Tuesday, again.
So, it’s that time again, the day of the week I reserve for showcasing the Artifacts of Alexa, some small and odd and useless, others rare and long-cherished. Last week’s jokestravaganza was a delight, but I’m afraid I have nothing funny for you this time. This time, the thing I am showing is Ames’ candle.
October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance day, and at 7pm on that evening, families light candles to remember. I have always liked the tradition of lighting candles in remembrance, or as my own silly, secular sort of prayer—there was a time some years ago when I was in the habit of walking to the cathedral down the street from my apartment and lighting a candle every morning. It’s contemplative, and quiet, and it creates a space for you that wasn’t there before. This past October 15th, I went out searching for a candle to light for Ames.
The one I settled on was sitting on a shelf with other, dissimilar candles, the only one of its kind. It came in a little ceramic pot that I plan to keep when it has burned out, and it smells like Jasmine.
I lit it on the 15th and sat with it awhile, and then I took a picture:
I think I may light it again tonight. The thing about this month of everyday posting is that next year on any November day I will be able to see exactly what I was doing, worrying over, and thinking one year prior. Because I posted every day last November as well, it has been impossible not to look back and marvel at the distance between then and now.
So. Though I am ever mindful of all I have gained this past year, I am going to take a moment tonight to remember what was lost. A moment for Ames, mostly, but also for Simone, and for how thoroughly things did not go as expected, how tenuous everything always is, whether we remember it or not.
23 Comments
There is something about lighting a candle and remembering.
Thank you for sharing. Lighting a candle is soothing and sad at the same time.
Ritual, no matter how silly it may appear from the outside, can be a necessary thing.
I have this ritual (more of a thought experiment, I guess) where I climb a mountain in Tibet and plant two prayer flags on top.
Bittersweet, but beautiful.
Remembering is good, the sweet with the bitter, the happy and the sad. They walk together throughout our lives.
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I never got candle lighting. I can’t claim I do now. But I know I light candles a lot more often than I used to, and there’s something mesmerizing and focusing (is that a word?) about the action that I appreciate — especially on days like October 15.
Really beautiful. thanks.
Oh, this brought a sting of tears to my eyes, because I remember reading your posts back then and I think of how differently it has all gone. Such hard-won wisdom, but so beautifully expressed.
Has it been only a year? You’ve voyaged around the world and back a dozen times since then. And what a beautiful souvenir you have brought back, in Simone; and in the memory of the boy who could not stay. And in the words you’ve shared with us.
That is a beautiful candle you picked out for Ames.
Maybe I sound cheesy/new-agey, but I do believe Simone will have him with her forever.
Alexa, yet again, your eloquence takes my own words away. Thank you for sharing. I love that Ames has his own one of a kind candle.
Can I just say I think you should have to blog every day not just in November and thanks for the “quoth”ing!!!! You quoth me far more elegantly than any of my students ever do!
It’s been a very long year Alexa. A moment of quiet contemplation for Ames, and for Simone who battled her way into the world without her brother, is a fitting thing indeed.
I always find candle lighting such a wonderful remembrance. its a beautiful candle.
We awoke on Thanksgiving Day 1968 (Nov. 28), and found our 16 mo old daughter dead.
I had a very hard time celebrating Thanksgiving for many years. Two Years ago my Grandson married a wonderful girl with a small Daughter. It turned out that her birthday was Nov. 28. She is my little Angel… Now I look forward to the 28th…
But the memory(and Pain) never goes all the way away.
such a lovely candle. i couldn’t bring myself to mark the 15th this year, and sometimes feel guilty about that omission, but mostly not. stupidly, i had not considered that i could light a candle and have private moments at other times, too. thanks for the reminder.
Sometimes, it’s good to just stop to be “in the moment”. It allows you to remember, laugh, cry, wish it could have been different, or wonder how life would have been, and then move forward. I always say, “Today is better than yesterday and tomorrow will be better than today.” It just helps.
It is so important to mark and remember the pivotal moments that we have been through. And you have been through a ton, all in the past year.
Thank you for sharing your remembrance around this day. It reminds us all to be humbled by the preciousness and precariousness of life.
Mo
http://www.lifeandloveinthepetridish.blogspot.com
Thank you for sharing all you have with us in the last year. I’ve been reading daily for a little over a year and I am inspired by your ability to use humor to push your way through some of the most challenging days. Good thoughts and hugs as you remember Ames. I agree with pp that I truly believe Simone will always cherish thoughts of her brother.
What a beautiful post. Thank you – I was lucky in that my tiny preemie lived (still tiny at eight, but thriving) – but your candle and words mark a moment for all of those whose pregnancies didn’t carry to term or whose babies were born but didn’t survive.
well done, i think that is a perfect thing to do.
Think of you, Simone and Ames (hugs)
So sorry – but thank you for sharing.
I have faith that Ames is in Heaven and there are many millions of babies in Heaven due to loss, abortion, etc. I think Heaven is a nice place to be.
I love to light candles as well. Very peaceful, mournful kind of.
xo
I have been thinking of Ames lately, too.