It's October.
October 15th is the Wave of Light where we light a candle from 7-8 pm in our own time zone and create a wave of light around the world in memory of our babies who are not here anymore.
I think I've done it every year I could since you were born. (Sometimes we were in the hospital and they kinda frowned on open flames there.) I light a candle in memory of friends and family whose little ones play in heaven.
And this year . . . . this year I will do it for you.
Your light still burns bright, much brighter than a candle, but the candle reminds me of you.
Tonight I also "lit" my battery candles. It's funny how during the summer I don't really "need" them. The batteries run down about the time that it gets light again and I just leave them alone.
But now that it's dark earlier, and seems so much darker even later, I need the light. So Linnaea helped me change all the batteries. There's a LOT!
And now the dark corners in the house have light. The bookshelves in the living area, the hutch in the dining room...
And the curio cabinet with your hand molds, your pictures, your butterflies and your bunny.
They flicker and cast a warm glow and remind me that hope lives.
And you live, just not where I can currently see you.
I want to sing in the Christmas choir this year. Practices start tonight. I haven't been before the pandemic, and you were there at my last performance. Will you hang out with me? I don't really want to do this on my own. The past several years I did it, one or another of your siblings sang, too. In fact, I think someone has every year since Deborah turned 16 some 17 years ago. But now, it's just me . . . and maybe you?
I'm kinda nervous, Aaron. I haven't sung since you died, not really. I mean, I can usually sing the hymns at church (but not always) but otherwise, I haven't. It took me many months after you were born to be able to sing to you without crying, and now I wonder if I can do this. Help me?
Christmas music has always been a light to my soul, pretty much like you.
As I look at the candles, I remember you, your strength, your tenacity, your joyful spirit.
Love you, kiddo.
I'm still trying.
Be close?
Love,
Mama
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