There is something about a name

I debated all of yesterday whether I wanted to post about June 16th or not. It is a day that will forever be etched in my memory. I was finishing up a dance camp that week and received a text message that stated, "We lost Miles today." I can remember the gut wrenching, literal physical heart pains and palpitations I experienced sitting there in my car in downtown Southern Pines.

Thankfully there haven't been too many times in my life when I have felt physical pain or illness from a non-physical stimulus; but it immediately took me back to September 20th, 2008. I knew the instant the OB placed the ultrasound wand on my stomach, something was wrong. She had a sudden look of deep interest/concern; and immediately I felt uneasy. I think I was still in shock that Kenan didn't have a heartbeat the rest of the appointment. That whole appointment is a fog now.... mostly. I was numb, that is until I walked out of the office. Ceilidh was young and getting restless as we were having to discuss issues with the OB, so Andrew took her outside while I was waiting on some paperwork. As I said, still numb; I walk outside to find my warrior, my manlier than manly husband, hunched over into the inside of our car heaving. Everything hit me like a ton of bricks in that moment. I went from being numb, to physically being nauseous with internal emotional hysterics.

I wouldn't wish this pain, horrible horrible pain on anyone. That is why June 16th, 2010 was so hard. I prayed, begged, wished, and hoped that our friends would not have to experience this same scenario. Little Miles had been such a warrior for 4 months through several surgeries and procedures. His sweet momma is still one of the bravest women I know. She never left his side. Literally, never left. I communicated with her through texts and voicemail for four months b/c she wanted to be with him 24/7. Though there is no degree of torture for parents who have lost babies, I can only imagine how much more there would be to process if we had gotten to see and love Kenan outside of the womb for four months.

This incredible mother has become one of my dearest friends over the last year as she has let me enter into her grief alongside of her. And though that sounds strange even to myself, I am honored she has chosen to be so vulnerable with me. I love her courage, I love her depth, I love her honesty, I love her, and I love our friendship. So I write this today to honor her as well as Miles. As I told her yesterday, I say (write) his name treading lightly. There is a heaviness, even a sacredness if I may, about speaking a dead child's name. At the same time, one of a parent's biggest fears is that their child will be forgotten. So we boldly speak of Miles in our house, and always will. Though things are different now, we will always speak boldly of you Miles, and we will never forget how your life affected so many others; including ours.

Excuse the video... we don't know these people. This was the only place I could find the song.