Small ghosts trail behind so many families, invisible to the naked eye.
Rena bustles around her son's birthday party, passing food and welcoming guests. During a lull, we chat. 'Did you ever think of having a second child?' I ask. 'Oh, we did,' she says, 'but he died. He was eight weeks old. He got an infection, it entered his heart, and he died.'
I place my hand on her shoulder. There are no words.
So often, life is extinguished too soon: 12 weeks after conception; during an impossible birth; after a few short weeks of life. A two-year-old drowns. A three-year-old falls ill. So many families carry these little ones around. There are no words.
These are the invisible children. They hover around their parents at the kinder gates. They are the fleeting shadow in their siblings' eyes.
'Did I have a brother once?' asks a little boy, looking at my youngest and no longer sure. As his mother's eyes fill with tears, I master the lump in my own throat: 'Yes, darling, yes you did. A long time ago, you had a baby brother of your own.' He shouts triumphantly, 'I did have a brother!' and runs off. We mothers glance at each other, then look away. There are no words.
As each year rolls around, there are new things to grieve. It is the first day of school, and there is a small ghost at the end of a line where a living girl ought to be. It is Christmas, and a quiet space sits at the end of the table. It is a birthday, and a father avoids eyes in the lunchroom. The child is gone; no one here knows; he doesn't want to chat. There are no words.
And yet remembering is so important for understanding and healing. A grief unspoken turns inwards and suffocates. It isolates people, deadens them.
So how should we remember these children? Do we mark their birthdays or the day that they died? Do we talk about them in conversation, or sit with friends in silent solidarity, letting them know only that we, too, share in their loss?
Do we name them during All Saints services, and provide the chance to talk about them afterwards? How do we celebrate them?
One family I