Today is a beautiful day, a bit warm, with a slight (and sometimes not so slight) breeze and a shining sun.
I got up, got ready, and put on a black dress. I had a funeral to go to.
My friend from YL announced she was pregnant in early September. In November, she sent a text to us all that there were some complications at the 20 week ultrasound and they found something. Turns out, their baby boy has Trisomy 13, and if he made it to term, which was a big if, he probably wouldn't live long after he was born.
On Wednesday, she had a c-section, and Timothy lived 24 minutes, before he went to be healed with Jesus. After obsessively checking email on Wednesday, I got the word Wednesday afternoon. Today was his memorial service. Last night I made a double batch of caramel apple cheesecake bars for the memorial service. And today, I put on a black dress and went to the service.
I've been to several funerals- at least one a year for a few years now- in several different roles. I've been to funerals for uncles of in-laws, and funerals where I was acting as more of a family representative. I've been to a funeral that was so big that it was at a local community college, and every fireman in town came out to celebrate my uncle. I've been to the funeral of one of my students. I've been to the funeral of one of my dearest friends, in which I couldn't stop crying the ugly cry.
Today was another one of those days. Timothy's death was expected, not surprising. I expected to be a little sad, and maybe tear up a little bit.
When my baseball boys came to support the family, dressed in their handsomest dark purples and greys, I was very touched and knew that this might be a little tough. And then the service began.
My friend walked in and when I saw her stunned face, the face of a mother that had to bury her child, even if it was expected... I just lost it. I cried the ugly cry for about twenty minutes. When I saw one of my baseball boys duck his head because he was visibly upset, I lost it a little bit again. I could feel the emptiness in my chest. Such sadness.
Later on, another friend and I were discussing how hard the service was, and when I mentioned the crying, she said "When I saw you crying I lost it! You were supposed to be my rock!" It was that bad.
No point in this post... just processing some thoughts.
Thoughts about wearing a black dress in April.