Here's to You

 

Some of us gathered to remember our children, it was a sad and beautiful thing. As we stood in the chill of a Florida evening and shared memories of our children, they were with us in a way. Each parent shared an item that evoked memories, stuffed toys, food, photos, or some memento and then explained why they brought that particular thing. How wonderful children are, and not just the child himself or herself, but all the joy and wonderment they bring to our lives and to our world. We are a world filled with millions of unique souls.

I feel so privileged and honored to know these children in such a special way, that these parents, once unknown to me, have embraced my pain and hold me in their supportive arms. They stand beside me today, and will be with me tomorrow or a decade from now, for they walk in my shoes. I deeply care for each of them, I want to help carry their burden and share this sorrow with them. There is healing that comes from sharing and embracing each other's sorrow. I don't expect most people to understand the bond that develops between parents of dead children.  I know these children; I say their names, I remember them on birthdays and anniversaries, I cry for them and their families, I love them as if they were in my life when they were alive.

As I stood there I realized how the parents of dead children sit on the outskirts of life. In our little circle it's not so odd to toast our children who have gone before us while I'm sure lookers-on would consider it a bit strange. I just don't see my son's death as ending our lives together. I can't. I see love. He is with me, not the same, not as he was and I miss his presence in my life, but he is with me and nothing, not even death, can separate me from the love of my son.

Here's to you, our precious children, wish you were here.