Being the parent of a dead child, your life quickly fills up with anniversaries. There are the ones in your head that you might not make a fuss about commemorating (Dec. 15 – the day he got his tracheotomy, for example), the one that are obvious, like his upcoming birthday in February, and then the OFFICIAL ones where you get invited by an organization for a proper memorial.
There was already one at the hospital a few weeks ago that we blew off, because we weren’t up to it. Then the invitation came for tonight’s, at the hospice. Given our better ties to the hospice, there was a sense it might be a good idea to go. Also, we were probably a little more emotionally ready than we were before. That said, there was also some uncertainty within the family about whether we were ready for this. There was also reason to believe some members of the family just wanted to go back to the hospice to visit the Playstation in the TV room, but that’s another story.
We went. It was, all in all, a nice ceremony. I’d say about 100-120 people were there. There were some readings which aren’t exactly our thing, but if it helps the other families feel better, then they should do it. Then we all went to the pond and laid a candle in a wax paper folder on the water. The idea being that this is a global memorial day for deceased children and, as the globe spins, each community lights up candles at 7 p.m. to remember their lost ones.
I can’t tell yet if it feels nice to be in this club. Yes, I’d prefer not to be alone doing this. But, given that I never wanted to do any of this, it’s hard to be all “Yay, I’m in a team!” Then again, at least we’re doing something beautiful together, even if it comes with sometimes meh poetry.
Mostly, I was struck by the number of people there. 120 or so? That’s far too many to have lost children. And they did the readings in at least two foreign languages – I’m guessing Arabic and Turkish – meaning we’re stretching this pain across cultures and countries. It just feels like too many. And I know that 120 attendees is not the same as 120 children, but I don’t know how to do the math? Four attendees per dead child? More? Less? However you add it up, it’s too many. They did pull out 17 lanterns from the lantern room for attending families, but I think the hospice has been there longer than the lantern wall, and I think we were commemorating more than 17 children. But man, I wish the number was smaller.
I don’t know how often we’ll do these group events. It is nice to go back to the hospice, but it takes its emotional toll. I know I got much more emotional a week ago when I visited his rock by myself before the men’s support group meeting. There, the other guys encouraged me to go to the grave by myself sometimes, since it’s true that there are a a lot of distractions when we go to the grave as a family. It borders on the impossible to mourn properly while parenting. You’re at the grave, starting to mouth the words “Colin, I wish …” when you have to interrupt yourself with a parent-voice-level “WOULD YOU PLEASE GET YOUR FOOT OFF THAT MAN’S GRAVE!” It isn’t really in keeping with the spirit of the affair.
Why, just tonight at the memorial, the following sentences (or versions of them) came out of our mouths:
- Please stay on this side of the pond
- Please don’t fall in the water
- How did you get that much mud on your shoes?
- Do not touch that statue.
- Please don’t tap dance while I’m trying to have a moment of silence
You see the hurdles. Grieving quietly by yourself doesn’t quite feel healthy, grieving in groups feels forced and grieving as a family … well, we’re still practicing that.