| Remembering a Gentle Presence |
Remembering is about all we can do when faced with the challenges of losing a loved one, but nothing could have prepared me for the memorial service I attended last night.
I knew it would be difficult returning the hospital where Ava was born. Starting with the long walk up University Avenue from the train station, I knew it would take everything in me to keep from breaking down in the streets as my mind willed itself to return to place I have tried to block and forget these past six months.
The memories started flooding back as I began to reminisce waddling my pregnant body the entire 2km (1.3mile) distance to the high risk unit for my weekly checkups. Rain or shine, the two of us would walk whenever we could. Ava got to enjoy the soft swaying my walking offered her as she was held snug and tight inside the warmth of my tummy, while I enjoyed the benefits of walking, trying to be as healthy as I could for her.
Seeing the Hospital for Sick Children was especially painful. As my husband puts it, it is extremely hard not to seethe with anger and resentment at the volume of technology and hope filled children and families in that hospital. Even with their fancy heart doctors, and high tech equipment, no one was able to see what was wrong with our little girl and help our family. Nor will they be able to detect and help prevent this tragedy from happening again. We can’t help but feel desperate for promises of a better tomorrow and feel helplessly defeated at the same time because there is no promise for a better tomorrow.
Returning to the hospital where Ava began her short journey outside my womb was especially difficult. Stepping into the building where she entered this world but was never able to take her first breath or even open her eyes to see her mommy and daddy was incredibly painful. I felt something inside of me gripping my chest, compressing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. I wanted to run away, to leave the place full of so many horrifying memories, but at the same time, I knew I had to face my fears eventually. Running and hiding was not the right answer when looking for closure and peace within. It was important to both my husband and I to attend this memorial service and be a part of remembering our baby along with all of the other parents who had to bury their child this year.
The hospital Chaplain is a dear sweet, empathetic woman who I have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for. She knew I enjoyed writing, and asked if I would read a poem or a story about Ava. Happy to share her memory, I agreed.
Once the memorial service began however, I lost all sense of calm and self composure and completely and fell apart. I was a sobbing, tearful mess and couldn’t find it in me to pull myself together and read my poem. The volume of sadness and tears in the room was so overwhelming.
There were so many moms and dads who have been stripped of their hopes and dreams and so many families trying to cope with their loss. I thought I might find comfort in relating to others who have been through similar tragedies in their life, but instead, I found myself even more broken hearted as I tried to put myself in each and every one of their shoes and try and imagine just a fraction of the heartache they are going through. It was absolutely devastating, heart wrenching, upsetting, and disconcerting all at the same time. I shed tears and silently offered my blessings and prayers to each and every mom and dad in that room as a whirlwind of emotions and empathy overcame me and I experienced feelings of sadness and grief that I have never felt before.
At one point in the ceremony, the pediatrician who we met with a few weeks before Ava was born stood in front of the podium. As she spoke my mind started to drift to our last meeting together and I couldn’t help but remember her saying that everything appeared to be normal and fine, but as a precaution, she would be present after Ava was born to do a few tests and make sure everything was ok. Those words kept echoing in my mind as I remembered she was in fact, the doctor who tried to save Ava’s life, and she was also the doctor who delivered the horrible news to my husband. I know it was especially hard for Mark to come face to face with her again.
The memorial service was concluded with a candle lightning ceremony. For every baby’s name that was called, a candle was lit, and a rose was offered to the parent or parents of the little angel who was taken away from them. With every baby name called, and seeing the face of the mom and dad lighting the candle in their memory, I cried harder and harder. It was agonizing to experience and be a part of so much sadness. One mom had lost her child very recently as she was still wearing maternity clothes over her still pregnant looking belly. I remembered how hard it was in the weeks following my delivery looking like I was still with child but feeling so empty on the inside, literally and figuratively. I admired that woman’s strength for showing up to light a candle for her baby when her emotions were still so raw and fresh.
I was hoping to find more closure and inner peace attending that memorial service. Perhaps I will realize that later on, but right now, the intensity, pain and sheer sadness of the families without child, the crushed dreams and the horrifying reality of all the tragedy has consumed me. I am still a quivering pile of tearful goo as I think about each and every parent in that room and what they have all been through. I also can’t help but admire them in reverence for the long road they will continue to walk each and every every day.
So long as we live, our child’s memory will also live on, and they will always be remembered.
Labels: Grief and Loss, In Memory of Ava |
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What a wonderful thing for the hosiptal to do. I hope that this will become an important experience on your path and in your memory.
((((((Karla)))))))
Karla and Mark, I wish I could take even a sliver of the pain away for you.
Keep holding eachother tight as you continue this journey.
Much Love.
**hugs**
Even when we feel we have lost, we have in fact gained.
That must have been very difficult for you and your words recounting that experience touch me deeply. Let the tears come Karle - they have a purpose. Let them come and put aside the 'shoulds' and the 'protocols' for grief behavior. I'm really glad you went to the memorial. That took a tremedous amount of courage on both your part.
Oh Karla, all I can say is that I wish the best for both you and Mark during this still very difficult time.
Heartfelt hugs....
tears are healing. praying your healing comes. you are very courageous to face the hospital and all the pain. love to you and your family.
You have every right to grieve. I'm sorry you have to though..
Sending you hugs..
I don't even know you Karla, but I have cried, sobbed for you so many times. I cannot even imagine the pain. I cry for every family that has had to go through this. I pray for healing of the hearts of your family.
I know someone who lost a baby and they planted a tree in memory and as a visual of the child so they could watch the memory grow.
I will continue to cry with you. Hugs and prayers to you.
oh Karla you are such a wonderful strong person. I am thinking of you and Mark.
Love & Hugs, Kate
Oh Karla, Hugs go out to you and Mark. I am crying just reading this post. I am thinking of Ava always.
I thought about you in Sunday School today. We were talking about what you can do to try to be more like Jesus, and how you can help someone who is going through a personal crisis. I thought about how you said that the social worker you talked to said that people lose a lot of friends when tragedies happen. I really don't know what I have to offer you to help you get through this, but my thought was that the best I can do is to make sure to be there for you as much as possible, listen to your thoughts and fears, over and over again if necessary, and be honest with you, as opposed to just trying to tell you nice things I think you'd want to hear. I figure that's how Jesus would do it, and who better to emulate? So, just as a reminder from someone you've never even met, I'm always here for you, and I will listen wholeheartedly, no matter if it's the same sadness I've heard time and time again. I miss Ava. Didn't know her too well, but I sure was planning on it, somehow.
I'm sorry you went through that, and I'm very happy that you the opportunity to do it as well.
Oh, Karla, the whole day must have been so hard. I'm so sorry, but so glad you went. Maybe you needed to have that cry. You miss her so much. I will light a candle in her memory tonight, too. My thoughts are with you and little Ava.
Thank you for sharing that experience with us. I don't know you, but I follow your story, and I grieve with you , and with all those other parents at the memorial service.
Hi Karla, I have been thinking about you and just wanted to send HUGS to you. Hope you are doing OK. Thinking about you over here. Ciao.
I am so sorry for your horrible loss.
You have touched so many with your words about your little daughter. You will never understand it, but you have made some of us better parents because you continually remind us how lucky we are to have our little ones. I pray the best for you, your husband and your family.
Just as Ava touches lives so do you sweetheart by keeping her memory going strong with your incredible and upmost love for her. You are a sweet soul.
Ava lives on in you. You can light a candle anytime you want to, when you feel the need for an inner peace to connect with your girl. Here is a virtual candle site
http://www.littleremembrances.com/
HUGS to you, sweetie from Sylvie Mom to Lilike & Locke
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Anvilcloud : October 21, 2005 
