Am I Losing It??
I already shared the story of my son Alan's tragic passing on 9/10/11, but I also want to share a story of something I did after my son was cremated that I am not proud of. I also want to show off something that I am proud of!
Alan died, in my eyes, on 9/1/11 but since his body was not found until 9/10/11, the 10th is his 'official' date of death. I was told by the medical examiner that they must go by the date and time a person is found.
So a month or so after I last saw Alan, walking, talking, the boy I knew and loved, I was presented with 3 urns (to be shared by me, his dad and stepfather) and told this was my son. It was his body anyway, but still the body I carried, gave birth to, cared for, kissed boo-boos on, fed, clothed, bathed, and then watched grow into a man.
** To anyone that has not seen the results of a cremation, and don't want to know, please do not read the next paragraph!! **
When I had the urns, I immediately opened mine to see what remained of my son. To my shock and disbelief the bag inside looked like it contained dry cement. I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I did not want to part with 2 parts of my son - after all, I had given birth to 100% of a baby and did not want 33 1/3 back. So I went to the local Lowe's and bought what looked exactly like his cremated remains (yes, dry cement) and took him out of the other 2 urns, replaced it with the fake stuff and gave them to their rightful owners.
I thought myself to be so clever, plus it was the first time in over a month that I wasn't crippled by grief - I was a mother on a mission. Until the guilt set in. I imagined my son saying to me "Ma, what are you doing?" After a few days I confessed and made things right by putting the real remains back in the other 2 urns. I actually felt much better.
Has anyone else done this? Was I temporarily out of mind?
The second thing that I did which brought a great deal of comfort was to have my son's picture tattooed on my back. I also got a tattoo of a frog over my heart, but perhaps that is a story for another day.