All the main baby armada has been packed away in Emily's closet. The jumparoo, the sunshine chair, and his little swing are all hidden away in darkness.
But the remenants are here. Some parents find pacifiers everywhere, I find little socks. When I am searching for remote controls, I feel a small wad of cotton cloth, and cry as I pull it out. I try to smell for him, futile effort now, but I still open the tiny sock and hold it to my face. Sometimes I put my finger inside, thinking the last person to touch it before me was Perry.
Or as I reach for a candle in the console of my car, I realize the lighter is not in the bag and I rummage through only to find my emergency pack of diaper/ clothes change that I had updated just a few days before he died. If he were alive, he could still fit the onesie inside.
The saddest remenants are from the days after. A small memorial program with his smiling picture on the front, I found this under my daughter's car seat. The wrinkles in the tarplike protective cover in the back of my explorer, some are leftover from the small coffin as it was placed in the back. The Child Protective Services pamphlets on the printer in the spare bedroom.
Then there are the living remenants. There are the people moving around in our house, the smaller version of our family. There are also bluebirds.
The bluebirds (or bird) were frequent companions on our walks outside the house. I do not know if Perry saw them as well, but I imagine the flash of blue with a red breast must be hard to ignore in the green canopy of woods that surrounds our house.
The day I prayed my Lazarus prayer, I stared at his grave in the early morning, the sun barely rising. No ground was disturbed. As I walked towards his small swell, a bluebird flittered away from his crook that holds his lantern. I have seen this bluebird several times now around his grave.
How wonderful, I am sure that I hear people saying. A sign?
But I can not know this is a sign or grasping for comfort.
I read that Jesus wept for Lazarus. And I think it is too simplistic to say as Christians we should not morn.
Of all, Jesus should have cried the least, how clear the plan must have been to him.
And today I was actual struck by the irony. Yes, Jesus wept but he was able to bend the rules of nature and bring his friend back.
Am I less his friend? Where is the sense in raising Lazarus, a man who had lived his 'natural' years, but leaving a child cold who had yet to taste his first true solid meal?
Where is the fairness, God?