Just four months ago, our precious grandson was murdered by my son-in-law. He was only ten weeks old. He was missing for three days, the longest days of our lives. When he was found, of course the law enforcement stepped in and evidence collected, and we were never able to hold or see him for a last time. We placed him in his resting place and our lives changed forever.
I am not sure what stage of grief I am in. Everything is so difficult. My interests are few. I miss him and long to hold him one more time. I did dream of him recently. He reached for me and smiled. I picked him up and he felt so cold. I held him tight and woke up laughing and then sobbed. He really is gone and nothing will ever change that. I pray that some day the feeling of loss will not be so overwhelming.
Recently, a series of events led us to a meeting with the medical examiner who did the autopsy on my grandson. After he answered our questions about how he had died, we asked him why we were not allowed to see, touch or hold him. He was shocked by our question and said there was no reason. We should have been able to do all of those things. You see the funeral director had denied us these things for some unknown reason. He put impossible roadblocks in our way, and we finally accepted defeat.
Oh how I regret that. I should have fought harder. I didn't know my rights. It has added to the sense of loss and regret and I'm drowning in the what ifs, if onlys, and how could they?