December 6, 2010 Candlelight Ceremony

We went to Scottsdale Shea's 4th annual candlelight ceremony in remembrance of our lost babys' last Saturday night. We didn't attend last year. That time away left me really looking forward to this special part of Christmas. It was simple and beautiful. All the amazing parents and family members were sitting within a border of luminaries. Special songs were played singing specifically to our children. Yummy refreshments were set out (my daughter helped to herself to at least 5 brownie bites while we were talking with other parents!). Becky Norris, mother of Delaney and Laney's Legacy spoke to us. A few of the things she said really echoed my own thoughts.

Recapping her tragedy and delivery in the hospital she said she felt and Intensity of emotions she has never experienced before. That struck me. That's exactly it! I've NEVER, NEVER experienced pain like what crushed me as soon as we learned Jackson's heart was no longer beating.

With subsequent pregnancies, or following fatal diagnosis' there is a heightened awareness and hope for every kick and bump inside.

Leaving the hospital was one of my hardest days--it was terrible to see my baby go one way and I go another.

A mother's love never dies.

Loss is like a wound: at first raw, vulnerable, excruciating. But then it scabs over and daily life gets easier. But if anything provokes it, it's tender and the pain comes back like it's a fresh wound.

Sharing my heart and opening up about my experiences has opened me up to support and strength from others.

 I loved seeing my dear sister in loss. She also delivered twice at Scottsdale Shea in one year (she lost twin boys and a little girl). Susan Friedlan served us both in the hospital and connected us. This year, we were both there with our little "miracle baby's." It was precious to hear them in the background cooing even as I cried. She and her husband are amazing. Every parent there and each one who's given back a baby inspires me and strengthens me.

Does Trey know how special he is to us? He was a little doll at the ceremony. Did he sense his siblings there?

I was, the first year I attended, torn up seeing families seated with us but holding their own baby. Now I am sensitive and slightly shy as we hold one, keenly aware that his presence there may cause pain to others. I hope he gives them hope. But I know nevertheless it's painful to see a little replica of what has been taken.

A reading from the ceremony:

In the rising of the sun and in its going down,

WE REMEMBER THEM,

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

In the blueness of the sky, and in the warmth of summer,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

When we are weary and in need of strength,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

When we are lost and sick at heart,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

When we have joys and we yearn to share,

WE REMEMBER THEM.

So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as

WE REMEMBER THEM.

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