A tiny Box

I have another minute so the story continues...
 
So on October 15th 2011 I delivered our tiny son.  We decided to name him after both of his grandfathers, John Vincent.  Adult sounding names for one who will never grow old...but names that connect him to us.
 
After a weekend of deliberation, we decided to have a small family memorial to give closure not only for ourselves but for those closest to us who were looking forward to this new birth along with us.  I didn't realize how hard it would be, seeing that tiny little box on the grass next to a tiny little hole waiting to envelope not only a physical part of me, but my hopes and dreams for that child as well.  I realize that while this was extremely difficult; that it would be ten times more difficult to bury one I had spent more time with, held and snuggled.  I cannot imagine how much harder it must be for a mother who has heard her childs laughter, dried his tears, and heard him call her name.
 
It was a beautiful little service and a sweet opportunity that my friends took to come and offer their love.  I was showered with love, offers of help, shoulders to cry on and the florists delivered a garden to my door.  I am amazed at the thoughtful, wonderful people who surround me and who reached out to me.  My burden was not erased, but I had friends to help me carry it.  I am so grateful for that.