Her Name

I've written before about how much I love Eliza's name.

I came across Carly Marie's website in the early days after our loss.  I'd shut down facebook (before going back six months later and then shutting it down again) so when I read the directions about submitting a name, I wasn't sure if I could do it without a facebook account and it all seemed confusing and overwhelming and I just wanted to die.

That fog has cleared (at least, most of the time) so a couple of weeks ago, I found myself revisiting Carly Marie's website and I saw that she was taking requests for baby names to be written in the sand and also posted on the part of her website she calls Christian's Beach.

Carly Marie is a photographer and a bereaved mother of a little boy named Christian.  She lives in Australia.  She's gone on to have three more beautiful living kids but one of the many ways she keeps Christian's memory alive is by doing this service for other parents who are missing their babies.  She has taken on a lot of other amazing projects, but what really blows me away is that she goes to the beach at sunset almost every evening--six days a week--and writes their name in the sand, and then takes a beautiful photo to capture the moment before the tide sweeps it away. 

So I filled out the form, welcoming the chance to type Eliza's name.  I made a donation.  And this morning I received this JPEG file and it took my breath away.

It's perfect, isn't it?  Just like our baby girl...

I know things are easier.  But damn.  Missing her is still so hard.

I watched Eat, Pray, Love this morning.  It did not change my life, although it did make me think that I could probably put more of an effort into a daily practice of meditation if I were living in a lovely screened-in hut in Bali.

Still, there was one point in the movie when Julia Roberts was crying about missing someone (a boyfriend) and someone said to her, "So miss him.  And every time you think of him, send him love and light."

No, I'm not packing up and heading to Bali to find myself or to India to find a guru (although I would totally take Julia up on a trip to Naples for some of that pizza Margherita that she ate in the movie).

But this is me taking a deep breath.  Looking at the sunset.  Recognizing that my sorrow is so deep because my love for her is so great.  Or, as I just wrote to another bereaved parent, I wouldn't take away the grief even at its worst, because I know it's a corollary of my love.  And I wouldn't do away with that love just to be relieved of the pain.

But omg, folks.  My heart.  It hurts.

I miss her.

And so I'm sending Eliza love and light.  In those beautiful shades of pink and gold.  Every moment of every day.  And even in those dark moments when I don't know what I believe anymore, I believe that she can feel that.  I really do.