12 weeks.

It's been 12 weeks since I lost my baby boy, 12 weeks since I left the hospital empty handed and 11 weeks since our son came home in an urn that sits on our mantle. Liam was still inside me when the nurses asked what we wanted to do after he died. I was in shock so Justin took care of all the arrangements over the phone with the funeral home. We've since talked about spreading Liam's ashes on a mountain, in a beautiful field or in the river that we visit so often, but his ashes along with just a few photos, his hospital outfit, hat and blanket are all that we have of our son so for now he will stay on our fireplace mantle.

This weekend I closed up my garden and cut down all the herbs and whatever flowers were left. My unkept garden had never bloomed as beautifully as it did this Summer. Despite all the weeds, wild flowers grew thick and tall, rosemary twisted and turned, dill zig zaged, oregano travelled, chives bursted and sweet basil continues to thrive in the chilly weather. When I got home after spending a month in the hospital, Justin asked me to come out onto the deck and look at my garden. The seeds that I had planted in June had more than just survived, without any care they grew strong and wild.

While I had my hands in the dirt this weekend, pulling out roots and cutting down stalks, the tears poured. Any neighbors who may have seen or heard me in my backyard kneeling down in a blubbery mess probably thinks that i've gone and lost my mind. And sometimes I think I am losing my mind. My sadness comes and goes in waves, it sneaks up on me when I least expect it {how am I going to go back to work next month and not make a spectacle of myself?} but i'm riding the waves as best I can and trying to do right by Liam. I think he'd rather have a sane mama than a crazy mama sobbing over her garden.

I'm drying the rosemary, dill and oregano for winter soups and stews, and all the wild flowers have gone into jars and onto our mantle next to Liam's ashes.