Posted on 04/27/2003 8:14:01 AM PDT by miltonim
Local cemetery monument memorializes babies who were lost to miscarriage and abortion
If the premature twins had survived, they would have been Carmen Andrew's older sisters.
Carmen never had a chance to know them, and yet they were a part of her life and a source of sadness in the home.
"There was this unspoken undercurrent in our family," says Carmen of the infant girls who were delivered in Oregon in the 1930s. "Mom always mourned them."
As soon as she had learned she was carrying twins, Helen Andrew pondered names and decided if the babies were girls, they would be Beverly and Barbara.
The pregnancy was difficult, and the umbilical cord of one of the twins had become wrapped around the neck of the other. Neither baby survived, "and the tragic thing," Carmen says, "is they were disposed of. Mom never had a chance to bury them."
Whether because of "the times" or her father's great difficulty in dealing with the loss, there was no service, no interment, and no marker. There was no closure, and Helen grieved over the lost children until her own death.
But now Beverly and Barbara have a symbolic resting place, and their names are carved into granite. The names are joined by dozens of other first names on a tall slab of black and gray granite that bears a haunting image of a sad-eyed woman who is kneeling and holding roses in her hands.
Other sets of twins are represented there, as are single babies whose names reflect thought and love. They include Kay'la, Joshua, Faith, Patrick, Selah, Kameryn, Jamilee, Jesop, Gabriel, Jordan, Sydney, Jeremiah, and Christian.
The emblem is a tribute to babies who, for one reason or another, were lost -- usually in early pregnancy. Most hadn't previously been named, and have no grave to visit.
At the top of this 6-foot monument -- the Memorial of Names in St. Louis Cemetery off South Main Street -- are the words, "I will never forget you."
The edifice, which is at the rear of the cemetery, is intended to give mothers (and fathers) a chance to name their child and have a place to come and honor that child. There are benches available, and soon there will be landscaping that will provide privacy.
Some who have called Holy Name Church and requested that a name be added to the memorial have experienced miscarriages. Some have had abortions. The Rev. Ed Bradley, Holy Name pastor, said most calls or letters are anonymous "and we never ask how the baby was lost. Every case is unique and has its own circumstances, and we never pry."
Occasionally people tell him, "Now, I'm not Catholic," and he assures them that doesn't matter in the least. The monument, donated by Henry & Henry Monuments, is strictly ecumenical and there is no charge for the engraved name.
For those who wish it, there is a private, free service at the memorial to acknowledge the baby's name and have prayer.
Carmen, who spearheaded the project here, said though it's been almost 70 years since Beverly and Barbara died, she needed the sense of closure for what felt like "unfinished business."
Father Bradley said the monument "is a good way to help people deal with grief." It is, he said, a form of ministry and healing and a way of saying, "Yes, this child was real." At the base of the marker are a number of ceramic angels and rabbits that have been left there by caring visitors.
The memorial is a facet of "Project Rachel," which was begun by the Catholic Church in 1984 and has spread throughout the U.S. The project primarily is a post-abortion ministry, but the Diocese of Owensboro has chosen to also include those who have suffered loss through miscarriage.
The effort is named after the biblical Rachel, who was said in the book of Jeremiah to mourn her children. "She refuses to be consoled because her children are no more. Thus says the Lord: Cease your cries of mourning, wipe the tears from your eyes. The sorrow you have shown shall have its reward. There is hope for the future."
The monument, which soon will be dedicated, eventually will be accessible via a driveway off South Green Street, in addition to the lanes that wind through the cemetery.
Noting that Mother's Day is approaching, Carmen said, "I feel I've done something for my mother. It feels good. It feels right."
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