. It is a reality that must be faced, and a very hard one...but people are afraid to talk about it. I also believe the body just houses the soul, but like you, that little warm body that I snuggle everyday is where that precious soul lives...so you come to love that body as well...there is an attachment to the feel of the skin and the way the hair falls and the sweet smiles. It is totally natural and understandable to want to keep that for as long as possible. I'm so glad you wrote that...not so much to satisfy my own curiosity, but because I am sure you have thought about this soooo much and sometimes you just need to be able to talk about it so that you can prepare yourself for that moment. I wish this was not your reality, no parent should lose a child. But God has a plan for Joel and we must believe it is a greater plan than one he will complete here on earth. Keep loving on that boy, memorize his smell and his feel for as long as he is here with you.
ReplyDeletekd