My mom shared an idea for a “memory” table with me a few
days ago, and I loved it. All of
Max’s pictures, toys, and Max himself (his ashes) have been sitting in our
dining room exactly where the workers from McGilley’s left them after the
funeral. I just didn’t have the
energy to look through them.
Putting that stuff “away” also makes it seem more final. Final is not the word I’m looking for,
but it’ll do. I just felt like
putting those things away somewhere meant that we were forgetting about him or
trying to put the memory of Max away with his things. So, I just let them sit there. I saw them every time I walked in the front door or looked
into the dining room from the kitchen.
It also forced every person who entered our front door to see Max and
his belongings. I don’t know how
people felt about that, but I hope no one was offended. My mom’s idea was to buy some sort of
credenza or sofa table that Scott and I could put in our bedroom. We would put Max’s pictures, ashes, and
whatever else we wanted on the table.
We would see it every morning when we woke up and every night before we
went to bed. I loved the idea, so
I went in search of a table. I
didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew it had to be cool enough for my little
man. I actually bought the first
table that I saw. It was
perfect. It has shelves on the
side where we can display pictures, and it has drawers and cabinets in the
middle for some of the things that we want to keep private. I paid for the table with a smile on my
face, and I felt satisfied. The
hard part came later, of course.
Scott and I worked on the table last night. It was hard. We unpacked each of Max’s belongings with extreme care and
very heavy hearts. Unwrapping each
picture was like unearthing some sort of treasure. His big, curious eyes looked into mine. In some of the pictures there were
others eyes looking at me too.
Nicole’s, my mom’s, my grandma’s, Ethan’s, Scott’s, even mine. Our eyes were filled with joy and
sometimes happy tears. Our eyes
were filled with naivety and innocence.
We had our little bundle of joy, and everything was all right. Life was good. We were happy. It was hard seeing that. I’ve come to think of my life as being
divided into two separate sections:
“before” and “after.” It’s
like B.C. and A.D. except that it has nothing to do with Jesus and everything
to do with Max. I guess he kind of
was my Jesus, but I’ll leave religion
out of it. I’m still not sure
where my faith stands anyway.
These pictures were all from my “before” life—my life that had been largely
untouched by tragedy. My life that
didn’t know the type of pain and loneliness that is left when your child is
gone. These pictures represent all
of our lives “before.” Happy,
innocent, unsuspecting, untainted.
It was hard seeing them because it makes me realize that I’ll never have
my “before” life again. A lot of
people that I love won’t have a “before” life again either. Instead of thinking about which new
toys Max would be growing into for Christmas (I know it’s only July, but I love buying Christmas presents for kids!),
I’m looking into what types of gifts we can buy to honor his memory. I’m showing our parents websites for
DNA portraits (these are really cool, but still) instead of ones for toys
appropriate for a 7-month-old baby boy.
And it sucks.
Back to the table…I love it. I love every picture on it, every toy on it, and every piece
of Max that is on it. I just hate
that we have a shrine to our dead son instead of a “wall of pride” for
him. Scott and I experimented with
placement of pictures and toys until we got it just right. I am proud of it. I will probably try to show many people
who aren’t really very interested in looking at pictures of a baby who isn’t
alive and growing anymore, but I hope they’ll just smile and tell me that it’s
perfect. Hint, hint. Scott actually opened the evidence bags
that I picked up last week. Those
also ended up on the dining room table, which I should really start calling
Max’s table instead. At first, I
didn’t want to see what was inside.
I watched him open the bag holding Max’s last bottle, which is now
covered in dark mold. I didn’t
like seeing that. Scott said, “I
guess we’ll throw this away?” My
first instinct was to say no, but what are we going to do with a moldy
bottle? And if I didn’t like
seeing it now, 6 weeks later, then why would I want to see it 6 months from now
when even more mold would have grown on it? So, I guess it’s in the trash. I decided I didn’t care to watch the next bag of evidence
being opened. It contained Max’s
pacifier and a small burp cloth. I
just knew it would destroy me.
Scott opened it while I turned the other way, and then he quietly placed
the items in the table drawer. I
went about my business, but I kept thinking about that pacifier. I finally opened the drawer, and I surprised
myself. It didn’t destroy me. It didn’t make me happy, but it didn’t
destroy me. I decided that the
pacifier needed to be with Max, so I wrapped it up with Max’s ashes and put
them back in his box. I’m glad
that I did that.
I added a few of the trinkets that we’ve received from
people, and then the table was complete.
It’s going to be hard to see this table every day and feel good about
it, but it’s not like my “after” life is going to be easy anyways, right? Seeing Max’s face makes me smile sometimes;
other times it makes me cry. But
every single time I see his face, it makes me remember how truly precious life
is. It makes me long to hold Max
and protect him from all of the nasty things that parents worry about, but it
also makes me want to live my life better than before. Max makes me want to treat people with
love, kindness, and compassion. He
makes me want to “pull a Max,” as Duke put it at Max’s funeral. I have heard a few times that babies
like Max come here to teach, not to learn. I don’t know how I feel about the last part yet, but I know
that the first part is true. Max
did teach us. And I don’t think
that his lessons ended with his death.
I think Max is going to be teaching us until we die too. I guess that’s something that I can
learn to be grateful for, but I would still go back to being my old, uneducated
self if it meant that Max would still be here with me.
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