Our Story(6): A Funeral for an Infant

A two hour drive leaves a lot of time to think...a lot of time to cry...and a lot of time to feel pain.

Waylon, Lyla, my sister, and I arrived at my grandparent's house that Thursday night after Wyatt was born. Supper was waiting for us, as usual, and so were many members of my family. When we pulled into the driveway I noticed that everyone was sitting on the front porch, one of our many favorite past times. I stepped out of the car, and immediately couldn't breathe. I felt embarrassed and scared. Almost everyone that was sitting on that porch had been at the hospital; they had seen my sweet baby boy. They had held my hand and kissed my head in my time of need. They were at my most favorite place in the whole world; the one place that I always felt safe and surrounded by an abundance of love. My emotions quickly changed. I gathered composure and went into the house to let them all shower us with more love and surround us with the support that we needed.

Most of the funeral arrangements had already been taken care of before our arrival, thanks to Waylon's mom and my aunts. However, Waylon went to the funeral home the Friday before the service to choose a casket- an eternal crib for our son's body. We decided to place a few items in the casket with our baby: two family pictures, an airplane from his nursery, a soft little blankie, and Lyla chose to add her glow worm for him to "play with." Our little girl has a heart of gold. We also placed a penny in the casket; on the way to rock our sweet boy in the hospital my Grandma had stepped on a penny and requested that it be placed with him as well. (I later found a poem about pennies and angels which I will attach to the bottom of this post.)

A few copies of the day's paper were bought. They contained our son's obituary. I had always envisioned my baby boy's name on his birthday cakes, report cards, and even his driver's license, but never as the main name in an obituary. How unsettling.

We met with the priest who would conduct the service later that day at Waylon's grandparent's house. It was hard. I tried to pick a spot on the table and just stare at it to keep from crying. I hadn't ever thought that I would have to make decisions regarding my own child's funeral- shouldn't it be the other way around?


The funeral and visitation were held on the same day at the church were we had been married almost 8 years prior- that church will no longer be a place of happy beginnings for me, quite the contrary.

I vaguely remember getting dressed that morning. My sister did my make up and made sure I didn't look like a total zombie and Waylon forced me to eat a muffin.

I was dreading entering the church- I had never felt that way before. I had always found strength and love behind those doors, but not that day, not with my baby boy laying in a casket at the alter. I made Waylon enter first. I could barely look up. I guess I thought that if I never saw the casket and flowers then it wasn't happening. When I finally lifted my head, I saw a small, white casket that was no bigger than a cookie sheet, adorned with gold accents and a beautiful array of white flowers.

I couldn't see. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't walk. The tiny casket was so minuscule compared to the high ceilings and long aisles of the church, but it stood out. It was shining and magnificent- just like our son. We finally made our way down the aisle to our boy. I placed my trembling hand on the hard casket, closed my eyes, and imagined I was touching Wyatt's soft skin, and I smiled through the tears.

We had a canvas made of a picture of our little guy's feet and placed it on an easel beside the casket along with a short description of our boy and some scriptures. Waylon and I took our places, sitting diligently beside the teeny white casket that held the body of our precious child.

The visitation was a blur of friends, family,tears, hugs, and a few awkward gestures. I was hugged more times than I can count, and with each hug came more pain- no literally- my milk had come in THAT day and each gentle hug sent a surge of pain. I held onto the little blue blanket that was used at the hospital in all of Wyatt's pictures. It still had his smell. I rubbed it and pretended that it was his head. We heard a record number of "I'm sorry,"s and "Praying for you,"s and even a few "I'm not sure what to say"s. It was truly amazing to see how many people came to show love and respect to our angel baby when he never even had the chance to meet any of them in this life.

We continued the day with a full mass and funeral service for our sweet Wyatt. My family played guitars and lead the songs for the service. I sang my heart out- only hoping that my little boy could hear me and praying that he was being held tight in Heaven. The homily was perfect and in a nutshell it proclaimed that while we mourn the loss of our child, we should relish in the fact that all he ever knew was love. Oh, how much I love him.

At the closing song, I watched as my husband, best friend, and the most amazing daddy walked to the front of the alter and gently picked up the tiny casket that contained the earthly body of his baby boy. He started down the long aisle of the church, and I joined his side. No man or woman should ever have to bury their child, especially one so small that he can be easily carried to his final resting place by the strong, yet trembling arms of his father.

The walk to the cemetery was hot, long, and full of an overwhelming feeling of sadness and defeat. I felt my knees growing weaker with each step toward the tent, and I can only imagine the thoughts of anguish that were running through Waylon's head.

After a short speech from my uncle and prayer lead by the priest at the grave site it was once again time to say "see ya later" to our son. I didn't want to get out of the chair. I didn't want to let that tiny white casket out of my sight. I wanted so badly for someone to open it up and give me my baby! I remember Waylon placing his hand around my arm and coaxing me to stand up. We walked toward the casket and I placed both of my hands on top as I bent down to "kiss" my baby for the last time on this earth. I spoke softly to the casket and my son as I told him that I loved him and would see him again.

And we walked off.

Hand in hand, stumbling over our own numb legs.

Each time we would drop our heads to begin to weep a gust of wind would force us to lift them. It was our Wyatt. We both felt the peace as we left our son to be buried that agonizing April day. Once I walked away, I could not look back.

We were forced to bury our little boy before he even had the chance to live.

I found a penny today
Just laying on the ground.
But it's not just a penny
This little coin I've found.

Found pennies come from heaven
that's what my Grandpa told me.
He said Angels tossed them down
Oh, how I loved that story!

He said when an Angel misses you
They toss a penny down,
sometimes just to cheer you up
To make a smile out of your frown.

So don't pass by that penny
When you're feeling blue.
It may be a penny from heaven
That an Angel's tossed to you.