After All

Staying true to form, the lead up to today proved harder than the actual day. Don't get me wrong, there was an awful lot of crying today, but it was the clean, "I'm really sad", or "I'm really moved" kind, not the feet stomping, hair tearing, "I want to smother myself with a pillow" kind. Phew!

It's amazing how much we dragged our feet about actually getting to the day. Last night, we found thing after thing to do, avoiding going to bed until far after midnight. We both tossed and turned most of the night, aware that I gave birth at 4:46 and 4:48am one year ago. Despite our restlessness, we both missed the actual hour.

We woke, and Bruno made breakfast while I composed the "One Year Update", and then we ate outside and slowly, slowly began the work of the day: remembering. Not that we don't remember all the time, but today was a more conscious process, a conjuring up of the ghosts hiding in corners, so we could face them head on and perhaps convince them to move on.

We knew we wanted to get in the car and drive south, find a beautiful beach off Highway 1, and scatter some more of the boys' ashes. The amount of time we took to get out of the house and on our way was almost comical. We were both terrified and doing everything we could to delay. And in our mutual procrastination, we were as gentle with each other as we were the day we left the hospital.

Finally on the road, we talked some more, aired our different sources of guilt and regret, did our best to mollify each other. We wound our way through the mountains, and when we finally spilled out at Highway 1 and saw the gorgeous blue Pacific, we pulled into the first beach we came to.

We had a picnic overlooking the ocean, and then created a makeshift barrier from the wind to light candles on the little cakes I'd bought for the boys. I had shown them to Bruno before we left the house, and he broke into big gulping sobs. I hugged him tight and felt so blessed to have as my partner someone so in touch with his feelings and able to let them out, able to let me console him. On the beach, we lit the candles and just managed to get in a round of Happy Birthday before the wind blew them out. We ate the cakes, and tried to take in and even enjoy their sweetness.

We then took the boys' photos and the urn with their ashes and walked on the beach. We walked and walked, letting the hot sand warm us, listening to the crashing of the ocean. We found our perfect spot, with a view of cliffs in the background and in the distance, rolled up our pants and stepped into the water. Like the call of the Shofar at the High Holidays, the freezing temperature of the water forced us into consciousness. Awake, and clinging to each other, dizzy with the cold and emotion of it all, we added some of Pedro and Archer to the surf, and watched as the waves rolled in and rolled out, senseless to our tears. We told our sons we love them, and we invited them to go back into the world, to flow out with the water and see what they could see. That was when I burst into big gulping sobs, and Bruno held and consoled me. And then we sat on the warm sand and looked through our pictures of them right after their birth, and remembered some more.

We spent the rest of the day clinging to each other like newly-weds, wandering down Highway 1, strolling through Santa Cruz, and we got back home, we both admitted to feeling relieved: it was a beautiful day, after all.