I lost my little baby two years ago. The few things he left behind were like the last weak ties that tied me to him. There was a small cedar chest with his favorite hoodie, which had been worn and washed many times and was now soft; his little sneakers, which were scuffed but full of memories from all the adventures he never got to finish; colorful drawings he had made with bright crayons; and a delicate silver bracelet that had once belonged to my grandmother. It wasn’t merely a place to put items in that chest. It was a safe sanctuary for my heart and a quiet spot where I could keep the laughter, warmth, and love that used to fill our home so completely.
Caleb was only five years old. He had a lot of energy, asked a lot of questions, and a smile that could make even the worst days better. He kept asking me questions in a calm voice and reached out to take my hand. I mostly think about those times now, and they make me happy and sad at the same time. I believed I knew everything about happiness and life until I lost him. There was just silence and pain for the next few days. The world seemed to be colder, emptier, and slower in some sense. When the home was quiet at night, I would open the cedar box and hold his clothes close. The faint smell of his bubblegum shampoo made me think of him, how much he meant to me, and how much I loved him then and still do.
But no one else can handle your grief. My mother-in-law Lorraine never seemed to get that. She talked about fixing things like it was a plan. She said that keeping Caleb’s things was keeping me from moving on and that I needed to “let go” and “move on.” I tried to ignore what she said and remind myself that everyone grieves in their own manner, but it was hard to stay in touch with my reality when the people I loved about most couldn’t see how much I was hurting. Then one day, I came home to a silence that was too much for me to handle. There was no cedar box. They threw away all of Caleb’s clothes, artwork, and other items that meant a lot to me. It felt like memories could be thrown away like rubbish. She thought she was doing the right thing when she made that choice, but she didn’t know that she was taking away the last things that reminded us of Caleb in our home.
It hurt so much that I couldn’t breathe. I was also angry, upset, and unhappy at the same moment. But I knew I had a choice, even though I was experiencing a lot of things. I could let my anger take control, or I could find the strength to protect Caleb’s memory in the few ways I still could. I gathered up the few things I could find—things from his life that someone else hadn’t thrown away yet—and spent the night carefully cleaning each one. As I brushed his clothes and smoothed out his drawings, I reassured myself that love isn’t just in things; it’s also in the heart and in memories that no one can take away.
It hurt even more to see that the silver bracelet that my grandma had and that we both loved was gone. Later, I found out that it had been sold. The news hit me hard. The bracelet was more than simply a piece of jewelry; it stood for love, family, and the past. But that terrible thing shattered everything for me. I learnt that I didn’t need anyone’s permission to cry when I wanted to. You are the only one who can tell you how long a parent-child relationship lasts or what it looks like.
We slowly erected a little memorial in our yard with my husband’s quiet support. Caleb loved the flowers in this peaceful place, and the leaves let the sun shine through in a lovely way. It sounds like a beautiful breeze is carrying his laughing. There are living creatures around the cedar box that make me think of new starts and hope. I can feel like I’m with him when I sit here in this hallowed place. There are moments when I talk to him as if he’s still here, and other times I don’t. Caleb’s death left a hole in my heart that will never be completely filled; but, that hole is also filled with love that keeps growing, even though we are no longer together.
I realized that grief is a heavy weight that impacts how you love and live. It’s not my sadness that keeps Caleb’s memory alive; it’s remembering the connection we had and the light he brought into the world that still shines in me every day.
