Alive

Having had three plus years to think about (and worry over) this very circumstance in our lives, we've had time to contemplate many different things.  None of which really prepared us for the actual outcome, but many gave us time to simply think about them before they actually happened, to maybe soften the blow infinitesimally.

One of my worries was that I would feel as if we needed to move from our home.  Especially since we found out a couple of weeks ago that there was no option of having him pass anywhere else.  We heard that it was a very personal thing, that some felt comforted, some felt anything but.  I knew that I loved this house, that I really didn't want to move, but everything is always so much easier on one side of a trial, isn't it!  And, especially now, we'll always have our before cancer/after cancer, our when Caden was here/ since Caden thoughts.  Our home still feels like home, maybe even feeling a bit more hallowed.  The spirit is so strong here, making it feel more and more like our safe haven.

As soon as we called Hospice, things started happening immediately.  The nurse showed up, got all of the information for his death certificate, gave him a bath, and then gave us our time with him before the funeral home came to take him.  As the nurse was leaving, she told us that the furniture rental agency would be contacted and should be there later to remove the furniture that had been brought in just hours before.  It still just boggles my mind that the bed was there for less than 24-hours.  As soon as it was gone, we moved our bed back into our room and things started to look more normal.  They didn't feel normal, but they looked normal.

After family left on Thursday, Randy and I spent time in Caden's room.  Everything was as it should be, everything was in its place-- Caden kept a pristine bedroom.  We looked at all of his treasures, gingerly touching them, putting them back in their exact spot, reading his words, feeling such love, and bawling our eyes out.  It won't be like this forever, but for now, his room stays open and his, his things untouched, his memory still alive.

In death, some want to try and hide from the memories.  They try to avoid things that will cause them hurt and pain.  I know there will be times that something hits me with enough force to bring me to my knees, but our family has since taken the stand that we want our Caden to live on in our memories and daily lives.  We talk of him.  We laugh about remembered stories.  We do things that he liked, even searching our memories for more and more to do. If there is laughter to be had, we chase it.

When Randy and I had a moment to talk with them about seeing Caden that afternoon, about being able to dress him in his suit (what an honor), we showed them pictures and invited them to sit for a moment to hear our words.  I was worried that seeing pictures would be painful for them, but they all seemed to do really well with it, making comments of their own as their eyes lingered over each picture.  In truth, they may have felt as I did: He looked so good, so handsome, so peaceful, that I almost expected him to take a breath in sleep.  He looked healthy, even.  More healthy than he had looked for a few days.  And in some ways, more healthy than he has looked for a long, long time.  As the funeral director lead us to the room, he prepared us by saying, "I have Caden on the other side of this door."  And as he slowly opened that door and I caught glimpse of my son, my heart filled with so much love and peace, that I wept.  Not tears of sorrow, but tears from more love than you should possibly be able to fit in one vessel.  My  miracle.

There are still times where I look at the calendar and realize that I think, "___ days since Caden left."  I think this is normal. But the truth of it is: our Caden is still here with us, in thought, in action, and in our hearts.  Caden is very much alive in our home and lives, he is still very much a part of our family life.  For Eternity.