The Beach

Last summer, before we even considered having children, we went to the beach one beautiful, sunny afternoon. I remember seeing a family... mom, dad and a sweet little baby girl. She was probably about ten months old - just big enough to sit up and play, but not able to walk yet. Her mom had dressed her in the cutest baby bikini and a little hat to protect her face from the sun. The little girl's parents took turns playing with her and she couldn't stop laughing and smiling. I remember thinking to myself that we would have that ourselves one day. And that when that day came, my life would be perfect.

Six months later, I was pregnant. Throughout my pregnancy I couldn't help thinking of that little baby girl at the beach. I imagined taking my own baby to the beach and watching his eyes light up when I built him a sand castle and seeing his face reveal uncontrollable glee when I dipped his little toes into cool ocean waves.

After we found out that our baby was not going to survive, I still dreamed of taking him to the beach. I could picture him squinting as a cloud drifted out from under the sun. I could taste his salty skin as I kissed his chubby cheeks. I could hear him giggling at the sight of seagulls running after one another. I just couldn't stop dreaming about the day we would visit the beach as a family, even if that day only existed in my mind.

We went only once to the beach when I was pregnant, and the day was gloomy. Even the beach was sad for my loss... for the events it would never have the chance to witness.

One month and one day after Gabriel died, we returned to the beach. It was a little cloudy, but often the sun would shine through the clouds. We wrote Gabriel's name in the sand with little shells and released three white balloons for him. The wind swallowed up the balloons immediately, but somehow they lingered barely within sight and we watched them for almost ten minutes, before we had to accept that they too, were somewhere out there, but we'd never see them again.

I made peace with the beach that day. Its waves had taken my tears. Its wind had carried my prayers. Somewhere along the way, it had become a special place.

Gabriel would never touch the sand, nor the sea. He would never chase a seagull or gather seashells along the shore. He would never feel the heat of the sun or the chill of a salty breeze. But the beach will always remind me of him. It will always be a place of precious memories of events that never occurred and dreams that never made the leap into reality. It will be a beautiful reminder of what could have been if Gabriel lived, and what has remained behind even though he has died.

The waves will crash, the sun will set, the birds will fly. Gabriel won't ever watch the graceful motions of the beach, but I will, and I'll think of him whenever I do.

I will think of his salty cheeks. His uncontrollable giggles. His wet little toes...

And how much I wish I could have him back for just one sunny afternoon.

Heaven has beaches, right?

Twinkle of Light

A few days after Gabriel died, I came across a picture taken of outer space by a NASA satellite. It occurred to me that the majority of the stars in the universe are no longer alive, but in fact they burned out thousands or millions of years ago. What we see here on earth is a remnant of a bright star that no longer exists. That twinkle in the night sky is merely a reminder that a star once burned gloriously, evidence of a once radiant and energetic life. But because that star's life was once so bright, its light continues to shine millions of years later. 

And I realized, that is what Gabriel is to me now. He is a beautiful twinkle of light shining brightly amongst all the darkness. His light which I hold in my heart, is proof that he once existed here on earth, and that the brightness of his life will radiate long after his death. Though his star no longer burns, I can still see him, I can feel his presence, and enjoy his warm light. I can gaze into that shadow of darkness that represents his death, and find the twinkle of light he left behind. Gabriel is not just a memory, nor a figment of a life... he is a constant force here on earth, a stream of never-ending light.

I like to believe that every time a child dies, God adds another star to the night sky. And that somewhere among the billions of twinkles, lies a special flickering glow that represents Gabriel, and another one that represents your baby. Though logic and science don't agree with this theory, it's nice to imagine our babies somewhere out there, forever adding light to the darkness.