Have you seen the movie “Tangled.” If not, I’m sure you at least know the basic story of Rapunzel. In the Disney movie, the princess Rapunzel is stolen and lives in the tower until her 18th birthday. Her parents, the king and queen, mourn the loss of their princess. Every year on her birthday they lead their kingdom in lighting lanterns to honor her. For her whole life Rapunzel actually sees these lights of hope, rising in the night sky. Little does she know that those lanterns are symbols of love and loss and hope…for her.
I cry every time I see “Tangled”. The animators did an outstanding job of capturing the king right before he goes to light the lanterns. The queen comes to him, straightens his clothing, gently cups his cheek in her hand. He tilts his head into her hand and a look of utter grief comes over his face. He sighs as a tear rolls down his face.
Their beautiful princess is gone, but the love they have for her is eternal. They hope, beyond reason, that they will find her again. And so to honor her, they gather their strength and light the lantern.
It is time again to light our lanterns.
This Sunday, December 11 is the annual Compassionate Friends Worldwide Candle Lighting. To honor the children who have died, I ask that you join my family and countless others around the world in lighting a candle at 7 PM in your own time zone. For the lost princesses and princes who have left us and for the families that will grieve for the rest of their lives. Please pray for the families, especially for those whose grief is new this year and also for those who do not have a faith to fall back on. Our family lives with the hope that someday we will be reunited with our lost princess, Rebecca. But many live with the hopelessness of not knowing. I can only imagine the added pain.
God willing, our children will also see the lights but they will know what they are. They will know that they are loved and missed, but not forgotten.
Today is Rebecca’s Feast Day.
I can’t tell you how long she has been gone without stopping to count up the years.
As much as we mourn our loss of our sweet baby here on earth, we rejoice with her at her entrance into heaven. She is part of the Church Triumphant.
Still…it does still hurt.
(The Dance by Garth Brooks. Click on the link which opens in a new window, then click back here to let Garth sing to you while you read the rest.)
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared beneath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known you’d ever say goodbye ?
And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance
Holding you I held everything
For a moment wasn’t I the king
But if I’d only known how the king would fall
Hey who’s to say you know I might have changed it all
And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance
Yes my life is better left to chance
I could have missed the pain but I’d have had to miss the dance
Today Pipsqueak is exactly the same age as Rebecca was the last time we saw her.
What strikes me first is that we didn’t have her for very long. And yet, she transformed our lives so completely. So much happiness in one little body.
The grief doesn’t go away. It doesn’t even get better. It does change though, becomes more manageable. It becomes something that you can live with, more or less. Some days more, some days less. It manifests itself in surprising ways. Even with the two babies that came after Rebecca, she is still missed so very much.
Eight months, 3 weeks. There was still so much left to do.
There still is.
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You can read more about my grief journey here: Grief and Love
Seven years ago I was pregnant. During that Advent season I was waiting not just for Christmas, but for the birth of my own baby. I wanted more than anything for the baby to come before Christmas so that I could be home on Christmas morning with my other children.
In my own head, December 21st was a good day. The Winter Solstice. Baby and I could be home well before Christmas.
So all that weekend I walked. Walked our neighborhood, one foot on the curb, the other in the street, trying to get labor going. I walked the halls of the hospital after my appointment. I walked all over the PX. Phil followed me the whole time.
Nothing.
So Monday, December 22 dawned crisp and cold, without any sign of labor. I snuggled deep into the blankets as Phil got ready for work. I heard him leave the house and then POP! My water broke!
I rushed – as best as a very pregnant woman can rush- down the stairs and out the front door to call him back. I caught him just in time. We got ready to go, bid Boo and Pumpkin Girl farewell and went off to have a baby.
At the hospital we waited and waited, with nary a contraction. Eventually our baby did arrive – our sweet little Rebecca!
It was a very good day.
As it turns out, Winter Solstice was December 22 that year – I’d gotten my wish. And Becca and I came home on Christmas Eve.
For all the pain of losing Rebecca, God showed so much mercy. The first was that she came before Christmas, the only Christmas we shared with her. I’m glad we had that time with her.
Tonight – Sunday, December 12 – is the annual Candle Lighting for children who have died.
At 7 PM in whatever time zone you are, light a candle for those children who have died, so that their light may always shine. As people around the world light a candle, a continuous wave of light is created for 24 hours. We usually place our candle next to a picture of Becca and say a prayer for all the other parents grieving for a child, especially those who do not have a faith to rely on.
This candle lighting is to honor and remember all children of any age, pre-born to adult. I will be praying especially for my real life and online friends who in recent days have been mourning babies they never got to meet on earth. Where there is love and loss, there is grief. (I feel a little awkward linking to their blogs as if to say, hey go gawk at their pain, but Charlotte and Sarah – I’m praying for you.)
Also, for today only, you may go to the Compassionate Friends website (click the graphic at the end of this post or the one in my sidebar) and leave a message of love in the Remembrance Book.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4
This is a difficult week for our family. Every year I think it’ll be easier and every year it almost is. But this year, 6 now since Rebecca has been gone, the days and dates are the same. What I mean is, the 11th was on a Sunday, this year and then. The 15th is, this year and was then, a Wednesday.
I wanted to tell you Rebecca’s story this year. Whenever I read about child’s death, I want to find out what happened. Not so much morbid curiosity, but…I don’t know what really. Maybe I just need to understand. Maybe I just want to share the grief. So I wanted to share with you, and anyone coming here looking for comfort after the death of a child, just how and why Rebecca died. There are lessons to be learned, because her death was completely preventable. Except that it was her time. Sweet little baby.
But it is just too much still. Maybe another time.
This week we will just do those little every day things that need to be done and try, TRY not to think of what wasn’t done and what should have been done differently all those years ago. We will run and not grow weary, we will walk and not grow faint.
Six years ago and half a world away, a sweet baby came into this world. We brought her home from the hospital on Christmas Eve and we all fell in love with her. God entrusted her to our care for just a short time, but we are so happy that He gave us the chance to love her and be loved by her in return.
Happy Birthday, Rebecca. Our lives are better for having had you.
How are your holiday preparations going? I don’t mind saying “holidays” instead of “Christmas” because there are many celebrations at this time of year, which include the Feast of St. Nicholas, St. Lucia Day, the Immaculate Conception, Our Lady of Guadalupe and continue through New Year’s Day and Epiphany.
This time of year can be so wonderful, the beauty of the decorations, the thrill of impending presents and the love and joy that abounds everywhere. But all that happiness and love and togetherness can be very difficult for those of us who have lost a child.
The phrase, “at least we’re all together” rings hollow when a child is missing from the gathering. All that merriness can be a bunch of bah humbug when your heart is broken. And all that talk of a child being born – ack, can it get any worse?
This coming Sunday, December 13 is the annual Worldwide Candle Lighting to remember the children who have died.
I would like to invite you all to participate. At 7 PM local time on December 13, just light a candle and keep it burning for one hour. In this way, we can create a wave of light for 24 hours to remember the children.
I ask you to do this for me, to remember our Rebecca. When you do, please say a prayer, not just for me, but for all the families who have been left behind. Please remember especially, those families who have lost a child this year. Please also pray for those who do not have a faith to rely on, or who have turned away from God in their grief. But lastly, please thank the Lord for those children who, though they stayed with us too briefly, brought us immense joy.
Five years ago today, our sweet baby Rebecca entered our Lord’s Heavenly Kingdom.
I’d like to say that it has gotten easier, but it hasn’t. You don’t really recover completely from the death of a child. It’s not the natural order of things. It’s just not right.
The pain does dull over time. It’s like a scar – it’s always there, a constant reminder. Sometimes it hurts so badly it feels like you’ll never be able to stand up. But as time goes by, it doesn’t hurt as sharply. But it never goes away.
Our family not only survives each day without Rebecca, but we are managing to thrive. Not because of some great inner strength, but because of faith. Our God has promised us that we will see Rebecca again and be with her for all eternity. We know that she is basking in His glory right now.
I’m happy for her. I really am. She was wonderfully and perfectly made and she is now free from all human trappings. She is the lucky one.
But I miss her. I miss her fat legs and soft cheeks. I miss the way I’d stroke her head while she nursed and she’d grab my hand. I miss her turning my cheek to kiss me. I miss the mischief in her eyes.
When an adult dies, we mourn for what used to be. When a child dies, we mourn for what should have been.
We’re busy getting ready to move. Not just move, but retire and buy a house, too. We’ve gotten rid of a lot of things and yet we still have a ton of stuff. I took down all the children’s drawings, awards and what-not they had taped to their walls, along with the Mickey Mouse Wall Stickers in the playroom. I keep crossing things off the list, but it doesn’t seem to get any shorter.
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We’ve been going to family grief counseling for a few weeks. It’s been helpful for all us, even though poking at the hurty spot is never easy. The counselor is working with me for PTSD. It’s weird to think that I have that, I thought I was the healthy one in the family! But it does explain the strange anxieties that have been creeping into my head lately. In a way, it feels better to know that they are caused by the trauma of Becca’s death, rather than me starting to go crazy.
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We’re flying to Colorado next week to buy a house. The children are not as excited as I thought they would be. They told me that they don’t want to move. We’ve lived here for 4 years and while they do remember living other places, we’ve all put down some roots here. Maybe after we have a house, it’ll be easier.
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When I told Pumpkin Girl’s piano teacher that we are moving, he said, “Oh no, not my piano prodigy!” I’m not sure what to make of that. I had suspected that she is gifted in piano, but I wondered if I was just seeing what I wanted to see. But then again…she’s got me as her mother. (toot toot) (that was me, blowing my own horn). I told her teacher that when she plays Carnegie Hall, we’ll be sure to invite him.
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Philip’s retirement ceremony is June 10th. I’m quietly freaking out about it. We need to choose a design for a cake. (Remember the cake at his last promotion?)We’re thinking about a big fish, with the words, “So long and thanks for all the fish”. But we’re not sure if enough people will get it. Another option is a thumbs up with the words “Well done”. Or a car driving away with “Outta here”. What do you think?
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