To Reminisce

The weekend leading up to Memorial Day as well as Memorial Day are the most beautiful days in a cemetery. The grounds are groomed, fresh flowers are placed in vases and little American flags are planted marking the graves of those who died while serving our country. 

Though Memorial Day is set aside to specifically honor those who died while serving our country, it is common for most graves in a cemetery to be decorated with something by someone. 

It’s been 36 years since our third born son, Elliot, died as an infant, and yet my husband and I continue to take the short jaunt to the cemetery every Memorial Weekend to plant whirligigs near our son’s grave. We can’t help but reminisce.

That I wanted another child after having had two, and after my hesitancy of wanting any, this desire of mine, “Let’s have one more,” surprised my husband. But, I’d immersed myself in being a full-time stay-at-home mom and liked how it was going with two; why not three? 

My pregnancies were never complicated. Everything always went well. Consequently, I did not expect my third pregnancy to be any different. And it wasn’t, until just before the due date.

  Sitting in church on that Sunday in June, our unborn son made quite a ruckus inside my womb. I was worried my water would burst and he’d slide out with it! But then he settled down and I assumed, went to sleep. We spent the rest of the day at the beach with our two other sons, ages six and two. While watching them play in the water with their dad, my mind would wander to the stillness I felt in my womb. Is everything okay in there?

The next morning, I awoke with cramps relieved that labor could  be kicking in. But the check up with my doc and later the ultrasound confirmed the absolute worst; our son had died utero. 

Giving birth to a dead child was by far the most awful labor. The physical pain of contractions and  the emotional pain of anguish was nearly unbearable. 

Wrapped in a blanket, a little cap on his head, a nurse handed Elliott to me. Ten pounds, 22’ long and perfectly formed. The only thing he lacked was the breath of life. 

Why Bother?

Why bother to reminisce? When someone pauses beside a grave, I know that they, like me, are reminiscing about the person whose life is worth remembering. How can anyone ever forget?