A Christmas Story

When I first created this section of the blog, my dream was for it to be a space for others to share their story, and hopefully connect people through common experiences. My first post within this section I saved for my mom, because she surely has a story to tell. If you have not read her post, I would recommend doing so before reading this story. They are beautifully intertwined (Her Story). Since my mom’s first post, she has received an outpouring of love and support from close friends and strangers. She is currently in contact with others who read it and are “walking in her shoes.” How wonderful it is to be able to connect and support each other! So now, I invite you into another chapter of my mom’s story. The perfect example of what the Christmas season is all about.

I believe that if we open our lives through shared experiences, we give to others. Our son’s existence encompasses so much more than the hard parts of it. This story is one of those joy-amongst-the-challenges moments!

First, I need to provide some background. Upon Matt’s passing, we donated his body to the University of Minnesota medical school. A piece of my heart resides at Lakewood Cemetery in Minneapolis, Mn. Matt‘s cremains (plus those of other infants) are buried in a section the university preferred to keep private for a multitude of reasons. Times have since changed and the location is now public information.

Upon returning home, we began picking up the pieces. Between schooling, jobs, and the incredible blessing of more children, we slowly rebuilt our lives. My ongoing question soon became what could I give to my other three children, of their brother? It was a deep desire that was not simple, but I needed to find answers because I wanted them to know of him. Each passing year, Matt’s birthday is acknowledged and at Christmas, his little stocking is hung. Next to it, a painted wooden stocking sits on the mantle. It’s a precious gift, made by our son, Ryan during his elementary school years. Throughout their childhoods, I hold that they did glean a sense of their older brother’s presence in our family.

It was soon to become not what I could continue to instill in my children, but what they in turn, gave back to me.

This story begins at Lakewood Cemetery. With Matt’s cremains being buried in a private unmarked plot, we often chose to simply walk among the expanse of this beautiful place. Lakewood Cemetery is a peaceful site. The tree-lined paths, ponds, and flowers offered a solitude that was all encompassing. It was during one of those walks that we heard the bells! Their quiet chimes led us under the canopy of a huge tree, adorned with hundreds of ornaments, mementoes, and yes, bells. As we stood at its base and looked up, we saw more of these remembrances than of the actual branches. The tree was blanketed with mementos, hung by those surely wishing to honor children who had passed! It felt spiritually comforting and mesmerizing all at the same time! I could have stood under there forever!

A few months later, at Christmas time I was given an amazing gift from my daughters. It was a framed picture of a star ornament hanging in a tree, along with a heartfelt poem Mollie had penned. She beautifully told a story, Matt’s story. They had purchased the star and had Matthew’s name engraved on it. On a very blustery day, it was love in action. With Erin giving long distance directions, Mollie navigated her way through the expanse of Lakewood Cemetery in search of the tree. Upon finally finding it, she hung Matt’s star amongst all the others as a loving remembrance of our son and brother. There, I believe it awaited us.

Down a winding road, a peaceful tree awaits, nestled in the snow and sheltered by the gates. On its limbs hang memories, of stories to be told, of those who came but could not stay to prosper or grow old. Near the front you’ll see it, I left it there to hang. A silver star with ribbon that softly says his name. He didn’t live to walk to the ground or see the snow turn white, but his star is there to shine throughout the night. It shines and bears witness to the miracle he was worth. For God granted us an angel to protect us here on earth.

This most certainly could be the ending to a poignant story, right? However, there’s more.

I was so touched by what they had done! I cried when I opened the gift. The picture hangs in a prominent place at home and always will. Until we could return to Lakewood Cemetery, I would often look at the picture and simply imagine being there. I could not wait to see Matt’s star, hanging amongst the precious mementoes on those overflowing branches! Come summer Pete and I made the trip to Lakewood Cemetery. I remember being anxious with anticipation. Imagine my dismay when arriving at the tree, to find there were no ornaments hanging, no bells ringing, no nothing. The lump in my throat was huge. We made our way to the cemetery office as I had questions of why this tree had been stripped clean and wondered what had become of its treasures. It was explained to us that the branches were too full and thus, too heavy, making it a deterrent to the health of the tree.

It was understandable and yet, so heartbreaking to me. I told the secretary how I had been looking forward to visiting the tree and seeing Matthew’s star. She asked us to wait for just a moment. She then went into their vault and came out holding a now weathered star, his star! Of the hundreds of mementoes that hung on that tree, she relayed that two of them had been saved. Coincidence? Some might say so, but I believe in holy moments. Whoever chose to save that particular ornament, out of the hundreds, set in motion more kindness to be shown to others. How kind that it was now returned to me, his mother.

What can we do to touch the lives of others? It’s often not possible to know where kindness leads, but it will lead somewhere just as Erin and Mollie‘s Lakewood Cemetery journey did. I believe there is an abundant need for everyone’s contribution. While I had strived to find a way to preserve Matt’s presence in his sibling’s lives, they also became the contributors. His ongoing presence in our family has taught us how to better live our lives through what we can give others. As Matt’s star now hangs on my Christmas tree, its story is retold. Stories need to be told, to be preserved, and to be passed down. In doing so, my children, grandchildren, and those to come will always know Matthew is part of our family. His existence is larger than the mere three days of his earthly life. A poem, an ornament, its journey to hang it, a wooden stocking, and now, even a birthday cupcake celebration by my grandkids at his gravesite prove it! We can choose to celebrate moments which in turn, create memories, like those treasures on a tree branch.