Candlelight Vigil

Every year, on December 6th, there is a candlelight vigil held at the cemetery in honor of the children who have passed away.  We went last year.  This was our second year.  It has been a good experience for our family and is was interesting to note the difference I felt within myself from last year to this year.

Last year, it had only been a month since Eli had died.  His grave was very fresh.  I had never been to a candlelight vigil before.  I saw them on tv, but never attended one, so I wasn't sure if it would be healing or weird or something in between.  Each year they have a short speaker; someone who has lost a child and their experiences, insights and encouragement.  So far, both years a parent has talked about a child who died at a much older age, but the the emotions resonated so easily with me.  They also have a musical number.

Last year, I don't remember looking around very much.  I was in my own world and sort of wondering what I was doing at a "function" like this...wishing I didn't have to be here in a lot of ways. I remember we saw a couple that we had met at the cemetery at Thanksgiving.  They were kind and compassionate and reached out to us.  The mother had seemed very sorrowful...almost distraught the first time we met.  Her demeanor was less weighed down at the vigil, but there was still something heavy and forlorn about her.  It had been nearly 5 years since the loss of their little one and it scared me that she was still so filled with grief.  (Of course, I was only seeing a snapshot of her, but still...it scared me).  Me and Jason talked about them...about how I didn't want to be like "that..."  When we saw them again this year, her look seemed more familiar to me.  I understand her better now.  I understand in some ways how changed she is.   I understand that she carries a weight because part of her heart is missing...part of her is still with her child and she is straddling two worlds in order to stay connected to all of her children.  I understand that the intensity of her love hasn't diminished because her child has been gone 6 years now.  She loves him the same.  She grieves on his first day of preschool and kindergarten.  She grieves when she sees her kids running in the backyard wishing he could be with them.  Her heart probably aches when he isn't home on Christmas morning.  Because I understand her better, I saw her totally differently this year.  I saw myself in her and it didn't scare me.  Last year I wanted to run because I thought I could run away from these things.  I hoped I could escape the effects of death and mortality and grief, but I can't.  I feel more settled in my grief...it isn't raw and unrelenting like it was months ago, but it is still very much a part of my life.  I don't feel uncomfortable and distraught about this being part of my life.  I feel so much more accepting of the waves that come.   I feel the beauty in the pain.  Maybe I am like that...

I looked around at so many parents and families this time...there were too many.  I thought of  how they were going through the holidays without someone they love and it is painful and challenging at times, but they are ALL doing it.  It gave me courage and compassion.  They give everyone a white flower, and near the end, they invite everyone to place their flowers on the angel monument.  They invite anyone who has lost a child that year to place their flowers first.  I remember that moment last year.  Of course, I didn't see it coming because it was the first year...I walked up (while making sure to avoid eye contact with anyone) and put my flower down.  This year, I knew it was coming and I knew it wasn't me...but would be someone else.  When it happened and I saw those sweet mothers and father and sisters and brothers walk up and place their flowers, I  was overcome with emotion.  My heart broke for them and I wanted to reach out and take their pain and burden.  I knew I couldn't just as no one can take mine, but my heart had such compassion, knowing something of what they felt and the freshness of their loss.

On a lighter note, Lincoln was wild while we were there this year.  I talked to him about using a "quiet voice" and not running everywhere because I knew so many people would be there. He really isn't great about that sort of thing...ever.  I knew people would be there...some overcome with grief and everyone somewhat somber and it wasn't a time for Lincoln to be himself.  We got there and had to park in a place we don't usually park.  Lincoln wanted to know where Eli's grave was.  It was dark, so he couldn't see it.  When he saw the glow of his little lantern, he recognized it and started took off running .  He started yelling, "I see him!  I see him!"  Oh sweetie...I wish...  It was so sweet and brought tears to my eyes because someday that will be a highly appropriate thing to do.  We each received a white flower and Lincoln ended up breaking 2 of them because he was using them as swords.  Me and Jason ended giving all of the intact ones to the kids when it was time to put them on the monument.  I told Lincoln that he could put his up by the angel and he looked at me perplexed and told me he didn't want to.  He said he wanted to give it to Eli instead. I told him that was okay so he ran through the darkness, over to his grave again and carefully placed it there.  It was so tender and sweet.

The  musical number was: My Shepherd Will Supply My Need.
I listened to that song so much while I was pregnant.  I truly needed God to be there and I trusted that He would be.  The days before seemed so daunting and impossible and I relied on God in a way that I never have.  I have very tender feelings about this song.  It was such a beautiful gift for me to hear that night.

My Shepherd Will Supply My Need