The other morning I was running with my partners, Tanya, Heather and Kirsten. We took a different loop than usual and decided to run past the cemetery. We first ran to my daughter Ruby’s grave. Her monument has a little campfire on it (for Ruby Fire Wilde). We paused a moment to see her special spot under the tree near her grandfather and uncle’s graves.

Then we ran to Kirsten’s daughter’s grave. Her monument has rainbows and balloons. She shares a spot with her uncle too.

After another moment of pause, we ran over to Heather’s daughter Hope’s spot. Her monument is simple, with one date for birth and death.

It seemed strange that three of the four of us young, healthy women had lost a child. But we marveled together at the blessings of having children, both living and dead. Between the four of us, we have 18 children!!

The cemetery holds no great meaning for me. I don’t visit there often – and neither do my friends who have lost their children. I think about my sweet Ruby all the time, but I don’t feel any attachment to that space in the grass that holds her mortal remains. Rather, I know that she has an eternal soul. I know she lives on. Maybe she is even playing with Hope and Elle.