Within hours after my most recent column ran, notes began to trickle into my inbox. The trickle soon became a flood as kind readers wrote to express their sympathy at the loss of our infant grandson, Ian.
Scores of people responded on social media. Dozens sent cards.
The messages echoed: “We are so sorry.” “You and Alex, Brooke and Farrah are in our thoughts.” “We are praying for you.”
Each one felt like a warm embrace.
Of special comfort – the notes that mentioned Ian by name. To see his name written on cards and emails made me feel that however fleeting his tenure was on this Earth, he mattered.
He will always be Alex and Brooke’s firstborn son. He will always be our first grandchild.
Jaded journalist that I am, I still was profoundly moved by a postcard informing me that the Congressional Prayer Caucus was praying for our family.
I’d never heard of the organization. But it’s an official, bicameral caucus of Congress focused on the role that faith and prayer play in our life and history. Each week the members gather in Room 219 of the Capitol and pray for the nation and for specific prayer requests.
The card read, “We just wanted you to know that we prayed for you this evening. You will remain in our thoughts and prayers.”
Representatives from several states signed the back.
As a person of faith, the knowledge that others are lifting our family up in prayer during this time of sorrow makes the burden of loss seem a bit lighter. It helps to know we aren’t alone in our grief.
My heartfelt gratitude goes out to all who wrote. Your kind thoughts help the healing process, and I sent many of your notes on to Alex and Brooke.
Of course, I’d trade every thought and every prayer to hold Ian in my arms. To watch his eyes flicker open. To hear his cry.
Many who wrote used the words “brave” and “courageous” to describe the column. I didn’t feel brave when I wrote it. I felt broken.
To me, courage describes the parents whose souls are forever seared by grief. The mothers and fathers whose joy and excitement vanishes in the silence of an inexplicably stilled heartbeat.
The members of this tribe are more numerous than I imagined. Many mothers and grandparents wrote, generously sharing their own stories.
Each story mirrored the sadness that my family feels, but also offered words of hope and encouragement.
With her permission, I’m concluding with a note I received from reader Donna Peterson. Her son was stillborn many years ago and her reflections offered great insight and comfort.
She wrote, “I can’t know how you feel, but I have been there, too, with my own child. I am 65 now, so medicine was not as advanced with prenatal issues at the time I lost my son. I had no idea why it happened.
“My daughter, who was 4 at the time said, ‘God took him to heaven and will make him better. Then He will send him back.’
“In 1980 I gave birth to another son. When my daughter looked at him for the first time, she said, ‘See Momma! God sent him back to us!’
“As I read your words I cried again. I grieved a little again – with you – for you and your precious wee one and family.
“Then I remembered my healing moment.
“I had a dream about a poem. I woke up and got my pen to write it down before I forgot the words. For some reason I wanted to share them with you. They are not as eloquent as yours always are, but maybe they might help a tiny bit.”
He would call me Mother
And call his father DAD!
He would be a bright boy …
A handsome, clever lad.
The days passed by so quickly
As joy grew deep within
Then all too soon he left us …
The tiny light grew dim.
Although I’ll always miss him
I will not be sad
For a light will always shine inside
For the son I almost had.
Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. She is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation.” You can listen to her podcast “Life, Love and Raising Sons” at SpokaneTalksOnline.com. Her previous columns are available online at http://www.spokesman.com/staff/cindy-hval/ Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval.
Cindy Hval 