Marking Lentil’s anniversary six years on
It’s been six years. Six long year and yet six remarkably short years. Six year since the day we learned we had lost our precious, much-love first baby.
It seems a lifetime ago and, in may ways, it is. After all, it’s longer than the lifetimes of half the members of our household, even if you count the collectively. And life has changed so much.
Looking back over blog posts from this day and others in previous years, it’s impossible not to notice how much our lives have changed. Come to think of it, tripping over endless collections of toys strewn across our living room floor, it’s impossible not to notice how much our lives have changed.
Back in 2018, as we marked the first anniversary of what my book refers to as The Hardest Day, we were still in the midst of longing for an earthly child. By 2019 we had one. By 2020…well…what a year that was! By this time in 2021 we’d lost another precious baby but were eagerly awaiting the birth of our fourth, the second who would walk this Earth alongside us. Last year was our first with both Charlotte and Daniel in our lives, home and hearts. And now, we’re another year down the line.
It’s fair to say I don’t feel our losses as keenly now as I did when they first happened. Lentil is not at the forefront of my mind every day as he was back at this time in 2017. But that doesn’t mean he and baby Pip aren’t still valued and valuable members of our family.
We’ve reached the season where we can begin to meaningfully share Lentil and Pip with their siblings. Charlotte, at least, is beginning to refer to them by name, even though she doesn’t fully comprehend the circumstances surrounding their lives – and couldn’t possibly be expected to at just turned four.
It’s been the first year we’ve been able to really involve Charlotte, and her little brother with her, in their siblings’ legacies. In October, as a family, we joined Aching Arms UK’s Miles in Memory fundraising initiative, walking, biking or scooting more than 250 miles between us over the course of the month in a bid to raise £250 to support other parents who’ve lost babies. Seeing Charlotte excitedly racking up the miles “for Pip and Lentil” was heart-warming, even if she didn’t fully understand that she wasn’t practising for a big walk/ride/scoot to visit her siblings. There are still times, and four-year-old’s misunderstandings, that stop me in my tracks and leave me with a lump in my throat.
This week is Operation Christmas Child’s shoebox collection week and I thought my heart might burst with thankfulness to see Charlotte excitedly wheeling a shoebox around town on her scooter (as you do) while she chose little gifts to put inside it for other children in memory of the siblings she’ll never be able to buy gifts for. Again, I don’t think she fully understood that she wasn’t going to be giving those presents to Lentil and Pip but her understanding of that, like her understanding of everything else in the life, will grow in time.
Just yesterday I watched the excitement on her face when she saw her two siblings’ names on two Aching Arms UK’s holly hearts, part of an initiative to honour babies who’ve had comfort bears donated in their memory this Christmas. The look on her face was akin to the one she has when she sees Daniel achieving something for the first time. A sisterly pride in all three of her siblings. What more could we hope for?
For me, the grief of loss and longing no longer weighs heavily every day but Lentil and Pip remain – and I believe always will remain – a key part of our family and, importantly, a key part of the Christmas traditions we are building as a family, from Christmas giving to hanging their decorations complete with their names on the tree.
To me, it’s important that Charlotte and Daniel grow up knowing that they are two of four, and that they grow up feeling free and comfortable to talk about baby loss. They are free to ask questions, as Charlotte already does, about where their siblings are and why they are in Heaven with God instead of here with us.
And when Charlotte asks, as she already does, “When can we visit Pip and Lentil?” my answer will, I have no doubt, always remain the same: “Not for a long time yet, I hope; not for a long time yet.” But my ultimate prayer remains that all four of our babies will eventually, hopefully after long and fruitful lives for the two walking alongside me, be together at God’s side; I can hope for nothing greater as a parent than that, the ultimate joy.
Sarah Moore is the author of For the Love of Lentil, A journey of longing, loss and abundant grace, which tells the story of her experience of pregnancy and miscarriage. Copies of the book are available here.