It was seven o’clock in the morning. I got up, put my bath rope on, and walked to the next room, my baby Kevin’s. I shut the door, kneeled down, opened the keepsake box and took out his engravings and pictures.
Slowly, I ran the edges of the engravings of his little foot and tiny hands through my fingers, over and over, as if I was touching them for the first time. I could feel the warmth lingered. They were his last memory and something I could hold on to. Looking at them, tears started to fill up my eyes but I did not bother to wipe them. I picked up one of his pictures, held close to me. Then, I move my eyes millimeter-by-millimeter, studying every details of his face and linking them to the last memory of him in my arms. I wanted to say something but there was a big lump in my throat and I could not open my mouth. I talked to myself in my head, instead.
“Your mama is here. Please talk to me. Why do you leave me? How dare you! I have wanted you for 5 years! Why do you have to leave me? Why? Am I a bad mother?”
The tear came down like a mad faucet and accumulated to a puddle of water on the chair. I did not want to leave. I let it all out, anger, guilt and sadness. I exposed them in the open air, in his room, with no one around.
Finally, when I had no more tears to shed, I picked up his things back into the keepsake box, wiped my face dry, and walked downstairs to pour myself a cup of coffee.
This is how it was for me, for the first two months, after losing Kevin. It became a ritual for me to do this everyday in the morning and first thing in the morning. So, when I went on for the rest of the day, little things did not have to trigger my tears as much as I thought it would. I already shed them when I was with my child in the morning, said my things and he heard it. After the first two months, I found myself not having to do this as often. I already had his face, foot, and hands, engraved in my heart. I was longing for something else, more memories that I could not have. However, the morning ritual helped me at the initial stage. I was grateful that I had the special moments with him. In my own way, I had him in my arms every morning.
What activity helped you, in the first few weeks after you faced unthinkable?