A Beautiful Tribute

In honor of her dear son, Carly Dudley started a memorial project called To Write Their Names In The Sand.  I have never seen such beautiful and graceful memorials.  In her own hand, she writes the names of children who have died and photographs the names at sunset.  For a brief moment, our children are a physical part of the world again.  I cannot thank her or her husband Sam enough for the peace their photo of my son’s name has brought to my heart.  The memorials are free, but you can purchase a high resolution .jpg file of the photo.  I highly recommend that.  As you can see from the photo below, Carly’s work is amazing.  The site is http://namesinthesand.blogspot.com I can’t begin to describe the beauty of this project.

To Carly and Sam, thank you so much for this wonderful gift.  I wish peace and love to you and your family.  You and your son have touched my life.  Thank you, as well, for making my son part of your evening.  Your talent is amazing, and the task you have undertaken so gracefully really touches my heart.  Many blessings to you and your beautiful children, in Earth and in the sky above.  Christian must be so proud of his Mummy and Daddy, and I’m sure he enjoys watching you each evening as you write names in the sand.  I am humbled and honored by your story.  ~~

Mother's Day

Andy, aged three days

3 April 1998 ~ 15 November 2006

Peace and comfort to all who are missing their children today.  Let their memories surround you and fill you with the love you still hold for them.  Our children will never be forgotten.

Release

We had the balloon release for Andy on Friday, and I’m having trouble putting the experience in to words.  The balloons became so symbolic.  They were beautiful and vibrant, bouncing about in my car, adding color and enjoyment to the ride.  They had that energy a small child brings to your life.  And as soon as we let them go, I wanted them back.

Even if I bought up the flower shop’s entire supply of white balloons, I would never get those two balloons back.  Watching them float away and out of our sight, I could almost feel Andy being torn away from me as well.  They were just balloons, but they meant so much.  I want my child back with every fiber of my being, but just as I will never see those same balloons, I will never see the same Andy again.  Watching those balloons fly away hurt.  I felt helpless.

I need to find a release.  Growing up in a very violent family, I learned early on that crying was dangerous.  Of course, I *have* cried over Andy’s death.  I’ve even cried hard at times.  At the balloon release, though, I could not express what I felt.  Knowing I needed to release, I fought with it anyway and shoved it down in that place where emotions fester away and get expressed by other means.  The release will no doubt come, eventually.  Letting it happen in the moment would have helped tremendously, though.

I’ll write more on emotion and parental grief over the next few days.  For now, I need to draw away from this topic for a bit and revisit it when I’m feeling stronger.  Thanks to all of you who sent strength and good wishes.  It’s appreciated more than you could ever know.

Symbols

We bereaved parents often have symbols that represent our children to us.  Butterflies, balloons, favorite items of our children.  We *need* them to be close to us, and even though they aren’t physically present, we feel them when we look at these reminders.

I wear Andy’s baby ring on a chain around my neck every day.  I only take it off to shower.  His father and I bought it the day he was born, and at his first birthday party, we slipped it on his tiny little finger.  Of course we only left it there long enough to get a picture.  It was going to be one of those embarrassing baby pictures parents like to show when their children are older.  I usually keep the ring tucked under my shirt.  It’s meant to make me feel better.  No one else need know it’s there.

Our children may be gone, but we feel them all around us every day.