Deep Breath.

Arriving with Carter on my hip, I held my breath (because that is what you do) and focused on the signs on the wall directing me to the receptionist's desk.  We must have entered from the back door because the first thing I saw in the room to my left were two coffins.  Don't breathe.

I don't do well with neither funerals nor funeral homes.  I panic.  My heart races, I don't know where I can look.  And heaven forbid I have to venture off on my own there...like say, the restroom.  Oh god, breathe!!!  Or don't breathe!?

While we waited in the foyer, there were people in the room to my left talking about a man they all knew. Saying things like "it's just not like him."  "It doesn't sound like something they would do."  I tried not to listen.

Carter was unusually still.  He actually laid his head on my shoulder.  Something I try to force him to do, along with hugs and kisses, these days.

When the receptionist arrived and asked "Can I help you?"  I managed to utter the words, "I'm here to pick up my son's ashes."  I actually had played this out in my head on the way there.  It's not really a phrase that comes out naturally.

The woman was so helpful.  Thankfully, she took over from there.

Carter and I sat, and waited.  He didn't budge.  Honestly, it was strange.  But I was glad to not have to chase him in that awkward place.  Maybe he felt it too.

The woman returned with a little, black, velvet bag.  One that could hold a piece of jewelry.

I had wondered what it would look like.  It was much nicer than I imagined.

They also, for their own legal records, gave us a copy of his Cremation Certificate.  Not really something I had ever imagined having.  What do you do with this?  This is the only legal document we have to prove that he really existed.  Knowing that kind of makes me want to frame it.  But I know, that isn't what you do.  Do you keep it in the special file with our Passports, Marriage Certificate, Carter's Certificate of American Born Abroad that we need every time we apply for a new visa?  I don't know.

Right now, it's in an envelope with his ultrasound photo, Footprints, It's a Boy (hospital) Crib Card and his ashes...him.

That's it.  All we have of him.

I know it's gruesome, morbid, sick or strange but I love that envelope.

Yesterday, our pastor spoke on "What Jesus Says About Eternity."

I LOVE our church here.  And I love our Southern Pastor.

He (Jesus) said Eternity isn't death, but the moment you decide you are a Christian.  From that moment....on.

He said that children go to Heaven.  He said that Heaven is home.  That feeling of hugging your loved ones, the hugs you know so well that you can still smell their perfume...that is Heaven, that is Home.  He told us that is where you see your loved ones again...reunite.

Our pastor talked about meeting his parents again.  And the comfort that would bring.  I just wonder who greeted out little guy?  There was no reuniting for him.  Was it like being the new kid in the lunch room.  With no one there to sit with.

Is he an infant?  And if so, who is holding and hugging him all day?  That is my job.  But I hope someone does it.  When I do join him, will I know him?  Or will I have to act like I recognize him and play along until I do?

These are the thoughts that kill me.

Our pastor also said that the reason you feel so close to God while grieving, is because he is grieving right there with you.  I believe this.  This gives me comfort.  (No answers.) But comfort.

I guess two weeks ago, when we opted for individual cremation, I imagined us getting that little baggie and taking it straight to the park.  I pictured us healed, happy and prepared to say goodbye.  That little baggie is sitting on a kitchen shelf, with the envelope an some unopened mail.  We aren't ready.  We are healing.  And daily, we are joyful, loving on each blessing and more hopeful for what eternity holds.  But still need time...and still need that baggie.