As a side note as I was google-ing (what is the verb form of google?) the lyrics for "On Eagles' Wings," there was a link for a YouTube video which is a memorial for all babies who have died prematurely. Seriously!? Now I definitely will never be able to make it through that song!
This is why I should have gone to church. There probably would have been something that just seemed like it was meant for me to hear. I think that's part of what is comforting, albeit emotionally gut-wrenching, about going to church. Sometimes the service just seems as though it's made for you and you alone.
My fellow baby-loss-blog-never actually met in real life-friend Brandy wrote a really great post on her experience in church. (Hope you don't mind the shout out Brandy). And I thought it was worth sharing. She had one of those experiences in church where it's as if the service was made just for her.
But I knew that this Easter in particular was one that I was particularly vulnerable for. I knew I would look around and see all the sweet kids dressed in precious outfits and dresses and my mind would wander. I would wonder what we would have dressed Cale in, wonder what kind of basket I would have gotten for him even though he would have been too young to really think anything of it. And I would think of Daren and miss him and wonder what it's like to spend Easter in Heaven. I mean, I'm pretty sure that Easter and Christmas are pretty sweet holidays to celebrate in Heaven. And while I did still have these thoughts, I avoided thinking too much about them, or at least getting too sad, by avoiding going to church where they would have been brought to the surface to face. And I felt guilty for it. Good Catholic guilt, I suppose. I should have gone. So by the early evening, I said some prayers and I did some soul searching. And I I did a lot of thinking about God, about the meaning of Easter, about my relationship with Christ and my faith in general. And I thought about my beautiful baby and his uncle Daren, who are in Heaven looking down on us. And all this thinking actually brought me comfort. And I'm guessing the same would have happened in church . . . it just may have been with lots of tissues and runny mascara.