Just the other day someone close to me told me of an acquaintance of theirs that recently lost a baby. The moment they mentioned it I felt the knot in my throat with the familiar ache in my chest and the tears just came. I knew that feeling, I knew that pain, and it hurt me to think someone else is having to go through that. I cried for the family, knowing the journey of grief and loss that the universe so willingly handed them. For the pain they would feel and the struggle each day would bring. I cried for the poor precious baby that never got to take it’s first breath. I just cried.
A few years ago when Zach and I had just moved to upstate NY we did a bit of exploring and stumbled upon an old military cemetery in a quant little town right by the St. Lawrence river. It’s tucked away in some trees surrounded by an old iron fence. Soldiers buried side by side, row after row. We walked by each one reading names and dates, our minds wandering about who these people once were. Towards the back of the cemetery sat rows and rows of unknown graves simply marked “US Soldier”. Buried beneath husbands, sons, nephews, uncles all laid to rest having never made it home to their families. On the other side of the cemetery sat multiple graves marked “unknown child”. I still find myself wondering why these poor children were unknown and why they were forced to sleep forever in the cold New York ground without their identities.
Since losing Averie I have thought back to this cemetery. I know the pain I felt losing my child but I do not know the pain of losing a child or loved one and never saying goodbye or having any knowledge of what happened to them. Their loved ones are most certainly gone now themselves, but today I find myself with tears in my eyes, that familiar ache in my chest, the lump in my throat, feeling the pain they must have felt…and for them I just cry.