Set free the sorrow by the old oak tree

Ghaith and I went to visit Rami’s grave last weekend.  We hadn’t been there in over three months.  That was way too long, especially for me.  I was really needing to get out there and be close to him.  I was so glad it was just Ghaith and I going – no one else came along this time.  Without parents or friends, Ghaith and I were free to let ourselves truly experience the emotions we were each feeling, and express our thoughts openly with each other.

At one point, I was standing and looking at the big beautiful oak tree Rami is buried next to, and remembering the day of Rami’s burial and how I’d been so busy fussing over the pictures I’d brought of the three of us, trying to get them to sit just right on the bench in front of the tree, that I missed being able to watch Ghaith as he walked across the cemetery carrying our baby boy in that little white casket.  I hadn’t realized Ghaith was behind me the whole time, making that long walk from the parking lot to the grave site, carrying our son to his resting place.  It was one of the saddest and most important, honorable moments of his life… and I’d missed it. 

As I was reminded of that memory, I reminded Ghaith about it too.  I don’t know how exactly I expected him to react to my recollection, but his response was surprising to me.  Usually when I talk about Rami, recall something about our pregnancy, or dream talk about how things might be right now if Rami were here, Ghaith doesn’t say much.  He listens, and he shows me his love and support, while remaining calmly reserved in sharing his thoughts.  But on that day in the cemetery, staring at the bark of that tall oak, lamenting about having missed that moment in Ghaith’s walk, Ghaith responded,

“Supposed to he carried me,” (He was supposed to carry me) followed by tears and weeping like I’ve never seen him do before.  Something about that time and that moment allowed my husband to open up and set free his sorrow like never before in these past ten months.  Maybe it was the lack of company, the being along together.  Maybe it was the beauty and serenity of the cemetery that day in the sunshine.  Maybe it was time.  Whatever it was, I was glad for it and relieved for him.  At the same time I was heartbroken, watching my husband break down and sob like that, but I knew it was good for him and it felt good to shed our tears together at our son’s graveside.

Rami would have been 10 months old tomorrow.  Oh how we miss him, with a depth and a pain so present, so strong.  Lord help us learn how to continue on amidst the struggle, the longing and the pain.

This is the tree our Rami is burried next to.  I took this picture on our last visit, back in May.  G's dad was having some quiet time for prayer.