Knowing

Since Beckett’s passing, a lot of my response has been positive. I have truths I hold on to at all times that have great meaning in my life and often make it a good day to keep moving forward. Living somewhere I love with people I love is an incredible thing to have and I don’t take it for granted. But a truth that I don’t carry in my heart is the concept that other people “know” where Beckett is. That they “know” he is better off. That they “know” this was for a reason.

You know? You know? You silly little sack of meat and neurons!  Pardon my crassness, but human to human, how could you possibly know? Before you answer, remember that you are discussing my child, my son, someone I loved more than anyone in the world aside from his sister. A being I created inside of me, shared my body with for 37 subsequent weeks, and fought for through 136 immensely difficult days that resolved in his death. We aren’t talking about a door closing and a window opening. This isn’t about the one that got away. I am discussing my flesh and blood sweet baby boy. Someone I held against my chest. Someone who used to wrap his tiny hand tightly around my finger. My eternity and immortality struck down before my eyes in complicated and cruel ways.

My point is that you cannot ask me as a bereaved parent to a very sick child to accept unquestioningly your version of my son’s destiny. It isn’t that simple for me. I can’t tuck this in to a box and wrap it with a bow. This is messy for me. It’s a big mess and it’s all over my life.

I realize that these words are meant to be kind. I understand better than most how comforting it is to assume the best. That Beckett is somewhere beautiful and joyful. That he is existing and his existence is good. And if someone wants to share that with me, I appreciate that. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving my child and myself and wanting something wonderful for him. I want that too. And I seek him out constantly. I speak his name daily, as a question, when I walk past the trees or out in the sunshine. When I look at the moon or the mountains or the clouds. I am looking for Beckett. Because I am his mother and mothers are always fretting over their children. Mine is especially hard to check in on.

So please, believe that Beckett is in heaven. Or that he is in the stars. Or that he is in whatever beautiful afterlife you have imagined for him. But don’t tell me that you “know” where he is. Because I am his mommy and I don’t. And for me, his life doesn’t fit a cliche. He is my everything, and the least casual of discussions for me is what has happened to the soul of my son. The good news is that just because I don’t need your form of faith doesn’t mean that I am without any. I have hope that I will be with Beckett again. Because there is so much I don’t understand, I know that I could not possibly consider every possibility for what comes beyond this life. Like I said, messy. But exciting. And limitless. I wish it was a conclusive package and bow but knowing that Beckett’s soul is free to possibilities I haven’t even considered yet is a humbling and grand thought. It isn’t as comforting. But the death of my child isn’t comfortable.

Beckett’s death didn’t open a window, it opened the sky.