Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Today as I drove home from Jamie M.'s house, I passed
the cemetery and looked towards the Angel Garden, as I always do. The statue
marks the baby area beautifully. I saw a young blond woman sitting a few feet
from Ty. I wondered if she was the mother who had a stillborn in July, whom my
dad met when he and Ryan were visiting Ty. My dad said he had talked to her for
twenty minutes because she seemed like she needed to talk, and she asked about
the scripture reference on Ty's headstone. I have been hoping to catch her there
one day, but as I drove by, I didn't know if it was her. Still, I am always
eager to meet these mothers. So, saying a prayer that she wouldn't leave yet, I
made it through the front gates in a few minutes and parked close to her car.
She watched me approach, and I think she'd been crying (or at the very least, quite sad). I stood beside her and looked down at the headstone, where she sat cross-legged before it. "Is that your baby?" I asked. She answered yes. I pointed a few feet away to the left. "That's my baby." I knelt down and hugged her, and we both shed a few tears through our embrace. Her name is Jenny and she asked me if I knew someone named Kara. It turns out that my rugby teammate, Kara, visit-taught Jenny for the first time on Sunday, and mentioned that Ty was buried in the same cemetery as Jenny's still-born. So we talked about Jenny meeting my dad and all these little connections. Then we spent the next hour or so sharing our stories, both the hard times and the spiritual experiences that keep us going. We laughed and smiled as we agreed, "Yeah, my son and your daughter are probably with each other right now, saying, 'hey, your mom is hanging out with my mom!'" I'm sure it made them both happy today. It was a really comforting, uplifting visit, and I'm happy we could make each other's day a little better.
I'm beginning to believe less and less in coincidences. Even small things, such as: At Jamie's house, I really, really needed to use the bathroom, but I was about to leave so I figured I'd wait two minutes and go at home. But instead, I changed my mind and used Jamie's bathroom, which allowed me to stay for an extended time and talk with Jenny. No way I would have made it that long!
I have mixed feelings when I meet mothers who have lost their babies. I feel instantly connected and willing to share anything with them and do anything for them, and it makes me happy that I understand their pain. But, obviously, we all wish we didn't have the one thing in common that brings us together. Still I feel a sense of responsibility to share the emotional and spiritual journey I am on, maybe to offer hope. I know Dan and I were given hope by a few people we met, who have been where we have been, and reached out to us. For the ones that have survived a few years of this, it's comforting to see them happy with their family and still close to God and their little one. I want to be that kind of person to others.
She watched me approach, and I think she'd been crying (or at the very least, quite sad). I stood beside her and looked down at the headstone, where she sat cross-legged before it. "Is that your baby?" I asked. She answered yes. I pointed a few feet away to the left. "That's my baby." I knelt down and hugged her, and we both shed a few tears through our embrace. Her name is Jenny and she asked me if I knew someone named Kara. It turns out that my rugby teammate, Kara, visit-taught Jenny for the first time on Sunday, and mentioned that Ty was buried in the same cemetery as Jenny's still-born. So we talked about Jenny meeting my dad and all these little connections. Then we spent the next hour or so sharing our stories, both the hard times and the spiritual experiences that keep us going. We laughed and smiled as we agreed, "Yeah, my son and your daughter are probably with each other right now, saying, 'hey, your mom is hanging out with my mom!'" I'm sure it made them both happy today. It was a really comforting, uplifting visit, and I'm happy we could make each other's day a little better.
I'm beginning to believe less and less in coincidences. Even small things, such as: At Jamie's house, I really, really needed to use the bathroom, but I was about to leave so I figured I'd wait two minutes and go at home. But instead, I changed my mind and used Jamie's bathroom, which allowed me to stay for an extended time and talk with Jenny. No way I would have made it that long!
I have mixed feelings when I meet mothers who have lost their babies. I feel instantly connected and willing to share anything with them and do anything for them, and it makes me happy that I understand their pain. But, obviously, we all wish we didn't have the one thing in common that brings us together. Still I feel a sense of responsibility to share the emotional and spiritual journey I am on, maybe to offer hope. I know Dan and I were given hope by a few people we met, who have been where we have been, and reached out to us. For the ones that have survived a few years of this, it's comforting to see them happy with their family and still close to God and their little one. I want to be that kind of person to others.
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