Today, while playing with my 15-month-old boy, Aiden, Finn's hospital birth bracelet tore and fell off my wrist.
It's one of those things some people would ascribe great meaning or symbolism to, but I'm not necessarily one of those people. Of COURSE the bracelet tore; it's been on my wrist for 11 days for crying out loud, including showers and clothes changes. If anything, it's surprising it lasted as long as it did.
That said, seeing it off my wrist for the first time brought a lot of the pain and sadness back, if only very briefly, because I had come to rely on the bracelet almost as a sort of talisman when visiting Finn's sister, Zoey, in the NICU following Finn's death.
The last several days have been the most emotional, difficult and unexpected of my entire life, so I tend to cling to things that represent some sort of familiarity and order, as well as items that tether me to things lost. Finn's bracelet provided all of that, so going into the NICU wearing it almost gave me the feeling I was somehow still visiting Finn, too.
And yet, I was able to visit Zoey this evening and still imagine Finn being there as well, so some crutches really aren't necessary forever, even if they help get me through some of the toughest times.
Posted by Ryan at January 10, 2011 08:34 PM | TrackBackI've always found it helpful to think of close relatives and friends who have died as always being there, in an all seeing incorporeal life coach sort of way. It's comforting in most circumstances, but a little creepy when I'm on the can. I guess I just have to hope there are better things to do in the hereafter than watching people poop and giggling like fifth grade boys. "Huh huh uuuhh huh huh huh, he's pooping!"
Posted by: Justin Butler at January 12, 2011 07:17 PM
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