Keening

Keening: the action of wailing in grief for a dead person.

I didn’t know there was a name for it until this past Wednesday.

But I’ve lived it.

I lived it before we lost him and I lived it after we lost him.

That absolutely deep, guttural, grief-filled wail.

I’ve lived it a few times. It’s awful and cleansing, all at once.

It first happened the Sunday before we lost him. Tommy was headed out of town for work and we had gone shopping for some clothes. When we arrived home, I couldn't get out of the car. It's like my body was frozen. I just started to wail. I couldn't stop. I sometimes wonder if I knew the pain that was coming that Friday evening...

The night we lost Luke, I didn't keen, I wept. I wept as they handed him to me. Our perfect baby boy, gone from this world to paradise. I could barely move. I just wept. It was unreal. It was impossible. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to beat the odds.

In the days that followed, I still didn't keen (at least not that I remember). I was catatonic. I was so sad. The grief was enveloping and it took everything out of me to get out of bed and face each day. My incredible Tommy and loving father went to the funeral home. They chose Luke's casket and his special place (he's buried on top of his Pop Pop - Tommy's dad) because I couldn't face the finality of it all. Thankfully, I was able to pull myself together enough to choose the readings and music for Luke's funeral mass. Amazing Grace and Ave Maria still make me well up with tears.

The next time keening happened was when we arrived at the funeral home. We only had a family visitation and Luke was in one of the small rooms. When we walked into the room, I saw the casket. And our baby boy. The wave of sorrow that washed over me was unbearable. Some people don't agree with open caskets and others have questioned our choice {why would anyone ever question a choice made by grieving parents?}, but seeing Luke lying there peacefully in his Easter outfit wrecked me. He was the most beautiful, most perfect baby. So I keened. I wailed, without realizing the volume of my cries. Without caring what others thought. This was our baby and I was his mother. And I couldn't save him. And I needed him here.

I keened once again the day we moved out of our house in The Woodlands. Luke had been gone for about two months or so when moving day arrived. The last time we stayed in that house was the night before Luke was born. After he was born, I couldn't stay there again. We knew we were moving to Tennessee, so we decided it would be easier with Emily and Matthew for us to stay at my parents' house.

Here I was. All by myself in our first house. It was quiet. It was full of furniture, but felt so empty. The house where Luke didn't come home. So before the movers came, I let out guttural screams. I wept. I sobbed. I keened. I told God that Luke was my baby. That I wanted him back. That it wasn't fair. {Looking back, it hurts my heart that I was so angry, but I remember Monsignor Sheltz telling me and Tommy at the internment that God would understand our anger and that it was ok.} Imagine my surprise when the movers arrived just as my screams were the loudest. I tried to explain, but I don't think they understood, as evidenced by one of them taking their tip money out of my purse (yes, that really happened - they stole from a grieving mother). 

I can't remember if there were any other times when I keened, but these are the times that stand out in my mind. I've grown over the last 18 years. But there will never be a moment when I don't miss that precious boy. When I don't think about the "what-ifs" and the "what he would bes". When I don't wish he could be here with us, cutting up with
his siblings, making fun of Mom and Dad, graduating from high school and going to college.

Luke Thomas Haberman. You are our forever baby boy. And we are so very blessed to be your parents. Please pray for us. And please send us signs that you are near. Our beautiful boy. We love you.

Thank you.

"When a child is born, it is the mother's instinct to protect the baby.  When a child dies, it is the mother's instinct to protect the memory." 

- Unknown 

We've missed 18 years with our boy. 

And I'm not quite sure what to say on his birthday this year. I've started to write some words and then thought to myself, "that's too harsh" or "that doesn't celebrate Luke in a way that honors him". 

So I start over.

I'm not sure what to write.

Each year, I write in this blog, trying to come up with the words to celebrate the life of a boy gone too soon. And as each year passes, it becomes more difficult to come up with the right words to acknowledge the immense hole his loss has left in our hearts.

This year, I just want to say thank you. I want to thank everyone who has stayed with us over the last 18 years. The people who came before Luke, the ones who came during Luke, and the ones who came after Luke.

Because without your support and our faith, we wouldn't have survived. 

That sounds intense, but it's true. Our family has survived the unimaginable because of you.

The countless prayers said on our family's behalf. My parents and Nana, who were there through everything. The teachers who watched Emily and Matthew when we were at Luke's bedside. The people who brought us meals when Luke passed. The friends and family who showed up to his funeral--I remember. Our family, who prepared our house to sell and move to Tennessee. Our little Collierville community, who rallied around a mother and father who were expecting another critically ill child. All the people who have donated to Luke's Tree and Luke's Legacy Boxes over the years. The countless friends who visit Luke's grave, because they know how much it means to us. The people who continue to show up and who aren't afraid to say his name. And who understand how important it is to us that Luke is not forgotten. 

We survived because of you.

And for me, I could not have survived without Tommy and our children. I want to thank them for giving me grace when my heart is shattered. For making me smile when I wanted to cry. For always remembering their brother. For just being them. I am so very proud of them and I'm blessed to be surrounded by some pretty incredible humans.

This year would mean so many new experiences for Luke: buying lottery tickets, college decisions, high school graduation, voting. No, he'll never be able to experience these things, but I am confident that his life in paradise is better than anything we could ever experience here on earth.

Happy birthday, Luke. We love you more than you could ever know.