Well, it was incredibly somber, and heartbreaking...there were so many. The weather was very cold, and very drizzly, and the colored balloons seemed limper than they should have been, as if they, too, were feeling the weight of being a bereaved parent. When Quinlan's name was read, we released the balloon, and I completely lost it. I haven't cried like that in months. Most people were sobbing. Some wounds were fresh, some were more seasoned. It sucked for everyone. Some people didn't have just one balloon, but many...too many. They had lost twins, and triplets, and one after the other. One set of parents, how do they do it? I guess one foot in front of the other, just like me.
The money raised goes towards bereavement packages for parents in hospitals with new losses, like ours. This includes advice, words of encouragement, and so much more. It is so important. We felt so alone, scared, shocked...unable to breathe when we lost Quinlan. Our doctors stared at us, shaking their heads, in disbelief as well. The social worker cried more than me. We got a little bit of advice, but mostly looks of pity...We had a nurse who advocated for us and gave us the best advice. We will always be thankful for her. There is no birth certificate, only a death certificate, and questions about an autopsy and a choice between burying my precious bundle six feet under, or having him cremated. There must be 30 hospitals in Denver, and each one needs more than 200 bereavement packages per year for infant loss...PER YEAR. So, today, if my measly money made any one experiencing this loss a little better, then I don't know, there is some tiny justice in what happened to our son. It's all I can do right now to feel better about this.
This experience was my darkest hour. I am not sure how we crawled out of the hole, but we did, and today I was reminded of how far we have come.
2 comments:
We love you guys.
thanks shanny shan:=)
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