For months, over the past year, I have searched for ways to remember our son, Cain. I have looked for ideas on the internet, found a few that I thought were good, but none of them really struck me as something that was appropriate for our situation. Since Cain passed away within an hour of his birth, we had very little that actually belonged to him, and what little material items we did have were buried with our son.
Sure, I had a nursery full of clothes and baby toys, but none of them were actually validated by his existence. He never came home to wear them. He never held those tiny stuffed animals in his hands. He never saw the items I ordered for his nursery. For me, they were items that belonged to Cain in name only. I couldn't pick them up and feel closer to him because there was no memory of him directly associated with those things. That's it. They were only things. For me, they didn't remind me of the vibrant little boy I had carried within me for seven months. They did not remind me of the precious son I held in my arms as he left us unknowing how much we loved him.
Don't get me wrong, I still couldn't bring myself to give away the drawers full of clothes we had bought for Cain. Regardless of whether he ever wore them or touched them, they were still designated for him. They were his. Still, I couldn't pick up those toys or articles of clothing and feel somehow closer to my son. And other mothers in my situation know, that is really all we want - to feel closer to the child we lost. I wanted something like that to physically hold in my arms on the days, the moments, when the grief seemed to be too much. Something that would remind me of when he was alive. But what?
Several weeks ago, when my mother told me about her plan to have a quilt made from some of my grandmother's favorite clothes, I immediately had an idea. What if I had a quilt made from my maternity clothes from my pregnancy with Cain? After all, were those not the closet physical items, at least in my opinion, to my son? For over a year, they have been sitting in my closet, staring back at me, while I had no idea what I wanted to do with them. The memories associated with the clothing wouldn't allow me to give them away, and even though we have had another child since Cain passed away, I never allowed myself to wear the maternity clothes from Cain's pregnancy during this recent pregnancy. To me, the memories associated with those clothes were the only physical items that reminded me of each step of our journey through Cain's short life. Each shirt, each dress, even the pajamas and gowns from the hospital, brought to mind a specific memory of carrying my son. And those clothes were now the only material items remaining. If I compiled them into a quilt, I would always have those pieces, in one beautiful collage, sort of like a mosaic, reminding me of each stage of Cain's earthly life.
Hopefully, when Coop and Case are older and can understand this journey better, I can take out this quilt and tell them Cain's story, the story of his life as told through these clothes - the clothes that introduced his upcoming arrival into the world; the clothes that hugged him closely through all those weeks in the hospital, through each ultrasound, through each step of uncertainty; the clothes that absorbed the tears of shock and disbelief that his pregnancy was not normal; the clothes that listened as I told my son how much I loved him and how everything would be okay; the clothes that prepared me to say hello; the ones that watched me say goodbye.
For me, this will help my boys remember their brother. It will help them have some physical reminder of his existence for years to come, something that I can pass on to them when it is time for me to once again be with Cain.
Yes, for now, this is how I will remember.
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