Tiny white box

I parked my car and began to walk down the hill of freshly cut grass as I always do the last Wednesday of every month. I intertwine between the bunches of flowers as I step so carefully around each precious name. I look for mom and other familiar faces as they have already began to pray. And as I made my way into the sacred circle of broken mothers, that's when I saw it. A tiny white box.

I gasped. The heat already made it hard to breathe. There was no separation between our sweat and tears. But this gasp was not because of that. It was because of a memory, an emotion, that I wasn't prepared to revisit. I then looked to my right and saw another trigger. It was the woman who last held my children.

I grieve for Lila and Cole everyday. Going to the cemetery once a month for the blessing of the babies is not something that I do so that I can cry and be sad. A lot of times I don't cry. I go to honor them. Because I'm their Mom and that's one of the only things I can do for them. I go to tend their grave and talk to them and visit with new friends that I've had the unfortunate opportunity to meet.

With each new friend I hear a different story. It's heartbreaking how many different ways there are to lose a child. I've recently made a new friend that ironically I've known my whole life. Relatives made us acquaintances-Our babies made us friends. I hear her talk about her son who is still swimming inside her, safely tucked away from our world. The doctors think he can't survive here. Our faith thinks something different.

I cherish these new friendships and the insight into this world that I never knew existed. But I still can't understand why we're here. Why do we all have to know each other? Out of the mouth of a child from this woman's blog I have to ask myself the same question........

"Why do little babies end up in boxes?"

As we made our way to each of our children's graves, we finally came to the tiny white box. We said a prayer while his sister searched for the perfect blue flower to hold. I can't help but think "how can your whole world fit into something so small?". His parents drove away but I linger, just as someone lingered for us. Waiting to make sure he's safe and sound in his new resting place.

Everyone had left and I was alone with my children. I admire the lovely flowers left by their Grammi. They are always surrounded with so much love.

That night I looked at a picture of my little Lila.

I realize, my world fits into something that small.