Saying Goodbye

Author: Evelyn

Baby Ce's Celebration of Life was last Saturday. Yih-Chun and I had long talks about the memorial up until the night before, with neither of us feeling ready to say goodbye. The thought of letting our baby fade into obscurity was unbearable. I desperately tried to keep alive the fresh cut daisies I got before the accident, grasping at every remnant of the previously normal life. Somehow, I felt as long as the daisies were still alive, she could still come back to me.

However, Yih-chun did come to the realization (and reminded me) that what we don't want to say goodbye is to her memory, and not the body that is left behind. I mostly believed it then, but it was not until the memorial that I truly understood. When the casket opened and revealed her bloated, discolored face, I knew it was time to let go. What remains is no longer my baby. No matter how hard we try, no matter how beautiful her life was, just like the cut daisies, the physical form will rot away.

I've been asking all my friends who have lost a child--when will this piercing pain be done? And unfortunately, they all inform me that grief will never be "done." I absolutely hate that. I hate that I'm now forced onto a journey that I cannot end. Little things trigger waves of memories. Even looking at a turtle flailing its legs reminded us of how Ce flailed her arms when being put down. These waves of bittersweet memories that I yearn to remember yet cause anguish when I do. Nevertheless, the strange thing is, these memories also bring consolation. We feel comforted when others mention her name, give us a hug to say that they're sorry, or share a memory of Ce. It brings solace that she is not forgotten and reminds us that we are not alone.

As Yih-Chun said in our letter to her, we've said goodbye the remains of Ce, but her memory will forever be with us.