A Single Candle

As I look out the office window, I see the small amount of property we call ours. My husband is mowing the grass in a very pink shirt, and he is secure enough with himself not to even think twice about it, even after our oldest questioned him about 'wearing Mommy's shirt.' The sun is shining as the cool breeze blows the leaves of our pecan tree.
Inside, my three perfect babies are playing in the next room. They are smart, happy, and overall healthy. Two little girls and a little boy that have brought so much happiness to our lives. Three little babies that are all unique and so deeply loved. I know we are blessed beyond comprehension.
While I think of how lucky I am, how blessed my family is, I also hurt for some of my friends. One year ago, a group of people I call my online support and family was hit with loss after loss. One child was lost due to a knot in her umbilical cord, one was stillborn, and a third passed away after a very traumatic birth. So many losses, each less than a month from the last. We all cried and hurt together, and we cry and hurt again as the one year marks pass. And again, we feel the loss of these babies. To add to the pain and loss, another in that family has just lost her unborn child, and a friend outside of that group has lost the hope of holding her baby yet again. There have also been many other friends and family members that have lost their children, unborn through adult. It just isn't fair.
As I sit in tears over their losses, I can't help but feel guilty that mine were not taken. It doesn't seem fair that so many friends hurt so deeply, and I can only begin to comprehend. I feel guilty as I hear the giggles. I feel guilty when my heart brims with joy as I hear a little voice squeal 'Mommy' and little arms reach for me. I even feel guilty as I clean yet another bout of vomit or another dirty diaper.
I understand what it is like to fear losing a child. I still have nightmares about my oldest in a hospital bed. I still hear myself telling her she would be ok as tears of uncertainty rolled down my cheeks. Yet, all that hurt and fear desn't even begin to describe what these families feel. And all they have asked is that we don't forget. We don't ask them to leave their babies behind, and we don't lose the memory of the children that have forever changed them.
Please remember with me. On August 7th, I will be lighting a candle to remember all of the losses my friends and my family have gone through. I ask that you to light a single flame to signify the memory lives on. Show that you still remember, and you will never forget.
My candle will burn my friend Dawn, who left us one month before her 14th birthday, for little Henry, who left us August 7th of last year, for Melissa's baby, who never got a chance to live, and for all the others that never lost their innocence, but have changed our worlds forever. Who will you light your candle for?