Life After Death

We brought Brielle home yesterday (we put her ashes in a soft white teddy bear, I’ll post about that later). And I spent quite a bit of the day wondering what happens now. I don’t mean for my life or David’s lives. But what happens in Brielle’s world? What does she know? Of course, I fully believe she is in heaven. I know that much. But then that’s it. And no one has the answers of what happens next, what life is like after death.

So I wonder. Time could be different there, are years more like moments for her now? When David and I come to be with her will it be as if only a few moments passed? Will she really not know a world without us at all? This is a comforting thought, she’ll never have to miss us and we can pick up where we left off. But then it’s not comforting at the same time. I don’t want her life to stand still, I want her to be free to do whatever she wants to do. I want her to be more, she was such a lively wonderful baby girl, she should have the opportunity to do more.

So is she having a whole lifetime of fun and adventure? Is she seeing and exploring things? Meeting new people, playing with her deceased family? I know they would take good care of her. Is time faster, more fluid? I have no idea. But if time isn’t slower, then what? What will it be like for her while we are away?

When I talk to her can she hear me? I know a lot of people believe this, but really, none of us know. So if she can hear me, great, I’ll talk to her all the time! But if she can’t I’m just a crazy woman talking to the air.

Can she see us? If we take her on adventures still, will she see them? Will she know we did those things for her? Will she know how much we miss her? I know she knows we miss her, but can she see how much? Do I want her to see that? Do I want her to see me grieve for her? Not really. She hated it when I cried.

Is some part of her still connected to her body? If I tote around her ashes in her teddy bear (which I’ve dressed in one of her onesies), talk to her, sing to her, read books to her, will she know? Will it make a difference if it’s with her ashes or not?

How does this part of death work? What do I need to do to take care of her? Nobody knows.

All of these questions, I feel, are critical to how I learn to live again. I need to know how to mother her still, I need to come to terms with a pattern, a way to grieve her. To show her I love her and respect her life and legacy. And I’m not sure how to do that.

Do I swaddle her cremation urn bear thing, dress it in some of her clothes, read her books to it? Do I leave the bear in her closet or her bassinet? Do I take the bear with me on vacation? What do I do with this little piece of her, her “suit”, as David calls her ashes. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. When does grief become certifiable? Nothing feels right, it all feels terribly wrong. It is terribly wrong. And this is where I am, in this horrible world, trying to figure out how to love Brielle who is a world away.

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