It was odd, today.
We got a call from the funeral home that Jacob's ashes were ready for us to pick up.
I called Brian at work and let him know so he could come home early. The drive (not the commute, but the instinct) to get Jacob home was one of the most basic, strong feelings I've had since he was born, only eclipsed by the drive to hold him and talk to him and tell him how much he was loved at the moment he was born.
Brian came home, and we went out to get Jacob. We had picked out a brushed silver heart-shaped box, with a brass decoration on it. It's so small it fits in my palm, similar to how Jacob did.
We looked at his death certificate, talked briefly with the funeral director, who kindly hugged me as we left.
Then we drove home, and Brian asked the question of where we should put Jacob, the same question that's been on my mind a few times this week.
We decided for now we'll leave him in the living room where we can both see him, and maybe find a spot in a bedroom so Jacob can have his own spot in the house. I just can't see scattering his little bit of ashes in the mountains as we had discussed, mostly because I still think of him being so small, that strewing him about the big wide Rocky Mountains just seems like leaving my baby to the wolves and bears of the mountains.
Mom, Brian and I talked about how we envision Jacob -- some envision him in heaven with David & Dad, I just visualize him with his brothers and sisters mostly, but also think of him being near David & Dad because they are our most recently departed family members who I know would care for our boy.
But all I have left of him on this earth is in a little heart-shaped box, and that's the part I have to hold near to me, so near to me he will be.
My darling boy, how I wish I could see you whole and happy. But for now, you are home with me and home in heaven. We love you so much.