About a year and a half ago, I "met" Holly through her blog, "Caring for Carleigh." At that time, she was carrying to term her precious daughter who had been given a fatal diagnosis. I made some comments and we emailed a few times. Looking back, I don't remember how I found her blog. I noticed that she had a blog list of other mothers who were carrying to term like her, or who had already said goodbye to their baby, and some, even multiple babies. I began to read these other blogs, and began to let go of some of my hurt. I didn't know there was a world of mamas like me in blogland. Following some of their suggestions, I began to heal more and more. Just because Meredith Helen had been born and died in 1974 didn't mean I was "over" it. I gathered my courage and asked for some of the mementoes that mothers were making in honor of their sweet babies. I don't have room to mention everyone here, but one of the first things I received was Lea's Angel Wings, in honor of Nicholas. On October 7, the anniversary of Meredith's funeral and the day my sister Janet Susan was stillborn and buried in 1941, I received a butterfly made in memory of little Ella, from Bree. These things made from paper, glue, ribbon, and feathers soothed my heart immeasurably. There are so many of you who have helped to smooth the hurt of losing a child. I plan to showcase all of Meredith's gifts eventually. Yes, I had other children. Yes, I love them tremendously and thank God for them every day. But the child I never got to hold, the child whose features I never got a chance to memorize, the child that I still honor - she made a huge impact on my heart. Thank you all for helping me, even though you didn't know you were. Thank you, Holly, for the beginning. I also have met regular bloggers who have understood and let me tell my story, and they listened, and in no way could I diminish their importance (thank you Twyla, Kathy, and Nancy, among others.) So, from the depths of my heart, thank you all.
I am drawn quietly to her grave to check on her,
just as if I'd been drawn quietly to her crib.
I trim the grass around her marker,
and dream of trimming the bangs from her forehead.
I place the flowers in her vase
and dream of placing ribbons in her hair.
I hold her memory dear to my heart
as I dream of holding her in my arms.