Bringing home LJ

I'm in the middle of writing my column for this month's issue. Of course, I have been since sometime Thursday. I've managed to procrastinate far too much. Most of my computer time today has been spent checking out message boards, blogs and doing mindless quizzes on Facebook. All of this is a bit funny, of course, because I left off writing about the social networking sites in my column. I'll get back to it here in a few minutes, I think, but I needed to blog first.

We had a list of errands to run yesterday afternoon. We just had a couple of things we wanted to get done. So, we did. But, we had one very important errand added to our list. I spoke with the mortuary Friday morning and the death certificate was ready for us and cremation complete. It was time for us to go back.

Now, before I go on about that, I need to note something. Lawrence Joseph is already home. He went home to be with God nearly a month ago. This is something I believe, something I know. But, this was the earthly version of him coming home. Instead of bringing home a new baby to feed, diaper, love and care for, we were tasked with bringing home his remains. I thought I was ready for this. It had dragged out long enough. I was ready for this to be done...and so I thought. A week earlier, I had a telephone conversation with the mortuary during which they told me the cremation would likely be done Monday (or Tuesday, at the latest). Monday night, I shared with Darrel the thought I had when the woman told me that. "Can't I hold him one more time?" I didn't say it out loud. Truly, I don't think I wanted to. In fact, I know that since three weeks had passed, I did not want to see him again. But, for a moment, I thought about it.

When we arrived at the mortuary, it took all that I had in me to get out of the truck. I grabbed Darrel's hand as we walked up to the door. We entered. We sat down to wait. I thought I was ok. A woman brought out some papers that needed to be signed. Darrel took care of that. She handed us a copy of the death certificate in an envelope. Darrel was (I think) trying to close the clasp, but I took it from him, opened it, reviewed the death certificate, my heart sank just a little and then I returned it to the envelope and closed the clasp. The woman had two papers that Darrel signed and put them into a regular letter envelope. She also held a small plastic bag with handles. And she said, "I'll take you to where he is." (or something like that)

We walked down the hall and she entered a room. We followed. I was not prepared for what was waiting for us. LJ's urn sat on a strategically lit table, raised up a bit. I stopped dead in my tracks. "This is it....this is how my baby comes home...this is the end of the road...this is not my life..." all sorts of thoughts flooded through my mind. I started to cry and sucked it up all at once, Darrel squeezed my hand. At the same moment, I was overwhelmed by the beauty. The picture we had seen of this urn was beautiful, but it did not do justice to it at all. It's shiny (silver) and it had appeared with more of a stone look to it. It caught the light and almost glowed (for lack of a better word). It was breathtaking. I think that's partly what made this more difficult and yet more comforting all at once.

The woman asked if we'd like some time alone in the room. (Another flood of thoughts raced through my mind as I glanced at Darrel during her brief pause.) "Whatever you want to do," she said.

My thoughts at that moment: Whatever I want? I don't want this. I don't want any of this. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be in this situation. I don't want to take my baby home this way.

The words I actually spoke: "I don't want...(pause)...anything..." Nothing more made it's way out of my mouth. She walked up to put the urn into the bag she was holding. She handed it to us.

As we left, I dealt with new thoughts: This is it? This is how we take him home? I'm carrying him to the truck like a souvenir...in a bag. But he was my son. He's my baby. He's not some souvenir. Why a bag? What is happening here?

When we got home, I couldn't bring myself to just set the bag down someplace. I had to put the urn someplace nice. (Normally, I would have dropped the things from my hands and gone straight to the bathroom after errand running.) I placed it next to the family portrait we had done last year. The image on the urn is called "Going home."

Lawrence Joseph is now home in two places. He is home with God and he is home with us. He is finally home.