We avoid thinking about or dealing with death at every turn.

Even caregivers who are caring for their aging parents try not to think about the inevitable end.

Cancer, Alzheimer’s, heart disease, stroke, diabetes, combined with age will eventually claim the lives of those we love. And sadly, by not fully anticipating and participating in this momentous event, we’re left scared, in doubt, and not knowing how to die–or be with someone we love when the time comes.

Who will teach us? How will we learn?

I recently interviewed a Rachel, a young mother in my community who experienced a tragedy–she lost her two year old little boy, Tyler, in a swimming pool accident.

As I sat with Rachel and listened to her story, I immediately sensed she had wisdom and insight well beyond her years. She’s handled grief with grace, forgiveness, and determination.

My own worries seemed insignificant.

Rachel’s story got me to thinking.

How will we remember our loved ones?

What memorial, statue, headstone or story will honor those who have touched our lives?

While I have nothing against cremation, sometimes people need a place to go–it’s important to create a sanctuary or sorts–a place to be, to pray, to think and meditate.

A place to remember.

My Daddy is buried in Atlanta, and so this Father’s Day, I’ve had to create a new place for “us” to meet and talk.

I like to spend a few minutes catching up with my daddy about my life.

I have a bench overlooking a lake in my backyard. He would have liked it here. He loved to sit outside and talk.

That’s where I’m headed this Sunday.

I’m including an article I recently wrote about Rachel and a place of remembrance for all those who have lost someone they love.

As you read her remarkable story, I’m sure you’ll agree–we can all learn from her–how to love, and how to hope again.

Angels Among Us

There’s an angel on Amelia Island. The childlike face lifts toward the sky, arms outstretched as though holding something invisible, and bronzed wings gleam against the stark Florida sun. The inscription at the bottom of the statue reads, “Angel of Hope.” It is encircled by a short brick wall and eight benches for seating with a loved one’s name on each one.

I found this “Angel of Hope” one afternoon on a photography/bike trek around the island. I stopped to take a picture and began to read:

The inscription on the back of the statue reads, “The Christmas Box Angel,” and I thought of Richard Paul Evans’ book, The Christmas Box, about a woman who mourns the loss of her child and finds comfort at the base of an angel monument.

At the base of the angel I read, “For all the children” and began to put it together the benches, the names, the stones lined up at the base, the bouquet of flowers indicating someone had been here.

This angel is a place of remembrance for families who have lost a child. It’s a sacred gift given by other bereaved parents and is available to anyone who would like to come, sit, and remember.

I thought of Tyler, a purely sweet loving laid-back two-year old with beautiful big brown eyes, the son of Rachel and Patrick Pennewell. I remembered the day I found out Tyler had suffered a swimming pool accident.

Rachel, his mother told me, “Tyler was our angel. He had a purpose in being here. Sometimes I would just look at him. He was such a calm, knowing soul, and I’d wonder, you know something, don?t you? Some things be understood here on earth.”

After Tyler’s passing, Rachel and Patrick found the community of Nassau to be their angels who sustained them in those early weeks and months when shock turned to grief.

“I’ll never be able to thank the people at our church and in our community for all they did. How can I ever show them what this meant to us?”

Rachel said it’s so important for bereaved parents to find ways to give back because, “What else can we do? You don’t stop being a parent. You have to find a way to give, and in that giving, your child lives on.”

I asked Rachel how she got to a place of peace.

“Tyler’s life completely transformed the way I saw myself, and that lives on today. He brought such peace into my life, from the moment of conception on; it was as if he had a mission. Patrick and I now have a second child, Hannah, Tyler’s little sister. I promise, Tyler helped pick her out. In so many ways, he’s still with us. He’ll always be with us.”

As I stand in this circle and read the names on each of the benches that surround this angel, I wonder who each one of them are, what their stories are, because it’s our stories that connect us–not the how did-he-die stories–but the deeper question: how did he live?

This Amelia angel creates a circle of hope; the hope and belief that each child’s life, no matter how short of a time they spent on earth, is a gift. If you look closely at the angel’s right wing, you will see the word “hope.”

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us

and we see nothing but sand;

the angels come to visit us,

and we only know them when they are gone.

~George Elliot

Christmas Box Angels are erected in more than 25 other communities around the world. http://www.richardpaulevans.com/statue.html

If you’d like to view a photograph of this statue, it’s posted on my website at http://home.comcast.net/~cdodell/?(www.mothering-mother.com) on the Caregiving Tips page.

~Carol D. O’Dell

Author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter’s Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com