Last night Mr. Pete and I organized an All Saints Day Mass and party for the homeschoolers. We filled 50 luminaries with sand and LED lights and bought 150 donut holes, two gallons of cider, and all of the cups, napkins, and plates. A handful of families showed up and to my delight, there were lots of little kids for Miss C. to play with so it was awesome for her.
My two sons Gabe and Noah showed up as well. Gabe came to meet his obligation and to see Miss C process in as St. Barbara. Noah came because the mass was said in honor of a friend of his who passed away last summer. I casually mentioned to both boys that this year, November 1, All Saints Day, was also the 20th anniversary of their little brother’s stillbirth.
In typical LaVictoire fashion, they grinned at each other and said something along the lines of the great beer festival they were going to have out at the cemetery next year when the kid turns 21.
And you know what? That’s okay. Every one of them has had a big celebration to turn 21. Why miss an opportunity to celebrate this one?
And that’s how we roll in this family – with irreverent humor in the face of what could otherwise be numbingly somber.
20 years ago, my baby died
20 years. It’s unbelievable to me that 20 years have gone by since that awful time. The grief and feelings of course have changed. When I was going through it I had all of the classic grief symptoms including anger and lethargy. But as time went on those lessened more and more. It’s hard to hang on to deep grief like that. I’m convinced that the people who do are either severely traumatized or work ardently to sustain it. Queen Victoria, I’m looking at you girl.
For a while, the yearly anniversary triggered me. But then I had another baby and my other children were hitting all of the happy milestones of middle school and high school. The ten-year was an occasion. But 20 years almost got by me, except that another mom in our area recently had the same ordeal – a fetal demise at or around 20 weeks.
Ever present
Yet now that I think of it, that baby never really goes away. Thoughts of him are still frequent though fleeting. Each time my sons were lined up in the front of the church for one of their weddings, I wondered where Raphael would have stood. When my kids graduate, buy a house or travel, I wonder if Raphael would be doing those things too. I just recently completed the FAFSA form for my daughters. Would I have been sending that off for him as well? And when the kids organize their Secret Santa list, I pretend he’s on that list as well and think about who would have pulled his name and what kind of gifts he would have wanted. My sixth baby is there – and he’s a bundle of “what if’s.”
Remembering yet moving ahead
Miss C. knows about her uncle. I have a little picture of him in the dining room with the other children’s photos. Today we put two votive lights next to that. She invokes his intercession when she’s struggling with math or one of her other subjects. She asks a lot of questions but mainly is interested in how small he was. Maybe that’s enough for a 9-year-old to handle.
20 years out I think my main goal as a mom is to make sure he’s not forgotten. When Noah got married this year, his name was mentioned in the Prayers of the Faithful. I’ve spoken of my experience over the years in talks and presentations. Maybe people are sick of hearing about it.
But I guess I’d like to be an example to moms who have suffered a fetal loss. If I can get through it, so can you. There’s nothing particularly miraculous about how I did it – it just took time and getting on with whatever needed to be done next. A bit of God’s grace sure helped. Just keep those thoughts and little dreams about your baby always. It was a life that existed, even if it didn’t get a chance to live a long time. And life should be celebrated.
And to that end, I might pull up a chair out at the cemetery next year and celebrate a very heartfelt and happy 21st birthday.
My baby boy lay on his side, sweet palm under his face
His soft angelic look of peace brought me and Daddy grace
A grace that never left me when I placed him in his tomb
A grace that gave me solace and healed my empty womb
Two-decades time has come and gone, I still can see my baby
but with a strength from God above I still have hope that maybe
My mother’s heart was touched by heaven and healed of all its sorrow
I love you little child of mine, and will see you some tomorrow
In Memoriam
Raphael LaVictoire
November 2, 2002
