My name is Rebecca, but most people call me Becky. When I lost my baby Caleb two years ago, my life changed forever. I am 30 years old. He was only five years old, but he had a lot of dreams, joy, and curiosity. He died in a tragic accident, and a part of my heart went with him.
Since then, I’ve done my best to stay going. I work, pay my expenses, and smile when people want me to. But I’ve always had grief. Caleb’s cedar box was the only thing that saved me from going crazy. It was a small wooden box that held his most precious items, like his dinosaur sweatshirt, his favorite footwear, crayon drawings where he made us superheroes, and a silver bracelet that my grandma gave him.
When the grief was too hard to bear, I would open that chest and hold those memories close. There was more to it than just a box. It was a method to keep alive.
But not everyone understood. My mother-in-law Lorraine used to tell me that keeping Caleb’s things was “bad for my health.” She thought I should give Caleb’s things back and “move on.” I tried to ignore what she said, but then something happened that I’ll never forget.
Caleb’s cedar chest was gone when I got home from work. I felt like my heart was going to break. I searched the house in a panic until I saw a garbage bag on top of the outdoor bin. When I took apart the garbage bag, I found Caleb’s crumpled and broken hoodie and drawings among the rubbish.
It was like losing him again.
Then Lorraine walked in and told me she had thrown everything away for my own good. Ethan, my husband, was really upset and told her to leave right immediately. But something changed for me. I knew I had to protect Caleb’s memory and make sure the truth came out.
Over time, I understood that not everything was in that bag. The silver bracelet that Caleb had was gone. A few weeks later, I saw Lorraine at a family function wearing a bracelet that looked almost exactly like mine. I got a strong sensation that it was his. I found out that she had sold Caleb’s jewelry at a pawn shop after looking around. The receipt had her signature on it.
That was the last thing.
At the family meal I planned, I told everyone the truth. I displayed Lorraine’s nanny-cam video of her taking Caleb’s chest out of my house. I showed the paperwork from the pawn shop. Finally, I played a recording of Caleb’s beautiful voice that I had made a long time ago, before he died:
“Good night, Mommy.” I love you all the way to the moon and back.
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing. My wife, his sister, and even his dad grieved. Lorraine couldn’t say what she wanted to say. This time, she was too ashamed to control or judge herself. After she left, Ethan made it clear that she was no longer welcome in our home.
That night, I learnt something important: no one, not even family, has the right to tell a mother how to mourn. You shouldn’t forget about Caleb. People should love it and keep it secure.
Grief is never neat. There is no set time for it. But true love, love that doesn’t depend on anything else, lasts forever.
When I can’t stand the anguish of losing someone, I still listen to Caleb’s CD. His voice reminds me that even though he didn’t live long, he made a big impact on the globe. He will always be with us in the love we have for him, the things he taught us, and the strength I never knew I possessed.
This is your reminder to hold your kids near, remember them, and don’t let anyone tell you how to grieve. Every memory is important, and every love story is different.