Zachary, Forever Held

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I carried you every second of your LIFE
and will LOVE you every second of mine.

As mothers, we have a special bond with our babies when we carry them. They are part of us. We share blood, oxygen, and food. We are one. We know them.

And then they are gone. But we never stop loving them and thinking of them. How do we hold our babies forever when we can’t physically hold them? I knew I would always love my son, but how would I honor his life?

Twenty-three years ago, when my son was stillborn, there weren’t balloon releases or teddy bears the same weight as my son. I didn’t know anyone else who had lost a child, so I had to figure out how I wanted to mark my son’s life.

The most tangible way I remember my son started sort of by accident. I started buying a “Snowbaby” on his birthday, December 15. At first, I didn’t even tell my husband, because for some reason it felt personal to me—like something a mom needed to do. I gave a lot of thought to which “baby” I picked out each year. What would Zach be doing that year if he was alive? I quietly added a new baby to the spot on top of the piano each year. It was my way of marking the Christmases he hadn’t been with us. Eventually, our girls noticed the Snowbaby collection was getting larger, and they saw the dates on the boxes as they unpacked them each Christmas, so I told them why I got one Snowbaby every year. Just one.

I don’t have a picture of my son because the camera in the hospital was broken, and it was before cell phones. And honestly, I couldn’t imagine having a picture of my lifeless son, because I was in such shock. Now, I see the beautiful pictures people have and know what a gift it is. I just have darling Snowbabies I set out every Christmas.

Another way I held my son for the past 21 years was by writing a letter to him each year on his birthday. I planned to keep writing, but stopping at his 21^st year seemed like the right time. Who knows, maybe I’ll write him on his decade years?

I’ve given myself freedom to change how I remember him.

I learned that the hard way. We received a lot of flowers and plants when Zach died. A lot. My best friend and I joked that those who really knew me, sent flowers because I wasn’t very good at keeping house plants alive, and no one expects you to keep flowers alive more than a few days. Every time a plant died, I felt sad. But I had one basket of plants that hung in there for nine years! I worked hard to keep it alive, and when it finally quit on me, it was hard. Weird, I know. Or is it? As Hope Moms, we hang on to anything and everything we can, don’t we?

I realized when the plant died that it was okay to let some things go. My son’s grave is in another city I rarely visit. I do not have a picture of him I can display. The most important thing I can hang on to is the memory of having my son in my womb and in my arms for those brief minutes after delivery. 

I will forever hold him in my heart —and that is the most important thing I can do to remember him. 

Dear Hope Mom, I encourage you to find a special way to remember your child, but I also encourage you to give yourself the freedom to let some of those things go as time goes on. Just because we may stop writing letters, releasing balloons or, for me, buying a collectible, it doesn’t mean we forget or are no longer honoring them. We will never forget our children; and we will forever hold them in our hearts. Give yourself the freedom to create a tradition of remembrance and the freedom to let it go.

P.S. This year it felt to me like 25 Snowbabies will be enough. I’ll let you know how that goes in two more years.

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Shelly D. Templin is an author, speaker and blogger that shares a message of hope—with humor. She has three daughters, a son-in-law, and a granddaughter. Shelly lives in Texas with her husband, Jack, of 29 years and their two dogs.

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