Wednesday’s Wildflower…♥…”What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
There’s been this dilemma at my home for the past few weeks. My son, Julian, has scanned the internet, gone through several books and turned basically whatever he can upside-down in an effort to find out the name of a bird that’s been feeding at our bird feeder for the past few years. In the past, Julian had always thought that this bird was from the Finch family, but now that he’s older and more detail-oriented, he’s come to the conclusion that, no…he was wrong.
“It’s not a finch, Mom. What is it?”
Unfortunately, we can’t figure it out. Nothing fits according to the sources we’ve looked over. Hence, this bird–at our house–is now called: “The Unknown Bird.”
Because it has to have a name, right? I mean, we don’t want to just point at these birds and say, “Those things over there.” Still, even with this label we’ve attached to this bird, my son continues to be frustrated, his search for the “right name” still distracting him and tugging at his mind.
So it is with a child…a child that leaves this world too soon. I’ve always believed that every child deserves a name. Names for my children who passed on too early have certainly been important in my household. I use their names when I talk to Julian about them, when I talk to anyone about them. I can describe their different personalities in the womb, the different characteristics that were expressed in me with each individual pregnancy…and I can say their names and express, from my heart, how much they were loved. And, how much they are missed. Each name is individual, each name belongs to one. And just as no two snowflakes are alike, each name bestows honor upon the soul it belongs to.
I remember when I was in the hospital, after my first loss. Gabriel was born at just over nineteen weeks, went on to live for forty-eight minutes, then passed away, cradled in my hands. The moment he came out, I said his name. One of the nurses rushed to write it down. I yelled out the time on the clock…the same nurse, again, wrote it down.
Because he needed a name, a time of birth. He was not just a “thing.” He was my son…he was, is, my heart.
Please Don’t Tell Them You Never Got To Know Me
It is I whose kicks you will always remember,
I who gave you heartburn that a dragon would envy,
I who couldn’t seem to tell time and got your days and nights mixed up.
It is I who acknowledged your craving for peach ice cream by
knocking the cold bowl off your belly,
I who went shopping and helped you pick out
the “perfect” teddy bear for me,
I who liked to be cradled in your belly and rocked off to
dreamy slumber by the fire,
It is I who never had a doubt about your love,
It is I who was able to put a lifetime of joy into an instant.
♥…In loving memory of Gabriel, Boo, Peanut, Pumpkin and Ki-Ki… my angels…♥
Photos on VisualHunt.com