Milk for Ashes

My body is still making milk for you.

It blows my mind. You died more than three months ago. And I've made milk for you every day since you were born. Not much; not more than a few drops each day.

I'm glad. I actually check almost every day to see if it's still coming. It feels like the only tie I have to you--the only proof you were real. It reminds me that it's okay that I'm still sad. If my body hasn't gotten over you yet, maybe it's okay that my heart hasn't. My body is just crying with me...but it's tears are white.

I wish

I wish I could hold you one more time. I remember so clearly how your little head fit into my hand. I wish I had held you longer. I wish I had kissed you more. I wish I could be in that moment where the world stood still and it was just you and me. It was only a few minutes, but it was ours.

Today I printed out all the pictures I have of you to put in your baby book. I've spent all day looking at all the pictures of you--picking which ones I want in your album, scanning in the ultrasound so I can keep them on better-quality paper. They're spread out in what would have been your room.

Looking at them makes me miss you more. I wish your life wasn't summed up in a handful of 4x6's. I wish I had more to hold than an empty blanket. I wish you were kicking inside of me, counting down the days until you came.

I wish.

Planning your memorial is so hard. Your daddy and I just can't seem to pull it all together. There aren't many guests coming, and we know no one is expecting anything of us. But nothing feels quite right. And so many odd little obstacles keep cropping up. Enough money, enough time...and we're both just dragging our feet over everything. Can't get the rocket ordered, don't have time to build it. Can't get the pictures printed, don't have the energy to put your scrapbook together. Can't even really talk it out because it's too hard to manage.

These weeks, what would have been the last few before you were born, are grueling. Both of us have little fits and spurts of energy that's almost manic; both of us are expending crazy amounts of energy at work--Daddy, because he has a new and very busy job, and me because when I step into work I step into this beaming, welcoming, witty, charming shell that takes almost all I have to keep up, and that sometimes takes hours of private weeping to recover from.

At home we tend to look at the house, which so often lately is messy and feels out of control. I think we both feel out of control right now. We're both drinking too much, letting too much stuff (from paperwork to garbage bags) pile up, and everything feels overwhelming.

I think your daddy is feeling it lately too. I don't think it's just that he comes home and finds me with tears in my eyes. I think a lot of it is planning this. When we took out your ashes to figure out how much there was, he noticed the little metal disc that came with them. He took it; put it on his keychain and I've seen him touching it. His eyes are as sad as mine.

We both miss you, and we miss each other too. We're still so very close, and we still take care of each other. But it feels like the parts of us that went with you ache. And so often it just feels like neither of us can cope. So we do our best, day by day, giving each other slack and holding each other up, holding on for whatever is coming next.

We miss you, Isaac. We miss you so much.

I can't be sad.

I can't be sad. I was the top seller in my district two days ago. I worked yesterday morning, then ran errands, came home and cleaned the house, made vegetable soup and bread from scratch, ironed your Daddy's clothes for tomorrow, spent some time with both your grandmothers.

I can't be sad. I slept in today, woke up with the cat sprawled across me, purring for all she's worth. The sky is almost perfectly clear, the kind your Daddy always calls a bluebird sky. The trees are fully committed to putting on their fall colors, and the air is crisp and clear and cool.

I can't be sad. We have enough money to pay all our bills, and some extra this month so both your Daddy's new speakers and my new cell phone are arriving tomorrow.

I can't be sad. I have the next two days off.

I can't be sad.

I can't be sad.

I can't be sad.

I'm too tired to be sad.

Too tired from not being sad.