Over the last year and a half since Orion died, I've heard some brutal things. People said them trying to offer comfort, though it certainly did not comfort. Two people told me they were "relieved" that he died. Relieved. That my son died. I had to try to tactfully understand where they were coming from, find the seed of what I hoped they were trying to say, give them the benefit of the doubt...when I was the one who had just gone through childbirth and the death of my child. Those words were in fact very cruel and created deep scars. I've also heard that I shouldn't have a memorial service because its not like anyone got to know him. Again, gashing wounds were left in my most vulnerable places. I knew him, intimately. He was unique from my other children. Scarlet danced to the sound of his heartbeat. I felt him kick every day. I felt him die. I held him in my hands. He was very real. And anyone who loves me should be able to see that they would attend a memorial out of love for ME, out of support for my family, as a witness to my grief and his brief life. And, perhaps most painful of all, my husband left while I was in labor. I feel like I'm confessing to sins, but I'm not the one who did these things!
And I haven't shared these things openly because I don't want to hurt anyone...and the people who did these things are those closest to me. I know they didn't mean harm. But harm has been done. I was wronged, deeply, and no apologies will ever arise because the people think they were doing the right thing. (Except my husband: for the sake of our marriage we've had to tear that moment apart with tears and screaming and distance and more tears.)
But the truth is, I've largely been left holding my grief alone. In silence. Or through typed words that people read thousands of miles away. My community has not created a space to witness the grief of his death. They are not standing with me as I shake with tears. They are not singing hymns while I weep. They are not offering practical help or spiritual help.
The cost of this is a deep anger that is changing who I am. And I don't like it and I will not sit here and let it happen. So I am giving voice to my deepest wounds: it was not a relief my child died. It was a tragedy. He does deserve a memorial service and so do I. My husband should have never left that hospital for any reason. He did exist and he does matter.
So I'm letting you all know that there will be a memorial service. It was supposed to be in June, then July, and then August, and then September, and then we were going to get a small gravestone in October...and none of those things have happened. It makes me feel small and unimportant that none of those things have happened, that my grief and my son don't matter enough for even a memorial service. There have been moments I've been able to share stories and cry with someone. There was a beautiful Mother Blessing during my pregnancy with Iris. But for the most part it has been quickly mentioned in passing and ignored.
But there will be a memorial service and I don't care that "too much time has passed" because it hasn't. And anyone who wants to truly be there for us, bear witness to this grief, celebrate a tiny and short life, is invited. Anyone who understands that my child died, and nothing less than that happened, is invited. Anyone who would want me there with them if their child died is invited.
A time and date will follow, but if you would like an invitation please let me know.
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