Graveside Service

Last Tuesday, there was a service held at the cemetery for all unborn babies. They have this service 4 times a year and it is a truly moving experience.

Ryan was out of town for work again, so I was there by myself. My mother-in-law offered to go with me and while I am forever grateful for her offer, I declined. I thought it best to go alone because:

1. If she went, that meant my 4 kiddos would have also been in tow. I didn't know the stories of the families there, but it didn't feel right to come to a service with 4 wonderful little blessings with me if these other families have not yet had the chance to experience such a miracle. I didn't want to cause any more pain than they were already feeling.

2. I wasn't sure what my reaction was going to be. I didn't know if I was going to be hard as stone, blank-faced and resistant to whatever feelings arose, or if I was going to fall apart and be a blubbering mess. Either way, I felt it was a journey I wanted to take in private.

I do think that the other families, the chaplain, and the grief coordinator thought it strange that I came by myself. I felt alot of eyes on me throughout the service and the chaplain even asked me "Did you come by yourself?" with a sympathetic look in his eyes. But I really was OK. I was able to get lost in the service and just spend time with my baby.

The service started with a reading of a Psalm and continued with poems, another Psalm and then the sharing of our stories. The chaplain said we could share as much or as little as we wanted about our experience or nothing at all. I was too shy to even say a word.

There were fleeting seconds when I started to open my mouth to speak "My daughter's name is Elizabeth Ryan!" but I never did. I still feel guilty about that... as if I was denying her. Of course that is not the case, but I do wish I would have been brave enough to share her "life" with the others there, somehow giving it validity. I wish I would have been brave enough to tell them all how excited we were to be expecting her and how her brothers and sisters were going to love the heck out of her. I am hopeful though that in the arms of Jesus, she can look down and see right into my heart and erase all doubt about how loved she was. That is my fervent prayer.

After the sharing of stories, everyone received a purple balloon. They played the song "I'll Fly Away" and we were to release the balloon at any point that we felt moved to do so. I started crying as I was screaming inside "I don't want to let the balloon go!" For some reason, letting go of that balloon meant letting go of Elizabeth all over again. But let it go I did, right as the chorus swelled into "I'll Fly Away..." The wind grabbed that balloon and carried it high into the sky. It was really windy that day and as I stood and watched the balloon be swiftly carried away from me, I felt a brief sense of peace. I was devastatingly sad while holding the balloon, but after I let it go, I let some of my sorrow go along with it.... even for just a little while.

After everyone had let their balloons go and the song had ended, we walked over to where the babies are buried and she explained that the babies born into heaven since May would be buried later in the week. I will be going to check on her tomorrow and see if she's there. I know in the grand scheme of things it doesn't really matter, but I need to know the exact location of where she is, so I want to go while the grass is freshly disturbed and easy to detect. Hopefully tomorrow I will find her resting place and be able to close this chapter of our life.

Though the peace did come while we were at the cemetery, it has come back full force... I think in the anticipation of her being buried soon. I'm also thinking I would find comfort in buying a statue of Mary to put near the burial area since there used to be one, but with time and age, the statue deteriorated. I think a new one watching over our little ones would be just beautiful... after all, who knows better than Mary what it is to lose a child?

And though she endured a loss far worse than my own, I am finding solace in her strength and I know, just as she knew, that her Son will carry us through.