A Little Broken (3 page)

“I’m ready,” she said, pulling the bag firmly against her body in an effort to hold herself together. Her family looked at her, from her messy hair to her sloppy clothes, but none said anything. At her dad’s nod, they all headed to the car in silence, and started off to the funeral home.

***

Jessie sat at a long wooden table. The funeral director, Mr. Berna, sat across from her. Though her family was fanned out around both of them, she still felt alone, ridiculously alone.

“I brought what you asked for. I brought him his blankie to keep him warm, and a rattle to keep him company. I brought the book we always read to him, and his clothes of course: the outfit, socks, diaper,” she said quietly, swallowing a sob. “I’m sorry; the diaper is stupid I guess. What was I thinking? He doesn’t need that now. I’m sorry.”

“Mrs. Braden, please, don’t apologize. A diaper has always been a part of his wardrobe, it’s quite alright.” His voice was consoling, trying to soothe her. “Do you need a moment?”

“I’m sorry, yes. Please excuse me,” she said as politely as she could muster, but it still came out hurried. She stood, bumping the table hard enough to make it shake, bruising her leg, and rushed out the door of the funeral home. Once outside she fell to her knees in the bushes, retching. She hadn’t eaten in days, so there was nothing to ease the painful heaves. She stayed prone for a few moments then stood, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, and fished a cigarette out of the pack from her back pocket. She inhaled as she lit it, but felt no relief from it. Frustrated, she threw it down, stomping it out with her foot. Taking a deep breath she walked back inside.

The room hushed as she re-entered. There was a magazine open on the table with images of small wooden boxes lining the pages. Taking her seat, she pulled the magazine toward her and looked expectantly at Mr. Berna.

“Mrs. Braden, I was just telling your family about the models we offer in the size that you are shopping for.” She snorted at his use of the term ‘shopping,’ but waved her hand for him to continue when he paused. “We currently have three to choose from: one white, with a pink satin lining; white, with blue satin lining; or, a more affordable white model with a white linen lining. Do you see one you like?”

She stared at him for a moment, contemplating on whether or not the man before her was being serious. She came to the realization quickly that he actually meant it. Which did she
like
? Which box did she
like
for her precious baby to be in when he was put in the ground? It seemed such an odd question to her.

“I suppose the white with blue satin is fine,” she said, looking to her mom, who just nodded at the director.

The rest of the visit became a blur, her mom and dad making the arrangement of time, obituary writing, and other details. Jessie had already told everyone that she wanted a closed casket service; she just couldn’t bear to see him and not have him again, so there wasn’t much to discuss, and soon, she was sitting in the back of the car again. All she wanted was to go home, but there was still one last stop for the day: the cemetery.

***

Fairview Memorial Gardens was the fancy name of the cemetery. It was a sprawling expanse of green with different-sized colored stones each standing to proudly mark places among the grass. The grounds were well kept, flowers adorning most of the graves. The grounds went on as far as Jessie could see. If she wasn’t about to be picking a place for her child, she would have said it was peaceful. To her, though, it was cold, empty, and depressing. It made everything more real.

They were greeted by a kind older woman, who sat them down and asked a few questions about their loved one who was to be “laid to rest” there. Jessie just looked at her for a long moment, unspeaking, before her dad started answering the questions. The small office was distracting her, the fake floral potpourri doing nothing to hide the smell of grass and death. It filled her nostrils, embedding itself into her, making her slightly nauseous as she tried to focus on the conversation.

“Do you know what sort of tombstone you have in mind? Anything catch your eye that you like?” the older woman asked, waving her hand to indicate display models around the room.

 “Sure, because when I woke up the other day, my shopping list included: formula, diapers, a funeral home, and a tombstone!” Jessie blurted, her voice rising on each word. Her mom placed a hand over hers, squeezing gently. The older woman’s face looked hurt, making her feel even worse about her outburst. Sighing, Jessie apologized, “I’m … I’m sorry. I guess some sort of angel, like the one you see on your way in, would be fine.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Braden, but your child will be resting in what we call the ‘Baby Block.’ All infants that pass are laid to rest there, and for ease of care, we only allow flat style tombstones to be placed in that area.” The woman looked uncomfortable as she said this, afraid of Jessie’s reaction.

“He won’t be ‘resting,’ he will be buried. There’s a difference. Rest equals sleep, not burial,” Jessie corrected the woman, her tone sharp, despite her efforts to keep her pain and anger under control. A stinging sensation filled her hand and she glanced down, noticing that her fists were clenched so tightly, her nails digging into her palm.

“Do you have a book of what options are available to us? Perhaps that would be the better way to go about this,” her dad cut in, sounding cool and collected, before Jessie could say anything else.

“Here is the book of designs, please feel free to look at the choices you have. Most of them on this page,” she pointed to the page opposite of where her dad was looking, “are more customizable than some of the others, giving you a bit more options. While you look, are there any questions you may have?” the older woman asked hesitantly, as if hoping Jessie wouldn’t have any.

 “Where exactly will his spot be? Can he be by the big angel? I don’t want him to be alone. Please, don’t make him stay there all alone,” Jessie’s voice cracked, tears flooding her eyes.

“Unfortunately,” the woman started, inhaling deeply, “all the plots around the angel are already taken. He will be placed under that large tree, just there,” she said, motioning out the window to a giant maple tree.

Jessie sighed and nodded in acknowledgement, knowing she couldn’t force the issue, turning her attention to the book. Her dad had it spread between them and was reading about one in particular.

“This one’s nice. Jess, what do you think?” he asked, pointing at a light and dark gray marbled slab with a large, bronze placard overlay. The sample stated that it would read name, dates, and one could add a picture or additional engraving.

“It will do,” she answered. “I would like to place this elephant,” she said, pointing to one of the stock graphic images at the bottom of the page, “in the corner. If the additional engraving could be the banner and read ‘Little Mister,’ that would be fine.”

Her father nodded, first at her, and then to the woman, who promptly brought paperwork for her dad to sign.

Chapter Four

The day of the funeral came. Jessie stood in front of the mirror, carefully avoiding the reflection of her face. She was desperately trying to keep herself together, barely managing, especially since her only desire was to curl up somewhere and disappear. She knew that was not an option, and that this last task wasn’t one that could be asked of another. She had to go – no amount of wishing, or hoping, or running from it, would change that fact. She distantly noticed she was wearing the long-sleeved black dress her mom had chosen for her from Wal-Mart. It didn’t fit well and she didn’t care.   

As though her fleeting thoughts had conjured her, her mom appeared next to her. Jessie knew that she had spoken, having seen her lips moving, though her words didn’t register. Her mom frowned, but gently guided her by her elbow out of the room, out of the apartment, and into the car. There were other occupants in the car – her mom, her dad, Ryan – but she neither saw nor heard anything while they traveled to the cemetery. She stared out the window, fighting herself to keep the scream that was building in her throat from escaping. The only sound she could hear was the blood coursing through her ears from her concentration.

The sun was making Jessie angry. Its bright light flooded the world, and, even through her dark sunglasses, all she saw was its brilliant shine. How
dare
it show its face on such a horrible day! It should be dark and sad, like she was. Her world had become desolate one week ago today; her sun would never shine again, and it hurt that the rest of the world went on with business as usual.

The car came to a halt and her door was opened. A hand appeared in front of her, and Jessie raised her eyes to see her dad’s somber face peering back at her. She took his hand and accepted his help to the grave site. She was escorted to the front seat, directly in the middle, where the whole row had been kept clear for the family. There were some guests already seated in the small area, but she barely registered their attendance. Instead, she glanced over at the framed photo on display up front. It was one of the last photos that had been taken of her baby, and her heart clenched to see him again. He had been in the bath with her, giggling during their play, and Ryan had caught his bright smile in close-up, high definition.

 She idly rubbed her chest, trying to choke back the sadness that had tightened around her heart at the memory. Jessie had framed the picture with her mom a few days before, spending what seemed like forever to make sure it was perfect for the day. It was in a bright white, wooden frame with a pale blue ribbon wrapping both corners, highlighting her son’s brilliant blue eyes.

Looking away, and up, she met eyes with her dad’s father, who would be conducting the funeral service – just as he had the Christening service just a little over a week before. He nodded to her sadly, raised his arms, and bid the others to be seated. As he started his eulogy, Jessie barely paid attention; the cookie-cutter words of how her child was in a better place, feeling no pain and only happiness, did little to ease the ache in her. When he began reciting Psalms twenty-three, though, tears pricked her eyes, falling quickly in a wet trail down her face.

She whispered the last words with him:

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

 His voice cracked at the end, a tear escaping the corner of his eye as he crossed himself, and directed everyone out of the small gathering tent. She knew that the other guests were getting up and shaking hands, but she couldn’t move yet.

Jessie remained in her seat, alone in the now empty space, and stared in front of her, at all that was left of her sweet boy. The white wooden box on its stand seemed to mock her. It looked like a Styrofoam ice cooler - it was so small. She knew that his tiny body lay inside it, adorned in the items that she had given the director when he prepared him for burial. She stood, walking up to lay her hand on the small box. She had dreaded this all week, the final goodbye. She was terrified of placing him in the ground where he would be cold with no mommy to comfort him. She could only pray that he was tucked in tightly in his final bed.

“I love you forever, Little Mister. Please be good while you play in golden fields, and please don’t forget Mommy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a good enough mommy for you to stay. I know that’s silly, and that you didn’t choose to leave me, but that’s how I feel right now, darling boy. I feel like you knew something I didn’t and didn’t trust me enough to love you through it all. Please know that I would have. I put a picture of Mommy and Daddy with you, so you won’t forget our faces. I wish I could go with you.” Jessie caressed her hand over the middle of the casket, where his little chest would be. “I know this is supposed to be goodbye, but I just can’t say it, baby. I love you, my sweet angel.” She leaned over, kissed his box, and turned to walk away. Her tears fell freely, littering the ground, wasting their moisture on grass that wouldn’t remain.

By the time she reached the tent-line, Jessie sank to her knees, sobbing quietly. It was just too much for her. She was supposed to be strong, to keep it together, but all she wanted to do was scream. She didn’t want to draw more attention to herself, didn’t want people to come try to comfort her, and she knew if she screamed, she wouldn’t stop. Her heart hurt, as if she could feel the last pieces breaking off. Amid the pain, she was also
so angry
. A mother isn’t supposed to bury her child, it was wrong. This whole thing, it was
all
wrong. She was the one that should be put in the ground, by her children.
That
is the way the world works. Not this. How could this have happened to her? What, in God’s name, had she done that the cost was her son? Punching the ground angrily, Jessie gathered what was left of herself and stood.

Sami and Hayleigh, two of Jessie’s friends from high school, approached her tentatively. They quietly said, “I’m so sorry” and hugged her tightly, before letting her go and moving away. Others came to offer condolences, but they were all just blank faces in a crowd. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her mom crying softly, her shoulders hunched, beside her dad as someone they knew came to offer their apologies to them as well. She was completely overwhelmed by everything, everyone, and she had to get out. She had to get away from them, from this place. The grief, the anger, the guilt, everything was mounting on her; she thought she may explode from such emotion. Every time her parents looked at her, she felt like they thought it was her fault, that she could have saved him. She felt like she let them down, by not being able to save him. She knew it was absurd to feel so guilty, the medical examiner had already ruled it as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), but that didn’t stop her from feeling that way.

Ryan was talking to his friend Aaron, who had driven down from Detroit. Seeing an emotional escape, Jessie approached them, and quietly asked for a ride home. Both men looked at her for a moment, before nodding and leading her to their rental car. Catching her mom’s eye, she lifted a hand and pointed in the direction of their apartment – indicating she would meet her back at the apartment. She just couldn’t stay there another moment.