Friday Blog Roundup - Beauty

They would never admit it, but I imagine those on the outside of this sad little world sometimes find the things we say and do - the things we need to say and do - very strange indeed.

But it all seems so normal to me now that I barely notice that my life is very different than it once was. In fact I need to immerse myself in this world every so often simply because it feels so normal to me now. This place, and the blogs of other mothers and fathers who have lost their children, make me feel like a regular person in a world that doesn't often get me anymore.

And what makes me feel so buoyed - and what keeps me coming back - is that despite the undeniable agony emanating from the blogs listed to the right of this entry, there is so much beauty in them too.

Beauty in simple, ordinary things that aren't ordinary at all to people who haven't been touched by the greatest kind of loss imaginable.

There's Samantha over at Pieces Of Me who lovingly ponders what her little Makenzie would have looked like in her Easter dress this past weekend, her thick hair held back by a matching barrette, her eyes wide with wonder. Samantha calls these moments lost milesones, a heart-wrenching term that describes all the special moments we believed we'd have with our children, but somehow don't. It's agonizing to ponder these lost milestones, but it's also just something we do. It's a way to stay connected and to remember. Even though it hurts.

Easter was on the mind of Wannabe Mom this week too. She and her husband took two sweet little Easter basket full of treats to the cemetery for Cerina and Nadia. What might seem morbid to those on the outside is so very, very normal to us. And tender and sweet. Cerina and Nadia are part of this family and always will be. Finding ways to make them part of holidays and celebrations and special days shows the strength of the bond we have with our lost little ones. And being allowed to witness these little moments of intimacy and affection is unbelievably heart-warming and healing.

Kate is knitting for her unborn twins. The urge suddenly struck her and she bought some delicious yarn to make them each an outfit. As she says, "...if i can get off my duff and make them, the babies will have cashmere-and-silk coming-home outfits. Well, we'll call them that anyway. I mean, even if they die they need something to wear, right?". This struck me as sad and hopeful and beautiful all at the same time. It's sad that she has to wonder exactly how those little outfits will be used, but the love and hope - despite the sorrow of losing a son four years ago - that's fueling her desire to knit is so very life-affirming. And just so wonderful.

And speaking of love, reading love letters to a child from his mommy is one of the most powerful ways to witness it in action. In her Week 45 letter to Aaron, this mom demonstrates, in an intimate and tender way, that it's possible to forge a relationship with a child who is gone. Love doesn't die. Our children aren't forgotten. There is mother-child love that lives on despite the separation of death. There just is, even if people don't understand that or the way we deal with it. It's there just the same. And it's more beautiful than anything on earth.

Things are undeniably different after you've suffered the loss of a child, but if you look closely, you'll see that there is still a wellspring of beauty in the lives of those in mourning. There is sorrow and despair and anger and helplessness too, of course. But by some miracle there is also love and beauty - and people willing to let us see it each and every day.