I am scared.
I shouldn’t be, but I am.
The case sits there, calling my name, beckoning me to open it, but I lack the courage and the conviction to face those memories.
I have not held Avery since Christmas. In fact, I have not pulled him out of his case since Christmas Day. And it hurts my heart, I ache to hold his box of ashes, to be present with him, sit with the memories.
But the idea of being transported back to a scary place is too overwhelming and frightening. How do I willingly subject my heart and my senses to that place again?
His case smells like his memories, the bath soap I washed him in, the clothes I dressed him in, the blanket I wrapped him in. The blanket I still wrap him in.
I wonder what has changed since I last held him, and I realise a lot. When I last held him I was pregnant with hope, with Colt. When I last held him it was Christmas Morning and I was in a different place.
Since then I have been on a new medication. They are for anxiety, but they have had a better side effect – they allow me to feel. To experience. To face my emotions, and to be present and in the same moment as my grief and my memories. But it also means I know that I am likely to cry, to sob, to ache. It means I will have to forcefully put my heart into a precarious position of aching and breaking.
Just touching the case makes me feel overwhelmed.
But it is coming up to 9 months. And I know I need to touch the blue box of ashes. Hear them rattle against the side of the box and face, once more, that my son is never coming home.