Wave of Light Takeaway

I previously shared my poem that I read at this event, but since coming home and having time to reflect upon this experience, I was able to find more depth to everything I was feeling.

In years past, I wasn’t ready to attend this event. I was surrounded by bad news and hopelessness. I didn’t want to go be in a crowd of people, most of which have families, and feel bad for myself. However, this year I bought the tickets a few days before learning about this pregnancy. I felt like I was ready and had come to a point in my journey where I could be vulnerable, yet still comfortable in a way. I’d worked hard in therapy to feel something adjacent to “acceptance” of the reality that I may never have a biological child.

Getting to attend this event though with our rainbow growing strong inside me really shed a new light on everything. There is a future after loss. When you’re stuck in the thick of it, there is an impenetrable fog. It isn’t possible to see past the present. You feel stuck, stationary. I always use the idea of treading water in a race because you feel as though you can’t propel forward no matter how hard you kick. As I held my husband’s hand and looked around at all the other attendees, I saw families. I saw people with kids ranging in age from infant to 10+ years old. They all have a dark chapter or two in their books, but they have happy chapters to follow.

I was able to see past the present. I could envision us coming next year and getting to push a stroller or even a few years from now and having them run until they tuckered out and Michael having to piggyback them the rest of the race. The beauty of it is that the past is still there. Our angels are not forgotten just because a new baby is born. I feel like many people who haven’t experienced a loss probably think that a new baby makes up for the lost one and fills that gaping hole in your heart, but it’s not true. I got to witness them coexisting. These moms were honoring their babies with candles and tears whether their loss was this year or 15 years ago. I don’t want my first two babies to be forgotten even though they were here such a brief time. Every life matters and has value.

Ever since, the sound of my windchimes have somehow changed. They wash this feeling of love and comfort over me in a way they hadn’t before. It’s hard to describe. It’s not merely rememberance anymore. It’s what I imagine a hug or kiss from an angel feels like. I hope I can teach my son or daughter to feel their siblings’ love when they hear the wind chimes too.