It’s been 38 months since Calvin was born. I can’t believe it’s been over three years. Especially in the early days of grief, it was hard to imagine surviving. But here I am, a survivor of stillbirth, two miscarriages, and infertility. Today, I am 35 weeks and 5 days pregnant with my fourth child.
Although time has softened the edges of grief and being pregnant with Charlie has breathed new life and hope in me, it hasn’t changed the fact that I miss my first baby… and my second baby… and my third baby. It doesn’t change the wondering Do others remember them? Do other think about them? Have people forgotten?
Something that I’ve learned is that even though we are the ones who are deeply hurting, missing, and grieving, it’s not enough to wait and expect others to come to us and offer support. There is so much fear surrounding how to approached the bereaved that, to get the comfort we need, it’s up to us to reach out and say Please let us know that you remember us, that you remember the child(ren) we’ve lost. It seems backwards, and it took me a while to reconcile this, but until we tell others that the best way to be there for us is not to distract or avoid, it will continue. To help get this message out, I created this card, which can you read more about at Dandiewinks:
Please feel free to use it and share. Clicking on the image will bring you to Flickr, where you can choose which size you’d like to download. And here is the quote, which I first read from Tiffany (Genesis’s mommy):
“If you know someone who has lost a child or lost anybody who’s important to them, and you’re afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, they didn’t forget they died. You’re not reminding them. What you’re reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that’s a great, great gift.” (Elizabeth Edwards)
Happy 38 months in heaven, my sweet Calvin. I am forever grateful for you.
This is a photo of Mama Sue from when she was younger and lived in Japan. We buried her this afternoon. We released balloons, sang a Japanese children’s song that she taught us when we were younger, and had dancing at the reception in her honor. She was 77 years old when she died. Her aorta ruptured. She collapsed while cooking for friends who were supposed to come over and play mah jong. Her partner, Nick, performed CPR until the paramedics came; they were able to revive her long enough for family to see her one last time. Mama Sue went into cardiac arrest before the doctors could begin the surgery, and she didn’t make it. I try not to focus on the question of why it took so long to transfer her from the hospital in San Pablo to the hospital in Concord; it’s too heavy right now.
The Buddhist shrine we setup during the viewing, with offerings of incense, rice, tea, crackers, fruit, and other snacks.
