I’m sitting in a Starbucks on Queen Street. Earlier today I buried my son.
Two 10 year old girls just sat down beside me with grande sized pink foamy drinks topped with whipped cream, and they are now taking pictures of each other with their cell phones.
Lauren is getting her hair cut, and I can’t wait in the salon because our stylist doesn’t know that our baby died and I can’t deal with the disappointed look on his face when he finds out.
Ah! The 10 year olds are smart. They brought their own Timbits.
A baby’s ashes fit inside an impossibly small container.
One of the girls has a plastic purse in the shape of a butterfly and I find this strangely riveting.
Tonight Yom Kippur will start. What am I atoning for?
Queerly Trying 
Thinking of you both, and of course, your son on this day.
Hugs. I hope comfort finds you soon, even in little bits.
The burial was actually surprisingly comforting. I’m still trying to find words to describe it, but it was peaceful and somehow felt like an act of nurturing. There’s no guide book for this, is there?
Truly, I suspect not, They say there’s no guide to raising children, and it seems there’s no guide to losing children.
Perhaps were all writing it a bit at a time.
I’m glad you found it soothing, today. That’s exactly what memorials are meant to do.
My heart goes out to you and Lauren. One moment at a time.
Thinking of you and Lauren.
You both are in my thoughts. Prayers for baby Ezra. Moment by moment, that’s all you can do.
I am so sorry for your loss. My son, Peregrine Elan, was stillborn in January at 39 weeks. Burning Eye and I correspond and she directed me to your blog. I couldn’t attend Yom Kippur services this year. I can’t stand the liturgy anymore. I agreed to lead two art projects in the afternoon at the synagogue and then went to Yizkor, but left before Neilah. Thanks for sharing your writing with us. I am thinking of you, your wife, and Ezra.
Juliet,
Your son has a beautiful name. I’m so very sorry for your loss as well. I hear you, about the services. I went, and felt very disconnected. I’m glad I attended Yizkor, but it’s hard to sit in a place of reflection on the year. It’s hard not to feel angry. It’s just hard, in general.
Thank you so much for reading, and for reaching out. I’ll be thinking of you.
Again, I’m so sorry. When my wife’s cousin and her husband lost their little girl a year ago I was amazed at how healing the funeral was for everyone involved. It was, like you said, an act of nurturing. I have her memorial candle on my table now, waiting to be lit, and that will feel like another one, I suspect (and hope).