Many say that when they see me that I am a strong and joyful woman. That they could never have believed I have been through the burial of a child. That I have such joy and I am so full of smiles, that it just can’t be true. But before I could be beautiful, I had to be broken. Before I could be strong I had to be weak. Before I could be joyful I had to mourn. Let me take you back to the day, when the ugly worm looking thing, became a butterfly.
We had just come home from the hospital. It was the first night in our house without our son. I stayed cooped up in the computer room and it wasn’t until I realized I wanted a snack that was in a bag downstairs that I left that room. I left the room alone and made my way downstairs to the living room. Rummaging through our bags from the hospital, in search of the snack I wanted so badly. When my hand brushed across the softest thing I had ever felt. It was a fleece blanket that had been folded so neatly and gently at the foot of Josh’s hospital bed. I lifted it out of the hospital’s “Patient Belonging’s” bag that is was in and hugged it to my chest. “It still smells like him”, I thought as I took a deep breath in through my nostrils. Then it happened.
My knees trembled and gave way, I barely caught myself as I crashed to the floor. Falling back and sliding down a wall that was behind me. One hand sliding down the back of the door as the other clasped the blanket close to my chest. tears flowed faster then I could breath. With every exhale the words would escape my lips “He’s gone”. I had broken. I had crumbled. The cacoon was breaking and the walls had fallen apart. This was the moment I had to choose to come out as a butterfly or to die in the cracked cacoon.
My husband came rushing down the stairs. All I remember is hearing his footsteps and feeling his arms lift me up from the floor. As I weakly came to my feet and started to look up to him, his arms were already pulling me close to his chest. He was there before I could call out to him. He was at my side faster then I could have though to call to him. He was my backbone. He was guiding me out of this cacoon. This dark shell that hid the beauty I could become or sufficate me. Here he was, holding me in his arms, letting me cry and mourn and without words, leading me into the light.
Because he held me and let me mourn, I can now rejoice. Because he took me in his arms and guided me out of the darkness, that could have consumed me, I can now spread my wings and be the gorgeous butterfly I am. I was not consumed by depression, sadness or heartache, because my husband was strong for me. He encouraged me in ways that can never be described. He is my half that makes me whole.
When I was broken, he was strong.
