So here we are.
If you’re here, you might be facing the unthinkable: Burying your child.
Even saying that out loud feels like a betrayal of nature.
Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents.
And yet, some of us are forced to make choices no parent should ever have to make.
Cremation or burial.
Ashes or earth.
Fire or soil.
It sounds poetic until it’s your baby.
Then it’s just terrifying.
Let’s talk about burial first.
Traditional burial is what most people imagine: a casket, a plot, a headstone.
It’s tangible. It’s ritualistic. It’s what we chose.
And I regret it.
I put my daughter in the ground and I sobbed over her casket and I walked away as they waited just the right amount of time, then lowered her into the ground.
It has haunted me. Literally. (I’ve seen doctors about it.)
I’ve spent years imagining the cold. The dark. The silence.
I know, I know – she’s not really there.
But try telling a mother’s heart those words.
Try telling that to the part of you that still wants to tuck them in at night and hug them when they walk out the door.
Thinking back now – cremation would’ve felt different.
At the time, it seemed like absolute cruelty.
What if she was still somehow in her body? What if she could feel what was happening?
Burning my child’s body up into ashes? Hell no.
Don’t ask me why we felt putting her six feet under the earth in a “beautiful, silk lined, pretty, white, permanently sealed coffin” felt better. We couldn’t see into the future. We couldn’t really think the day after she died.
Years later, I know.
Cremation would’ve felt less cruel. It’s all cruel but I’m talking the lesser of two evils here.
Cremation allows you to keep a part of them with you. There are lockets, shelf urns, rings, (even teeth inserts but – that’s an entirely different blog post).
You keep them with you not only in memory but physically.
Their ashes become sacred.
Leasha’s dog, her sweet little Pomeranian who I cared for 12 years after she passed, was cremated and I feel so warm inside knowing he’s here in the living room of our home.
You can talk to cremated ash.
You can hold it.
You can just sit near it and breathe.
People have opinions. Oh my gosh do they have opinions.
“You should bury them so you have a place to visit.”
“You should cremate them so you can take them with you.”
“You should do what’s traditional.”
“You should do what’s spiritual.”
You know what you should do? Whatever the hell feels right to you.
There’s no rulebook for this.
There’s no gold star for choosing the “correct” method.
There’s only your grief, your love, and your gut.
Looking back, I know now that cremation would’ve gave me comfort in later years.
It would’ve given me mobility.
It would’ve given me the ability to keep my child close, even when I moved houses or traveled.
It would’ve given me a sense of control in a situation where everything else felt like chaos.
But none of it is easy.
You have to sign papers [legal ass documents] that allow the funeral home or cremation center to do the deed.
Signing those papers? Giving permission to reduce your child’s body to ash?
Reading words that say “you understand we try our hardest to incorporate all of your loved one but…” and still signing on the line?
Shit.
It’s not simple. It’s gut-wrenching!
It’s something you do with shaking hands and a shattered heart.
If you’re facing this decision, I want you to know:
There’s no shame in choosing cremation.
There’s no shame in choose burial.
There’s only love.
And love doesn’t care what form it takes.
Whether your child rests in the earth or sits in a ceramic urn (or – sigh – a tooth insert) –
They are still yours.
They are still loved.
They are still part of you.
So take your time.
Ask the hard questions.
Cry through the paperwork.
And know that whatever you choose, you’re doing with with a broken heart that still beats with love.
This decision is unbelievably difficult but whatever decision you make is the right decision.
Next, I’ll be talking about what it’s like to walk into a funeral home and plan a service for someone who should still be watching cartoons.
Until then – inhale, exhale, repeat.
