Sleep Well, Little Man

This afternoon we laid our little boy’s ashes to rest in the Babies Rose Garden of Gungahlin Cemetery. 

It was pouring rain. My husband and I joked that it was Isaac’s half-English heritage coming out.

Peter gave us the little pottery urn from the crematorium; it was cream with teddy bears painted on it. The lid was blue with a gold knob. It weighed more than Isaac did when he was born.

I carried it to the open grave. My husband – thank God for his strength – knelt down and placed the little urn onto the straw at the bottom of the grave. Then he carefully covered it with a few shovels of dirt. We held each other. We cried. We shared our relief at completing this last tangible thing we could do for our son.

Sleep well, little man. We love you so.