Hudson at home

Before the holidays, we brought Hudson home.

Not in the way that I had imagined.

Hudson came home to us in a small, dark blue velvet bag.

I still haven’t found anything suitable to use as an urn for our baby, which is one of the reasons I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the logistics of retrieving her ashes from the funeral home. But as the holidays drew closer, something tugged at my heart, pinched the back of my brain, this thought:

“Hudson should be home for the holidays.”

So I called the funeral director, who is a family friend. He came to my home, dressed in a somber black tux from the funeral he had just attended, a few pieces of paper for me to sign and the ashes of our firstborn in a bag that fit in his palm.

In a bag that fits in my palm.

I thought I might get a little emotional, holding that bag that holds almost everything that is left of our daughter. But I didn’t tear up when I took the ashes of Hudson Ruth Walter from my friend. I’m surprised at how good it felt to have her home. Even though there’s nothing but this blue bag to keep her in.

It feels unofficial, irreverent, almost. I want to build her a shrine in my home… but that’s creepy. I want to keep her ashes in something that’s as perfectly formed and beautiful as she was.

For now, she is next to my nightstand in a velvet bag.

Movies tend to treat human ashes as a punch line, an accident waiting to happen. So having Hudson’s ashes at home, without some sort of knock-over-proof location for her, makes me a little nervous. This little velvet bag seems far from waterproof. I’m one spilled glass of water away from disaster.

But having that little blue velvet bag in our room is comforting to me. I hold it tenderly in my hands, pass it from left hand to right hand and back again, and think beautiful thoughts about our beautiful baby.

 

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