Last fall, Pat and I planted some shrubs and bulbs in our yard in anticipation of the beauty they would bring this spring. In reality, I identified those Plants with Nathan - something to remember him by and also things that were living and fresh and beautiful. In March, I was quite disappointed when a late freeze caused the newly unfolded blooms on our saucer magnolia to turn brown overnight. Then it occurred to me that this tree was not unlike Nathan - something beautiful one day and gone the next. "But the tree will bloom next year," I thought. Then my brain clicked - "Can't the memories I have of Nathan bloom again, too? "Oh, yes, dear friends, it still hurts so much. But as I looked at the little tree, I also could see the green blades of the iris bulbs poking up from the ground. I'm thankful to God for the iris bulbs and for making Nathan a precious flower in our lives.

There were lots of things we didn't have the presence of mind to do immediately after the stillbirth of Mary Catherine but, for some reason, we did take pictures of the different flowers sent to us(maybe it was because we had regretted not taking pictures of our precious baby). I put these in her memory book along with cards, the hospital's pictures, etc. Two years later on her anniversary, I took the picture of my favorite arrangement to the florist that created it and had it redone in silk flowers. On Mary Catherine's first anniversary we designated a place in our yard in her memory. I found a statue of a child with a small bird and placed it near our fish pond, and we refurbished an iron garden chair to sit nearby. At Christmas time, because of a memory idea presented by Cindy A. at our first SHARE meeting, I made a stocking for Mary Catherine and put some things in it for our family to share on Christmas morning. Diane J.

Every year, Clayton General Hospital lights a large Christmas tree. The pink ladies allow anyone (for a small donation) to buy a light in honor or in memory of someone. William has a light each year--they give you a card recognizing this. Another way I have remembered him is by giving several books to our church library.

I first started lighting a candle for my son, Andrew, on the day that he was supposed to be born. I searched all over looking for a Catholic Church that still had candles. In the Catholic Church people can light candles in memory of someone or when a special prayer is needed. This seems to be a visible way of remembering someone--kind of like leaving the lights on at home when you are expecting a latecomer. In the three years that I have been doing this, it has made me feel better/worse. Better because I am DOING something, so that in ten or twenty years from now, when my other children ask me, I can tell them that I have never forgotten. I think it's important for children (and adults) to know that they will not be forgotten...or gotten over...or left behind, etc. I feel worse sometimes, because I usually try not to think of that awful day three years ago, and when I light the candle, it brings back all those painful memories. It has a calming effect on me, however, after it's done, and I'm glad I could do something, no matter how small, for my little boy.

I wanted something to memorialize our little Jimmy, lost by miscarriage at 16 weeks. The ideal thing would have been similar to the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, pink and blue marble with all the names of the babies like our Jimmy. I wanted something for our home for others to see so they wouldn't forget Jimmy or ignore the fact that I was pregnant. I decided on an engraved brass heart shaped box. Inside I put Jimmy's bracelet, his last ultrasound picture, and his birth certificate with Jimmy's precious footprints. The box symbolizes the gifts he gave to me while he lived: the hopes and dreams of having another child, the excitement of my husband Reid over our first child together, the joy of telling my father that he had a grandchild due in his birthday month, the light in my daughter's eyes when she heard his heartbeat, and the laughter as we watched his antics on the ultrasound monitor. These memories will gently fit into the heart shaped box engraved "In Memory of James Arvie C. - May 31, 1988". Dannis C.

List of Ways SHARE Atlanta's Parents Keep the Memory of Their Baby(s) Alive.