Yesterday was National Candle Lighting Day.  My on-line support groups blew up with pictures of loved ones no longer on earth.  I am always shocked at the number of children who have finished their journey here, too early and whose moving to another realm has left so many here, lost.

Our own support group gathered in a park.  Bundled to face the cold, cold weather, we huddled and shared how we were feeling with the upcoming holidays.  Covid was a big topic; how it has brought in the walls and the isolation heightens the loneliness of grief.  The ‘empty chair’ at Christmas was an acknowledgement; how this time is so different now. There were tears.  There was a nodding of agreement to the feelings shared.  We wish we didn’t know the people holding their candle and speaking their child’s name.  Oh how we wish we didn’t belong here.

But we do.  And as I looked around and listened to my fellow grief warriors, sharing with raw honesty, I also felt strength and love. This group gets me. This group walks the path I walk. Suddenly, I could feel the presence of our children.  Through speaking their names and sharing some of the reasons why their child loved this season, the chill of the evening seemed to melt away.

The hour together reminded me I am not alone.  And the hugs we shared reminded me I am loved. It also reminded me of the importance of human contact.  We must find ways to keep in touch.  It is essential for our mental health.

We reminded ourselves too, that we need to speak our loved one’s name.  Forever. We must honor them.  Forever.  And we did that by showing up and speaking about them and lighting a candle to send a message to the heaven’s, to our children.  You are loved.  Forever.  You are remembered.  Forever.

Zane, you will always be the light of my life. Forever.