Last week I wrote about the miracle at Hudson’s Hole.
It is so cool and so special that we have this little Hudson reminder on the course we spend about 100 afternoons a year at.
Thursday afternoon, my SIL and Grandma Dub went out to the course to see the dogwoods. They arrived right as the guys from the city were placing a marker by one of the trees.
I got a text from her with this sweet picture.
So this weekend, my friend N came to visit, and we decided to go and check out the marker at Hudson’s Hole.
We drove out to the course, we parked, we walked up to the green of the 9th, past the little old men practicing on the putting green, taking special care that there weren’t any golfers hitting approach shots to the 9th.
And there it was.
I took a pic and texted it to my mom, who responded:
“Thank you for the picture – how does it make you feel – makes me cry a little but is a beautiful reminder!”
How does it make me feel?
I love it and I hate it.
I love it because it is a reminder of our sweet baby girl.
I hate it because I shouldn’t need reminders.
A concrete slab with our baby’s name on it is a sad substitute for our baby.
Why not us?
It’s also the closest thing I’ve seen to a gravestone for our baby.
We chose to have Hudson cremated. We didn’t want to have her buried here, what if we move? I can’t stand the idea of leaving our baby behind.
We haven’t even brought her home from the funeral home. We don’t have anything to put her in.
I read a quote the other day – words of wisdom, a blessing from a Chinese sage or something:
“Grandfather dies, father dies, son dies.”
That’s how it should be. That’s the proper order of things. To outlive your child is the most cruel hand life can deal you… because it never goes away.
We’ll never have all our children together. We won’t ever have a happy moment without thinking about Hudson and missing her.
We have two dogwoods and a concrete marker, teeshirts emblazoned with our daughter’s feet, a necklace with her name, a teddybear stuffed with a recording of Hudson’s heartbeat, a Red Sox sock hanging from the rearview…
Completely inadequate, but more than nothing.