I decided to hold the memorial outdoors, in the Provo Canyon. My mom picked Nunn's Park by Bridal Veil Falls and found a picnic bench in a nice shady area by the river. The babble of the river and the twitter of birds were the acoustic background to our little gathering.
We opened with the hymn, "Nearer, My God to Thee". I chose it because it has long been a favorite hymn of mine. I downloaded the music, but my phone wasn't loud enough and the speakers we brought didn't work. So, being a musically inclined group, we listened to find the starting pitch and sang the rest of the song a Capella. People broke into parts, and it was absolutely beautiful. My Grammie described at as a "choir of angels", and I can say that there were probably heavenly voices added into our mix.
Next, a beautiful opening prayer from my aunt, Kimberly L. Her words served to shore up the wonderful, beautiful, peaceful spirit that entered during our singing and stayed with our group through the rest of the service. After she closed, my Grammie spoke. I asked her to say a few words, but I never specified what she should talk about. I knew that she would listen to the spirit and know exactly what to say. She quoted Psalm 30:5, "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." She also spoke about tender mercies, and told us how the night before she had been flipping through my grandpa's journal. He passed away 5 years ago from complications of Parkinson's disease. One of the pages in the back was bookmarked, the only page thus marked, and in that journal entry she found the words, "Dawn, if you are reading this, I want you to know that I love you." She remarked how amazing it was that when she needed to hear those words, they came, seemingly by random chance.
After she spoke, my siblings sang, "A Child's Prayer". The music was beautiful, but it was not the music that I appreciated most. As the oldest child, I am like sister, mother, and friend to my younger siblings. My sisters are wont to bicker, and when I approached them with this musical number I was worried that asking them to work together would make sparks fly. Instead, they both enthusiastically agreed and worked really hard with my brother to provide a touching musical number. I appreciate them waiving a white flag on my behalf, because it tells me how much Lily and I mean to them.
My mom spoke next. She remarked on the outset that it was probably a mistake to have her speak after listening to her children sing, but she managed her talk marvelously as always. Again, I didn't feel the need to give her any topic or talking points, because I knew that she would know exactly what to say. And, she did. She shared the letter she wrote to Lily. It was poignant, thoughtful, and beautiful, and said so many things that I, for one, needed to hear.
Then, we opened up the floor for others to make their remarks. My 11 year old brother made a beautiful analogy of life and death by pointing out the geography of the trees and rocks and the river. My 13 year old sister shared how, in a moment of despair, she was inspired to know that Lily's spirit lives in heaven surrounded by those who love her and have gone before, like my grandpa and a family friend, Kat. My sister recited a beautiful poem "written" by her daughter, Ivory, to her cousin, that began, "I couldn't wait to share my bows..." Others also shared their thoughts, feelings, and words of comfort.
Following those remarks, I asked my uncle, Stephen, and my step-dad to give me a blessing. Stephen spoke, and it was obvious to everyone, I think, that he really opened his heart up and allowed the spirit to channel thoughts and words through him. It was at once powerful to the point of being overwhelming, and peaceful and comforting.
Then, it was time for the balloon launch:
I opened up to those who attended the ceremony to write a letter to Lily. We gathered those letters together, and tied them to a bunch of pink balloons.
We stepped out from the trees and into the parking lot.
Surrounded by family and friends and filled with their love and support, I took a deep breath...
...And let the balloons go.
The balloons were picked up by a gentle draft, and floated peacefully away.
After that, we returned to the hollow and closed with the hymn, "Where Can I Turn for Peace?" Often when I am struggling through life, I find myself wondering what I can do to calm the turmoil inside of me. That hymn answers simply, "Where can I turn for peace, Where is my solace...Where when my aching grows, where when I languish...Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish? Who, who can understand?...
...He, only One."
Again, we sang without accompaniment, and it was truly a beautiful sound. My uncle Chris closed the meeting with a beautiful, heartfelt prayer.
This little memorial ceremony was so helpful to me. After it was finished, I just felt lighter. Maybe it was sharing the burden of my heartache with a group of people. Maybe it was symbolically sending my love to my baby girl on the wings of a cluster of pink balloons. I'll probably never know, and honestly I'm not too concerned about the mechanism. All I know is holding this memorial helped heal my terribly wounded heart.
Because of my experience with miscarriage and with memorials, I've decided to work on a little project. My goal is to help other families who live through the devastation of a miscarriage hold a memorial ceremony of their own, with the hopes that it will help them find some peace and closure as it has for me. To that end, I have created this blog titled Miscarriage Memorials. I encourage you to go over and take a look, keeping in mind I'm still in the process of building it. Also, if you or someone you know has had a miscarriage and you need anything, from talking to someone who has gone through it, to discussing holding a memorial service, to wanting help planning a memorial service, please let me know.
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