Graveside

After the service was over, and last goodbyes were said, I remember being helped to the car.  Tim got me inside the vehicle, and I sat stiffly, just holding her picture, unable to believe I had just touched her for the last time, unable to believe that all I had left was this piece of paper.  Instinctively, I brought the photograph to my lips and kissed its surface firmly.  How could I be expected to say good-bye to the person I was closest to on the planet?  I pulled the picture away and regarded it, noticing how it now bore the imprint of my lips, and within that imprint, her favorite lipstick in the world, Totally Toffee.  I had kissed her cold lips that last time, pulling the pigment away, and now here it was, in my hand- a tiny last physical connection with my child. 

I kept my eyes on her picture as we waited to leave the parking lot.  During the entire service, I had clutched her tiny canvas in my hand, and concentrated on remaining silent…to show respect, and to honor our deal, to complete our last endeavor as a team.  Now that the service was over, and the lid had been closed on my world, I had become disconnected from everything, everyone, viewing myself as a character in a well-loved, but tragic film.  Watch as the grieving mother unaware of her surroundings waits for the funeral procession to begin.  As we got onto the road, I fixated on her picture, my stomach full of sharp pains, and my heart on fire.  From above myself somewhere, I looked down and pitied this poor woman…who should ever have to lose a child?  Still, I could not make myself recognize my situation.  I was watching someone else, surely.

When we arrived at the cemetery, I had to be coaxed out of the car.  Denial, anyone?  The moment I came to myself, and realized what was actually happening was the moment I saw my nephews and brothers-in-law carrying her casket over to the gravesite. The sight of their solemn faces, jaws clenched tight, working together to heft her weight to her final resting place completely undid me.   I howled.   It was all at once, real.  Light, full color, and sound all rushed to my senses like a heavy bullet, taking my breath away.  This is really happening.  That’s Cory in there, and I’m never going to see her again.  I remember swaying against Tim, needing a moment or two before I could even fathom being led over to her casket, and seated in one of the chairs lined up in front of it.  I didn't want to go over, I didn't want to participate in this heartbreaking ritual, but at the same time I couldn't walk away.  I had to be there.  I had to see it done, and done well.  I began moaning like an animal in a trap as soon as I sat down.  I began to pray, begging God to take it back.  Silence was my answer, just as it had been at the road. 

I know Tim sat beside me; I think Jake may have been at my other side, but I am not really sure.  I don’t remember seeing Jake’s face once at the graveside.  I remember gripping Tim’s hand harder than I ever gripped a hand through any of the contractions of Cory’s birth, or Jake’s.  Many say childbirth is the most painful experience you will ever go through; I am here to regrettably dispel that myth.  It is not.  Preparing to watch your child be put in the ground, and covered with dirt is pure hell on earth. 

The rest of the brief service was much like the accident scene.  I remember only bits and pieces…images and feelings.  A minister, I’m not sure who, began reading or praying, and I began screaming my heart out in earnest.  I had held it in for the service; I had kept it together, and now I would let it all go.  I didn’t care this time if people could not hear what was being said.  I let it all out…the horror, the heartbreak, the sorrow, everything that had taken place since the afternoon of July 5^th.  Then I drew breath into my lungs and let out every moment my girl had suffered with that cruel and senseless mental illness…all the late nights calming her, all the runs to the E. R., every second she spent afraid and confused.  Damn you voices, and damn you medication that didn't work.  I held onto my husband and I yelled until I couldn’t get my breath.  In my mind, she was close enough to touch, to hold, to draw into my lap.  But here, when I opened eyes I could barely see through, she was laid out in a box suspended over a hole in the ground.  All I wanted was to go with her.  I screamed my lungs out, and hoped she could hear me.

People touched me; they encouraged me to breathe.  I finally lay my head down on Tim’s lap, and just keened like an animal that has been beaten until it can’t lift its head.  When the words had been said, I could hear the funeral director trying to get Tim’s attention.  He was asking him if he was sure we wanted her casket to be lowered with us present.  I heard him tell Tim he did not think it would be a good idea, but he would do whatever we wanted.  Tim turned to me, “Honey?” 

I raised my head, “Yes, do it.”

“Are you sure?”  he asked again.

“I’m positive.”  I answered.  Was there really any other choice?  I could not and would not leave her alone to be put in the ground without me there.  We had been through hell together; I would not leave her now.  She had died alone because of me, I would not have her put to rest alone, too.

I stumbled over, with some help, and on impulse, kissed the lid of her coffin, just as I had kissed her goodnight so many times over the course of her life. As I heard the sound of the machinery warming up to lower her in, I lost my mind.  It seemed to last forever, that cranking, industrial whirr that took my daughter farther away from me by the second.  I cried out with everything I had.  I have never wanted anything as much as I wanted it to be a nightmare I would wake up from. 

When it was over, I looked down into the hole, which seemed deeper than I had ever imagined.  Someone cautioned me to be careful, not to fall in.  Are you kidding me?  It was all I could do not to climb right inside.  All I wanted in that moment was to climb down in that hole, and lay on top of her while someone shoveled earth right on top of us both.