Not that his belongings aren't elsewhere, but their placements are well thought out. The Mach 6 is in the coin tray in my car. (The Mach 5 was placed in his casket with him, along with other toys and belongings.) The "Move it, move it" Happy Meal character is on my desk at work. (The other one is in his casket as well. We broke our family rule and went to McDonald's twice in one week because though he had given me his character, he suddenly recalled that he was a busy collector, who was now, he claimed, vexed over how he would ever be able to sell them on EBay if his collection was incomplete and...which was code for, Mom, please get your own. So I did.) His little red 101 Dalmations cap from when he was a toddler next to his little Red Chuck Taylor high top next to his bronzed saddle oxford shoe next to the silvered one with the still-empty frame because I cannot bring myself to cut any of the pictures now all sit on the mantle with Blue, his teddy bear.
So Blue is wrapped in plastic wrap and I'm not sure he'll ever be unwrapped or what to do really. When Sekai was taking leave of his body, someone pressed Blue in to my arms for me to focus on. Sekai got Blue when he was 2 years old, and I kept him for him over the away years, just as I had kept the hat, the shoes, other toys, clothes, pictures. He was amazed that I would do this for him. He was amazed that I actually believed I would get him back, that I would even see him again...and it hurt him, since he had long since given up all hope. Even as a teenager, Blue was important to Sekai, important to me, as a symbol of our family ties.
So Blue was clutched in my hands that night while I paced in his room, listening to them trying to get his heartbeat going while he lay on the living room floor. I clutched Blue while I stood in the rain, looking through the ambulance windshield at them trying to get his heartbeat going while he lay on the gurney. I clutched Blue while I listened to them tell me they could not get his heartbeat going again. Somehow I was still clutching Blue when I scooped my baby up into my arms and held his lifeless body. And his life seemed to literally be running out, as the blood from the respirator tube dripped over me and over Blue. I asked them to please take that thing out. I really don't understand why there is a problem with removing the tube once someone is gone, but I don't think I want the medical explanation either. It would just be easier for families, that's all I'm saying, especially when the nurse removes the center piece but not the whole tube, thereby creating a vacuum and a straw by which one's son's body will seep blood on to one. So, in the process, Blue became blood-soaked. And I can't bring myself to wash him. So I wrapped him in plastic. At first, Blue sat by the door where I had placed him when I came in that night. Days passed. Then I realized he probably needed a bath, but I just couldn't wash away Sekai. Some days, I think about where science is going and I wonder if they could clone him. When I went back to the apartment to get his wheelchairs, I found hair on one of them from the last time I cut his hair. I picked it up without thinking. Something of a jolt went through me as I realized I was holding part of him, in a way that I could never again do for real. Again, the cloning idea crosses my mind. Don't judge me.
So Blue, in his plastic wrap, has been carefully placed on the mantle, just as many things have been carefully placed either in plain view or tucked away. But then there are those things that I come across at unexpected moments, like while doing laundry. I passed what appeared to be a piece of clear plastic on the floor last night, and reminded myself to go back and pick it up, but with laundry in my hands when I went upstairs at the end of the night, I guess I forgot. When I went down this morning to get the last of the clothes, the light caught this barely visible object, the glint caught my eye again, and I stopped to pick it up. It wasn't trash at all. Inexplicably, one of Sekai's bracelets was there on the floor. When he was in the hospital after removing his g-tube, where he remained for several weeks after insisting that he didn't want nutrition, he went to an event sponsored by Child Life wherein they gave out those affirmation bracelets that were so popular. He had them in various colors, stamped with various encouraging words. The one I found this morning: STRENGTH. Thanks, Sweet Potato.
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