Did you go to your hospital's memorial service for the babies who didn't make it? I'm still trying to figure out if I want to go tomorrow. I posted this question on my blog, too.

I've talked about it with the grief counselor, and for the most part the nursing care I got at the hospital was wonderful. Though I didn't wind up delivering there (administrative glitch), they still consider me part of the community.

If you did go, what was it like? What did they do? Were you glad you went? Did you wish you hadn't? Any advice if we do go? Other thoughts?

I know it seems like a small thing to discuss here, or maybe it goes in another thread, but for some reason I just can't seem to decide. Or maybe there's something else going on.

I just don't know. I appreciate any thoughts people might want to share on the topic.

Below are two excerpts from my blog (sodearandyetsofar.blospot.com) talking about my experience wit the memorial service -- I'm still sort of ambivalent about it, but I don't know if that's because it wasn't right for me, or because I'm still (or again) kind of numb. Sorry this is kind of long.

>>I decided to go to the service. I really didn't decide until this morning. Last night, C said he really didn't want to go. He had his own way, his own plan to memorialize the boys. And if there was threat of "god talk," he didn't want it.

It was good that he didn't go. There was plenty of god talk. Four or five readings. J, my grief counselor, was there, handing out the programs and the readings. She's so good. She knew not to give me one with the religious readings. There was one verse about Nathan and seeing his dead son or something? I don't know, I just hear in my head "seeing his son dead," "seeing my dead son." Christ on a bike. Oh, and my favorite bit was "blessed are the mourners." Blessed? What?? How did I get so lucky to be blessed? The minister said he had a stillborn son. He talked about grieving his mother, a cousin who died when they were both eight. Blessed?

I really don't understand. I mean, I guess I understand, but I really don't appreciate it. Screw you. Bless this.

And I know C would have stalked off cursing. It just made me cry more. I got through the service, there were other parts that were okay. The reading of names (as requested by parents) was very sad. I didn't rsvp so they didn't read the boys' names. If they had, I would have just been a freaking, sobbing mess. J, who lost a little girl at 20 weeks almost 30 years ago, handed out white roses. People placed them on stones. She gave me two roses, one for each of my sons. I didn't place them. I didn't want to let go of them. One of the nurses sang, someone brought a therapy dog. It was nice to see people, but so sad, too. Someone said this was the biggest turnout they'd had in a long time. Some there were older sibs of a lost baby. There were probably 3 kids around 7 to 10 years old.

Because I was alone, J came and stood with me for parts of the service, put her arm around me and we both cried. Before and after the service, she (re)introduced me to the nurses who attended. A couple of them were familiar, a few weren't. She introduced me by saying my name, and that my due date is tomorrow (I actually had a few different due dates). It was weird. Several of the nurses came straight from their shift. There were no doctors there.

One of the nurses, Sara, greeted me with a genuine hug. She had taken care of me one of the days we had come back to the hospital, when I was afraid I was going into labor (I wasn't) and she spent a lot of time with us that day, just talking with us. When her shift ended that day, she had said something very sweet about us being a wonderful couple, and that it was an honor for her to be with us during this time. When we had come back, thinking we were going to be able to induce here at our local hospital, Sara was on duty, and asked to be our nurse for the delivery. She was so so sweet. Today, when I told her about my sister, she closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. She remembered something my dad had talked about the day of the almost-induction almost 5 months ago. Very personal, very kind.<<

>>The memorial service made me cry. It made me sad, made me realize, again, that my boys are gone. But it didn't really touch me. The level (and choice) of religiosity in it distracted me. But even the last bit, when they read the poem, where the group (not me) said "we will remember them" after every line. It made me cry. It made me feel worse. I told my dad I guessed that I was glad that I went, at least I wouldn't wonder. Maybe in time I will be able to appreciate the service, but right now I just don't know.<<

Thanks, bonnie, janis and kate for your responses. And for this place.

Thanks for updating us, STE. I already read your blog entry before this but so good for others who come later to hear of your experience.
I think the religious aspect of it might be why I hesitated and decided not to go. I know it offers comfort for many others, just not me.
Still, it's good they do such things. Obviously many people need that and find solace.

Janis, I agree: the religious aspect can provide great comfort for others -- it just doesn't do it for me. The grief counselor said they usually get about 15 or 20 people each year, and every year people are invited back. It's a local hospital, with maybe 400 or 500 births a year, if that, so there is not a ton of loss. Seems to help some there. I thought it was particularly interesting that none of the doctors nor the midwife showed for the service, just the nurses (several of whom came straight from their 12 hour shift or on their day off).

I think the fact that the OB grief counselor/nurse has experienced a 20-week loss (back when they told the moms and families to just forget about the baby) is particularly helpful to me. She coordinates the service with the head nurse; J doesn't seem to be religious herself, but much of the community is, so I would think that it's helpful to many who attend.

I'm chiming in late because I just found this question and had a different experience.

I have been to two hospital memorial services for my son: one at the hospital where he was treated in the NICU and later died, and one at the hospital where he had his heart surgery and then spent most of the last three months of his life. I was glad I went to both.

I didn't find either particularly religious, though perhaps that's because I'm not bothered by such things. One included readings from a number of faiths along with many nonreligious readings and songs. The other had nonreligious readings and songs. A woman from my bereavement group was asked to speak and was told that her first choice of a reading was too religious because it mentioned god and a soul. That service did end with comments by one of the hospital chaplains, but otherwise included all secular pieces.At both services doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff attended and participated.

The two services affected me differently, perhaps in part because of when they happened and where I was in my grieving and in part because of my relationship to the two hospitals.The first service happened about three months after my son died. It was an exhausting and emotional experience; the next day I was wiped out. The second service happened about five months after Henry died, on his birthday. At first I wasn't sure I wanted to go, especially because it was his birthday, but it turned out to be a good way to honor him. We planted a tree in the morning and drove two hours to the memorial service in the evening. We knew a lot of people at the second memorial service--other parents and the facilitators from our grief group, a couple we had met while Henry was in the hospital, and a lot of staff, including one of my all time favorite nurses. I lived at that hospital with Henry for three months and when we left we assumed we'd be back for follow-up visits. Going back, seeing some of the people who had cared for him and helped me during that long hard time was definitely part of why the second memorial was helpful to me.

We haven't had any kind of a service, partly because religion is problematic, partly because somehow I don't feel ready yet. I keep thinking this will be another of the unfinished things in my life, like the garden we were going to plant for the first baby I lost, it never got to be more than a drawing on paper. I look out the window and see a foundation dug but stones only halfway around the garden we've made for Aeryn, too. I need time to stop for a while so I can grieve, I need some kind of ending but coming up with an epitaph for a life that was so short - I'm not sure I can reduce this to a few phrases, and then to ponder whether you come round once and go nowhere, go to some abstract other life, or come back round again - it's too much to handle right now.