One.

In seven years I have met so many.

So many.

My heart always hurts when I see a new face- hear a new name. I am happy they have found us, and yet so sad that they are part of "us".

Us.

Some of them I see again and again-

Others I see once a year- or once a lifetime.

But still we are connected.

All of us- united in one common bond.

Loss.

The loss of a child.

And it is a bond. A bond of acceptance. A bond of understanding. A bond of kindness. It is a bond that spans ages, genders, towns. It can happen to you no matter your financial situation, your religion, your lifestyle. It can happen. It happens still. It happened to me.

And yet I am thankful. Thankful to be here for you and thankful you are here for me. We are a community. We are one. When you are weak, I will carry you. When I crumble, you pick me up. We are in this together.

One.

Tonight we gather around the world to light a candle and remember those lives that left us too soon. Tonight we remember. Do you remember? Perhaps it was a heartbeat that was gone before you could see it- perhaps it was a baby you held in your arms as he flew away-

Tonight I remember. I remember them, and I remember you.

Who do you remember?

Write their name so the world will see.

We are everyone.

We are one.

Left too soon.

This year Joe wrote "Andrew" on his balloon.
His brother's name.
And we both kissed it and knew that it would soon make its journey past the clouds to the heavens. It would fly to the sky where Andrew could see just how grown up his twin was. See how he could write his name. How much he has grown these last seven years. Seven years since they shared that space together, listening to the beat of my heart.

We were in a sea of blue, pink and white balloons when I saw it. Andrew's balloon slipped through Jonasen's hands and meandered it's way up into the crystal blue sky. It was a beautiful sight. I watched as it's string danced in the wind. I watched as it seemed to get smaller and smaller as it traveled further away from us. And then I watched as my little boy flung his arms around me and sobbed, "It left too soon!"

Left too soon.

All I could think was, "Yes, it left too soon. He left too soon."

And I know that there is not a mother or father on this earth who wouldn't have given the world for one more hour, one more minute, one more moment with their precious child.
But those who were there- gathered at the garden- all knew that feeling. All lived it. For all of us had a child who had left too soon.

I gathered Joey in my arms and we cried. He for the balloon that left too soon, me for the boy. I turned him around and we looked at the sky and I whispered, "Watch it Joe. It's going. It's on its way. Watch it."

We sat and cried and stared, watching the lone balloon as it traveled further and further away on its path- and finally- it was gone.

After a moment he turned to me and said, "You know what mom? I think that Andrew is up there." And with a gesture he said, "And he just scooped his arms through a cloud and gathered up his balloon. I think he liked it."

I think he liked it too.

But there was another balloon left to set sail. Ali Jane held tight, not wanting to let it go. Wanting to hold on.

Wanting to hold on, until it too left, and we watched, and wondered and imagined... two arms reaching down through the clouds, smiling at her very special balloon. With one letter on it, written by her sister.

Where do balloons go? It's a mystery you know. But just hold on tight, until it's time, to let go...

Where Peace Lives

I often wonder how I got here.
I often wonder when I got here.
-The place where peace lives.

Today I looked all around me and saw what was good. I saw white fluffy clouds in a brilliant blue sky.
I saw leaves beginning to change as one season ends and another begins.
I heard laughter in the distance.
I felt the sun.
I saw life.
And I felt peace.

I remember when I couldn't see the stars. It didn't matter how bright they were, I could not see them. I remember when I couldn't hear the laughter, because my pain was much too loud. I remember when I could only think of him, his absence- and cry. And had He grabbed me by the hand and led me to that place, I don't think I would have seen it. I would not have arrived. I wasn't ready. My heart was not ready.

Today I thought of him, as I so often do. And while I wondered what he would be like, what his dreams would be, and of course the color of those eyes- I would have given anything to gaze into those eyes- ah if just for a moment...

Today I thought of him. I felt peace. Perhaps that is odd, but knowing he was beyond those clouds. In a place far better than here. Beyond those clouds but just a whisper away... Beyond but watching. Watching with those eyes... Watching from that place. Sun on his face. And I know that place because sometimes I feel it. The place where peace lives.

I wonder when it was I got here. Did I wake up and find myself here? Or was it gradual? Did I arrive so slowly that I didn't even notice my leaving? Did it find me or did I find it? Did it tiptoe across my heart, find it's way into my soul? Did it sneak in on my breath? Find its way into my clenched fists? Lead me here? Soften me?

When did I arrive? And perhaps more importantly... will I stay? For if there is one thing I have learned traveling this road, it is that feelings aren't right or wrong, they simply are- Feelings- not to be controlled- but to be.

There are days where I question- where I wonder, why me? why you?
And there are days- like today- when peace finds me and I think, 'why not me?' Because I know that he's there. Beyond those clouds. Sitting in a field of gold, watching the most amazing sunsets of purples and oranges- Oh yes. He is there. But he's not alone. Where peace lives. Close my eyes and I can see it. Today I live there too.

I thought of you today.
Said a prayer.
Hope you find your way soon- or that it would find you.

But until then, I will walk beside you on this road of uncertainty. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, but being thankful for today. I walk with you on this journey- for though it can feel so very lonely, I take you by the hand, lead you there, though you may not feel it yet.
Yes. You will find it. Or it may find you. When the time is right.
The place where peace lives.

And I am so very thankful for those moments- The moments I find it... or does it find me?
Does it matter? For today I have arrived in that place.
And with him beside me- whisper thank you- because he was. And for today, that is enough.

Seven Years. Today.

Seven years ago, it was warm.
I was in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts and they were the only thing that I could wear at that point. You and your brother were getting so big! I had to sleep sitting in a chair because you were so heavy on my lungs.

Seven years ago, I wondered if today would be the day. My calendar had a big circle around the 22nd. I was sure that was the day you would be born. 40 weeks.

Seven years ago, I got a call. She said it was time. I nearly ran through the hospital. I couldn't wait to meet you!

Seven years ago, I changed. You were gone. He was here. But I didn't know where I went... I sometimes wonder what happened to me... Where did I go?


Today it was warm. The sun was out. I bought your balloons and I drove to your garden. And then it happened... I just started saying it. Saying it out loud.

"Andrew! Don't forget your backpack!"
"Andrew, what kind of ice cream do you want?"
"Andrew! Go to your room!"
"Andrew honey, what book do you want to read?"
"Andrew... Oh God my sweet Andrew... Do you know how long my heart has somehow continued to beat? Continued to keep me going? Continued..."

How did that happen? How is it I am still here, and you are not?

Seven years.

I said your name over and over because for seven years I've dreamt of saying those things. Saying those words and so many, many more. I've dreamt of calling your name... and of you calling mine.

Mom.

Andrew.

My tears fell today and like those nights that I spent alone calling your name, I wondered if they would ever stop. Seven years. Seven.

But I sang to you.
Blew out your candles.
Wrote to you.
And sent seven balloons with seven kisses to a seven year old who I miss more than anything...

Did you see my message on that balloon? I wonder what the answer is... How can I hold you so close each and every day- and yet miss you so?

Perhaps the answer is love.
Love.
For there is no other word that comes to me tonight.
This night.
Seven years after I first held you, touched you, kissed you.

I love you my son.
Now more than ever.
But tomorrow I will miss you more.

Happy Birthday. Thank Him for the sun. Thank Him for the birds and the butterflies. Thank Him for you.
My baby.

Two Years. Today.

Two years ago today.
I was driving to school.
I had been bleeding, but I had seen that heartbeat. I had seen it three times.
As I drove I could think of nothing more than getting through the day. Coming home. Resting with my feet up.

It was in the afternoon that things began to change. I felt some cramping and an urgency to call my doctor. I took my students to my friend's classroom and got on the phone. It was the third time I had called, needed to know it was ok. I needed to be home and yet I put on my smile and pretended all was well. As the students wrote in their notebooks I picked up mine. I begged and pleaded in my own notebook- a note to God. Please, please don't take this baby...

As the bell rang, I walked to my car as fast as I could without putting strain on my body. I needed to be home. Five minutes into my drive, I knew I wouldn't make it. I drove to my childhood home, my parents' home, and climbed up the stairs to my old bedroom. I curled up in a fetal position and prayed. I rocked and prayed.

But there was so much blood.

I had never experienced such physical pain. I cried but refused to take anything to dull my pain. I could do this for my baby. My mom was worried. My dad was worried. I cried out loud as they watched. I begged out loud.

But there was so much blood.

I called my doctor and she calmed me. Said to lay and be still. She would pray, but for now all I could do was be. Be still. I could go to the hospital but the added trauma of an examination would not be good for my baby. I cried with her.

And there was so much blood.

The pain. I wanted to leave but I was a prisoner. I could not drag myself further than the bathroom. I climbed back into my bed. And then I called.

I called my friend. A friend who had lost so much. Sons. But she had a daughter. She had bled. There was so much blood and yet her daughter was safe. Lived despite going through such horror. I called her.

I cried and asked her to tell me her story. There was so much blood, but she lived. There was so much blood, but she was safe. There was so much blood but she is here.

I clung to that. Clung to her sweet words. Clung to that hope and prayed.

Four hours later, I felt I could go. My mom drove me. My children were in bed. My husband was so worried. But I felt better. I clung to hope.

But there was so much blood.

Two years ago tomorrow we went to the doctor. Looked at the screen. And hope was gone.

There was just so much blood.

My sweet baby E. I think of you now and I picture you. A child who could walk. A child who can smile. A whole child. A child who knew that I stayed in that room and cried and begged and pleaded for you to stay... and yet you didn't. But had love been enough, you would be here. Asleep in this house. Fast asleep... But for some reason you were sent to my life for just a moment. Such a brief moment... but you left something. Peace. Your brother is not alone. He has a hand to hold. You have a hand to hold. And I feel in my soul you heard my heartbeat, felt my rocking and heard my prayers. You knew my love. You know it still. Today I look back and I wonder... what might have been had you not left me.

Two years ago.
Today.

September

September: The ninth month of the year.

September: The month the heartbeat stopped. And I held his precious body. Kissed him goodbye.

September: The month the heartbeat stopped. And I could only wonder... What would have been... Who would have been...

September.

As a teacher, this is the month there is a flurry of activity. Setting up a new classroom. Wondering what will come of the future year. Meeting the little faces that will change me.

And then it hits me.

It's another September.

Seven years ago today his heart still beat inside me. I remember wondering if it were possible for my body to stretch any more. It was hard to breathe. But I assumed the longer they were in, the better. Seven years ago today, I was different. I was excited. I was whole. And he was still here.

Three years ago today there was another's heart beating inside me. And I wondered who this last child would be? I had a feeling it was a girl. I felt great and looked forward to a March birth. Never one to hide good news, I was telling others, asking for their prayers- For though losing a child could never happen twice, I was beginning to bleed. But I was hopeful. I was broken, but healing. And that heartbeat was still here.

But it was September.

I would say that September is a horrible month. One I'd like to forget. Skip all together.

But then-

September was the month I first became a mother. The month my precious Jonasen entered my life. The month my transition to strength and grace and forgiveness began.

September.

For now I will welcome you. For I've tried to escape you and yet you still come, again and again... For seven years I've prayed you'd forget, yet you always come. And I always find myself here. Torn. Wondering how I should feel about you. Wondering still.

September.

Decorate your own soul

We were teenagers.
Laying in the sun.
Basking in our youth.
Dreaming of the future.

We would be teachers. (check)
Marry the men of our dreams (check)
Have babies and live happily ever after (well...)

We were dreamers.
Hopeless romantics.
Good.

We would lay in the lake.
Dream of our futures.
And wonder where our lives would lead us.

When I think about those times I think of the poetry that I had plastered along the walls of my room, the song lyrics that spoke to my soul, the dreams that I had of the woman I would grow to be. Wondering what events would shape her.

As I think back I am drawn to one particular poem. One I have read so many times, I believe that it lives in me still-


After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises
You begin to accept your defeats with your head up and and your eyes open with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone else to bring you flowers
And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong and you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good-bye you learn.

Author: Veronica A. Shoffstall

Twenty years later we can remember those moments.
Those girls we once were.

Think of those words.
The words we spoke so many times.
A simple poem.
The words.
See their truth.
Feel their power.

For tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

But you learn.
You do learn.
And we have learned. Having spoken a goodbye that we never could have imagined- never dreamt- never had believed would lie in both of our futures...

But we plant our own garden and decorate our own souls.
Because we know that's what they'd want us to do.
Because there is a place that is so serene and beautiful and our's. A place within us that dances in the sun, sings their names knows our peace.

A place.
Find it.
When you're ready.
It's there for the taking.