remembering

I lit a candle tonight, in honor of my baby girl Celeste.

It's Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day according to this site which was forwarded to me.

Of course, for those of us who have lost a little one, every day is a day to remember. Chances are, someone you know has suffered a miscarriage or lost an infant or child.

Give her a hug, and let her know her precious child will never be forgotten.

(Artwork courtesy of Kevin Roeckl.)

happy feast day, Baby Girl

It is indeed a special week for our family. Today we celebrate the Feast Day of our youngest daughter, my precious Celeste Marie.

Three years ago today, the doors of Heaven swung open wide to receive her perfect little soul. That day was honestly one of the most wondrous days of my life. I felt I got a glimpse of that Heaven, her eternal home. I know she's there now praying for me, helping me to get there one day, too.

I have mentioned her several times here, but I haven't told too much of her story. Hers is by any standard a very sad one. The short version is this: she was born with a heart defect, one so severe that she needed a heart transplant. She never received that transplant, and somehow developed serious brain damage as well. Since she was then no longer eligible for a transplant, we removed her life-support and allowed her to die peacefully at the age of four months.

There is so much more to the long version, of course. So much in fact that I felt called to tell her story in a book, which I did in Broken and Blessed: A Life Story. In the book I explore the details of her life, her sufferings, and my own.

In the book I reveal a part of my heart, a part laid bare on days like today. My little girl suffered so much and was taken from me so quickly. Will there ever be an adequate answer when my soul cries out? Why? Why my baby?

I've tried to answer this question many times, and others always want to know the how as well. How did you do it? they ask. How did you suffer through such a traumatic experience and emerge with your faith intact, with a sense of joy?

The answer, my friends, is a person, the person I love even more than I loved Celeste. The answer is Jesus.

I don't like to over-spirtualize things, but the answer here is clear. I could not have survived without Jesus. He used the experience of my daughter's life and death to draw me into His Heart in a way that nothing else could. In some mysterious, mystical way, Jesus used Celeste and her sufferings to invite me into His Life. I am convinced that her life was part of His Plan, and that He willed for me (and for many others) to grow in our relationship with Him because of Celeste.

Like all authors, I want my book to be read. But I am especially passionate about this book because I feel with all my heart that Jesus wants to use her story to draw lots of folks to Him.

I know she did not suffer in vain. I know that three years ago today, as I rocked her and promised her I'd write that book, I was doing God's will. I know today as I remember her with joy and love, not bitterness, I am continuing to live out her legacy. I am happy to be able to share her with others, to remind them of the beauty of her message. Each of us has a unique mission given to us by God. All lives have purpose and meaning!

A wise friend who also lost a young child told me once that my pain would never diminish, that I would always feel it strongly -- but that I would simply feel it less often. I've found this to be true. Of course I am feeling that pain today, as I go to that place in my heart reserved for Celeste. But I am also feeling a profound sense of peace and wonder as I remember the glimpse of Heaven I was able to witness. And hoping that when the door to Heaven closed, Baby Girl was able to prop it open for me, just wide enough for me to sneak in.

You can see the video I prepared for Celeste's last birthday here.

Thank you for your prayers.

for Brother, Mom and Dad

After that last post, if I have any readers left, I apologize.

Sometimes I just have to share those difficult moments, the ones that leave us all staring at our shoes and wondering what to say. That was rough, I know. There is so much more to say about it, and I wondered if I erred by saying too little. (Not something I do very often -- say too little, that is!)

Anyway, I realized some of what I said was painful for my mom, and I so deeply regret that. I should have told more of my brother's story -- especially that he DID have a name, but that my mom was told not to name the baby (because he was stillborn he did not have a birth certificate.) She got horrible comments and advice from people (including a priest, which really saddens me.) My mom almost died when her baby was born, and while she was in the hospital my dad went alone to the cemetery to have him buried. Not even family members and friends knew what to do or say.

Back in 1961, this was not uncommon. Parents were told their babies went to Limbo, that maybe it was better that they died because they might have turned out to be criminals (yep, someone said this to my mom -- that priest, in fact.)

After their babies died they were told, either outright or through awkward silence, to forget them and have other children. No one really talked much about my brother, and I didn't even remember his birthday until I saw it on the stone the other day.

For these reasons, for my parents' pain and the pain of so many who have lost babies and have felt that they have been forgotten -- for this I wept as I stood by Brother's grave.

47 years later, my parents still suffer and remember their son. They loved him, and wanted him, and mourned him largely in silence. Every week when my 87 year-old dad and I go to Eucharistic Adoration, he asks me to light two candles, for "the babies"; his son, who would be 47, and my daughter, who would be three.

My last post was not the best memorial that I could have offered. To Brother, I say, "Keep praying for us! Hold your little niece close to your heart and give her a kiss for me!"

To Mom and Dad, I say, "I love you. I'm sorry your baby died. He will never be forgotten."

memorials

Yesterday I did something no parent should ever have to do.

I ordered a tombstone for my daughter's grave.

Strangely, it wasn't the hardest thing I did yesterday. It was harder to stand at my eldest brother's grave, the brother who was stillborn. I cried because his was the only grave without a name: just "Baby Boy" and our last name. My parents hadn't named him, and it seemed so sad. When I pray to him I just call him "Brother."

Harder still was that moment at the park when that little girl ran up to me.

She was wearing pink shoes. Pink shoes with hearts.

thanks for remembering

A special thank you to the many who sent emails and comments regarding my daughter's birthday on the 14th. I continue to be comforted whenever I am reassured that Celeste's life was meaningful, and that her memory is being treasured.

I am frequently contacted by people who love someone who has lost a child. Often they will ask me to send a copy of my book, and sometimes they will request prayers. Every time they want to know what they can do to comfort someone who is grieving the loss of a little one. I always tell them this: Assure them that their child will never be forgotten!

When you lose a child, you lose more than a person. You lose a future, a dream. You lose all those things that will not be. When the child is very young, as my daughter was, or perhaps is not even born yet, the loss is devastating. We have lost someone we have only begun to love, and we don't have all the memories we feel we deserved to have.

If you know someone who has lost a child, even many years ago, will you reach out and let them know their child was important? Some do not wish to discuss their loss, and I respect that, but I'm certain I'm not alone here. We don't ever want our babies to be forgotten.

One of the most beautiful gifts I ever received was an anonymous card that arrived in the mail one day. It came many months after my daughter's death. Featuring an image of a heart and a butterfly (symbols that spoke very specifically of Celeste!) it contained this message: "Until we can be together again, remember...my heart is waiting right here for you." It felt like a lifeline to heaven, and I treasure it.

I received an order on my website this morning from an administrator of a grief support group for those who have lost young children. There are great resourses available at their site! If you know someone who is hurting, you may want to share this info.

And share a moment with someone who has suffered a miscarriage, stillbirth, or loss of a baby or child of any age. Thank you for your love and prayers!

Celeste's Video

Thanks to the tech-savvy young people in my life (I love you Lauren, Rachel, AJ and Giovanni!) I was able to add the video to youtube. Here it is.
(See the previous post for more info.)

happy birthday, baby girl

She would have been three today.

I prepared a video including photos of Celeste with some of the people who loved her most. (I'm a little disappointed that the video's not "perfect", but even though I considered reworking it this morning, I decided to leave it as it is. Things (and people) don't have to be perfect to be meaningful and loved.)

Sadly, when I tried to add it here I discovered it is too large! I'd be happy to email it to anyone who is interested in viewing it. In the mean time, here are some photos.






I would love to hear from some of my "prayer warriors" or those who have read her story. It's ok to ask for a little extra encouragement today, right?

Again, you can visit my website to learn more about my daughter's beautiful mission.

Happy Birthday, Celeste Marie! I can't wait until we can celebrate together!