What's in a Name?

For the last 17 years, the first Saturday in December has been set aside for a remembrance service held by the Bereaved Parent Group of Madison. The first year after Sophie's death we simply attended. Then we started contributing a song to the service: The Water Lily by Australian poet Henry Lawson, set to music by Priscilla Herdmann. We've missed just one service since Sophie died, the year I ended up in the hospital with pulmonary embolism (yuck.) I love it; it's a chance to catch up with friends whom we know only in this context and see once a year. People who speak the same language we do, so to speak. Members of the same club.

The most powerful part of the evening is when somebody reads off all of the babies' names. To hear someone else say your baby's name means so much. Last year, the people compiling the list made a mistake and got Sophie's middle name wrong, and I felt terrible. This year I checked the list to make sure it was correct. I hope I didn't seem too obnoxious.

Today brought a strange coincidence: Ed was at work and Sophie's cardiologist came in. We run into him from time to time around town, but today of all days? The world works in mysterious ways. And another year is past.