Mirari’s Celebration of Life Service
For our first wedding anniversary last year, Vinayak planned a surprise trip for us. The first stop was a cemetery. He took me to a high hill where you could see the hundreds of grave markers, neatly organized into perfect rows along the lush green grass. He opened up to Ecclesiastes and read to me how fleeting everything in life was. He explained that he wanted us to remember that in just under a hundred years, we too would be buried in cemeteries like this, and all the worries we had around work, the stresses of the day to day – they would all die with us. And that in light of that, he wanted us to root our marriage and our lives in the lasting and deeper things of life, to live meaningfully and intentionally in whatever and however God calls us to.
Little did we know that just 10 days after our second wedding anniversary, we’d again be at a cemetery. This time, we were laying the body of our baby boy into his grave. I suppose it is both fitting and ironic that all our future wedding anniversaries will be spent at a cemetery, and that we will always be remembering the fleeting nature of life, the inevitable sorrows of life, in the midst of the joy of celebrating our wedding anniversary and the joy of celebrating the birth and precious life of our baby boy. Birth, marriage, and death – milestones that bring the greatest happiness and deepest grief, and for Vinayak and me, we will be celebrating in the midst of the grieving and grieving in the midst of the celebrating for the years to come as all three milestones are within days of each other.
Our baby boy, Mirari, was born and passed away on May 7, two days after our wedding anniversary, May 5. Mirari’s memorial and burial service took place a week later on May 15.
It’s incredibly surreal to pick out a burial place and plan a memorial service for a baby you just gave birth to. I’ve been to many memorial services, but it wasn’t until I was planning one that I realized the jarring similarities it had to planning a wedding. So many of the questions I was asking, the things we were deciding, and the program we were putting into place were either exactly the same or reminiscent of the things I was asking and planning just two years ago for our wedding.
First, it’s selecting the location. Whether it’s a wedding venue or a burial site, the questions are the same because one is about the ambiance of your wedding, the other is the ambiance of the gravesite for when you visit. Do you want an outdoor location or indoor location? What is the scenery you’re hoping for – trees and nature? Or clear lush green plains? Under shade? Or out in the open? And of course, prices differ based on the ambiance you’re hoping for. Then there’s the guest list – family only or include friends? With weddings, there’s a color scheme for the bridal party; with funerals, typically everyone wears black, but we decided to wear blue for our little boy. Then there’s the selecting and ordering of the flowers. Wedding flowers include the bridal bouquet, bridesmaids’ flowers, boutonniere, and centerpieces. Funeral flowers include standing sprays, the casket spray, and floral tributes. The details of ordering the flowers are exactly the same – what type of flowers to include, what color, what style of arrangement, what size, etc.
Then there’s the wedding and memorial service programs, which are very similar. For both, we selected worship songs, we decided who would give speeches, we decided on the theme of the message – for weddings, the Bible verses center around the beauty, purpose, and future hope of marriage; for funerals, the Bible verses center around the beauty and purpose achieved by the life lived and the future hope, and we decided on a photographer. Luckily, one of the photographers for our wedding was available and willing to photograph Mirari’s memorial service – it felt fitting that we’d have the same photographer for our most joyful and sorrowful moments. There’s a funeral coordinator vs. a wedding coordinator. And with both ceremonies, you receive a certificate – wedding certificate or death certificate.
The most striking comparison though is in the procession at the end of the ceremonies. The wedding procession out is the most joyful part of the ceremony; you’re officially married and as you walk out, you’re just beaming with so much joy and hope in beginning your marriage. The memorial service procession out was the hardest part of the service. I had not been prepared at all for how hard that was – to walk behind Vinayak and watch as he carried the tiny 24-inch white casket bearing our little boy’s body from the chapel to the hearse outside, a hearse much too large and never intended for carrying such a small casket. The whole time, walking behind Vinayak, I could not help but mourn that this was not how I had ever envisioned our experience of parenthood to be, that my husband shouldn’t be carrying our son’s body out in a tiny casket to be buried, but he should instead be carrying our son out to play in an infant carrier. One procession so full of joy and hope, the other so full of heartbreak and sorrow.
Weddings and memorial services – so many similarities. Both are celebrations in their own ways. One is the celebration of the beginning of something beautiful, the other the celebration and remembering of the ending of something beautiful. They both mark life milestones, a transition from one stage of life to the next. In both, Christians find that they are pointed to the gospel. Marriage points to the story of the gospel, and memorial services point to the hope we have in the gospel. And joy is found in both, yes, even in the memorial service in the midst of the sorrow and surreal nature of burying a child.
There was joy that our little boy never knew suffering. Joy that his life has already impacted so many. Joy for all the memories we were intentionally able to make with him while he was still with us. Joy for all the valuable life lessons his unique life imparted to us. Joy that though the separation hurts so much for those of us still living earthside, we have the blessed hope that we will one day meet again. And joy that Vinayak and I loved and parented him as faithfully and obediently to God as we could – a joy that comes from having no regrets because we loved Mirari wholly and sacrificially, with our very selves, and the pain we feel is but a confirmation of how great a love we bestowed on him.
And that is why though we usually refer to the funeral service as a memorial service, Vinayak and I chose to see it instead as a celebration of Mirari’s life, as a celebration of all that happened because of Mirari and all that will continue to transpire because of the life of our little fighter. Hence, coincidentally, though we did not share beforehand with each other what we wrote, both of the speeches we gave shared the theme of reflecting on and celebrating the value Mirari brought into our lives.
Vinayak’s letter to Mirari –
My dear baby boy, Mirari Eden Agarwal, our firstborn son. I vividly remember the night your mom and I first found out about you – our joy knew no bounds. Since then, you became both the answer to and the subject of our prayers. You were the latest miracle in your parents’ miraculous story and we were riding a high tide. As you grew, so did my plans of all the things I wanted to do with you – plans to fly you to India in the comfort of business class, plans to make both sets of your grandparents chase after you in lush green fields, plans to see you play and trouble your three cousins, plans to wake you up early morning every morning because your mommy does not like to get up early, plans to plop you on your mommy’s face when she would not get up early in the morning, plans to go to Nations every Saturday morning to enjoy their moderately good breakfast, plans to take a hike in the Coyote Hills Park in your fancy stroller on sunny weekends to soak in the warmth of the sun, plans to record your every move, every laugh, every talk, plans to read the Bible to you and learn from you every day, plans to plant beautiful green leaves and flowering plants in our backyard, plans to tuck you in bed and kiss you into your dreams every night, and plans to help you with your Science and Maths homework because even though your mother has a masters degree in Maths, sometimes she has trouble doing simple mathematical operations.
When we found out about your diagnosis in December, in our heartbreak, we realized that God had different plans for us with your life. My earthly plans started to reshape themselves into heavenly opportunities. While at that time we didn’t know what those opportunities would be, looking back from where I stand now, we saw glimpses of those opportunities all along.
First, opportunity to bring joy and hope to other families with love and generosity, especially when they are experiencing grief or in seemingly hopeless situations. Your mother and I were absolutely overwhelmed with how many people, and in many cases, unexpectedly, reached out to us when they found out about your condition, overwhelmed with how many people supported our decision to nurture your life and give you the best chance to live a long life on earth, and overwhelmed by the hundreds of people who prayed for you. We got to know some of these amazing people along this journey and inspired by them and by your life, I promise you that our relationships and our posture towards them will be a better reflection of our Godly calling. I am not sure if your mommy has already told you this, but I want to congratulate you on becoming an Instagram celebrity, a feat that neither your mom or I could achieve.
Second, opportunity to immerse ourselves in intimacy with God. When we found out about your diagnosis, we completely immersed ourselves in silence and prayer, reading, writing, questioning and listening to God. Because of you, your mother and I were able to realize an intimacy with God that we had been actively praying for for years. Your mother and I believe that God is living, that he cares, and that he is actively shaping our lives and we know that you share the same hunger and burning desire for Godly wisdom because when we first read the Bible to you aloud after your diagnosis, you leapt inside mommy’s womb with joy and ecstasy. Since that day, we have continued to read the Bible aloud to you, and you had not disappointed us with your powerful kicks. Even though throughout this journey, we had numerous prayer requests and questions that God hasn’t answered yet, I have come to accept that we might not have all the answers we seek and that more importantly, the answers to these questions are not required for me to believe in Him. Inspired by how you have brought us closer to God in this journey so far, we promise you that your mother and I will seek a kind of unique, incomprehensible, and deeply rooted faith that is commensurate in magnitude with the magnitude of your sacrifice.
Third, opportunity to share your God-created story with the world. If there is one thing I want you to remember from this letter, it is this – that you were you were fearfully and wonderfully created, that as crazy as it sounds, God clearly and specifically told your mother and I to nurture your life, that we will forever be grateful that God chose us to be your parents my precious boy, and that your life limiting diagnosis never diminished in any way how much we loved you, how much we wanted to bring you home, and how much we fed you. On the contrary, we tried to bundle as much love as we humanly could and we packaged you with the food we liked best, and when you came out, we could see that it had the same effect on you as it has on your dad – chubby cheeks and double chin.
Fourth, opportunity for me to see your mother as a warrior. I will forever be indebted to you for allowing me to see a new side of your mother, a side that is not just physically strong, but also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually strong. Your mother, who loves sleeping, would wake up in the middle of night and stay up for as long as she would feel your kicks every night – sometimes for over an hour. At any given opportunity, your mommy would sit in a quiet corner and pray for you. Your mom would get concerned when she wouldn’t feel your kicks and immediately ask to switch all the food so that you get the variety of food you need in order to start kicking again. I would always find your mom seeing you slide and swipe your juicy feet around her belly. During labor, protecting your life was always at the back of her mind and despite being in crushing pain, your mom would stubbornly refuse to take the pain medication for as long as she could, because of how it would affect you; as a result, she gave birth to you without the epidural. After you were born, your mom had the most difficult time leaving you behind in the hospital – she kept holding you, kissing you, smelling you, talking to you, and admiring your adorable features, and I already know that between your mom and I, your mom will take the longest time to process not having you with us at home. You brought out the best I have seen in your mom so far and she continues to inspire me with her courage, love for you, and resilience.
I want to share a poem that resonated with me –
I will be still, my bruised heart faintly murmured,
As o’er me rolled a crushing load of woe;
My words, my cries, e’en my low moan was stifled;
I pressed my lips; I barred the tear drop’s flow.
I will be still, although I cannot see it,
The love that bares a soul and fans pain’s fire;
That takes away the last sweet drop of solace,
Breaks the lone harp string, hides Thy precious lyre.
But God is love, so I will stay me, stay me,—
We’ll doubt not, Soul, we will be very still;
We’ll wait till after while, when He will lift us —
Yes, after while, when it will be His will.
And I did listen to my heart’s brave promise;
And I did quiver, struggling to be still;
And I did lift my tearless eyes to Heaven,
Repeating ever, “Yes, Christ, have Thy will.”
But soon my heart spoke up from ‘neath our burden,
Rebuked my tight-drawn lips, my face so sad:
“We can do more than this, O Soul,” it whispered.
“We can be more than still, we can be glad!”
And now my heart and I are sweetly singing —
Singing without the sound of tuneful strings;
Drinking abundant waters in the desert,
Crushed, and yet soaring as on eagle’s wings.
– S.P.W. (From March 20th of Streams in the Desert)
Mirari – your mom and I are going to miss you every day, and even though death is the destiny we all share, thanks be to God, we hope to be reunited with you one day. With all the courage I can muster within me, I blow the winds of my love your way.
– Daddy
Christine’s sharing –
Mirari Eden – from the first day we found out that God had gifted us a child to the day we finally met him – it was pure joy to know him, to carry him, and to sustain him, and it was a privilege to parent him with Vinayak.
My favorite quote in this time has been the following:
People ask: ‘why do children or young people die, when they have lived so little?’ How do you know that they have lived so little? This crude measure of yours is time, but life is not measured in time. As the measure of length is inapplicable to the meaning (or greatness) of productions of wisdom or poetry, so – even more evidently – is it inapplicable to life. How do you know what inner growth this soul accomplished in its short span, and what influence it had upon others?
Commonly attributed to Leo Tolstoy
This quote holds so true for our dear boy – his life may have been short, but it was monumental in influence and impact.
Mirari taught me about motherhood – the pure joy that comes from growing and caring for a little one within you, and how much sacrifice and submission is required – there will always be fears, perhaps more so in our case than in others, but that is part of parenting, that is part of loving someone other than yourself so much and so deeply that it’s as if your heart really does live within someone else and not in you anymore. But it’s beautiful to feel a love so real and a love so deep. Motherhood is about sacrifice – but there is so much joy in the sacrifice: all the discomforts of pregnancy were a joy to go through because it was done in light of keeping Mirari safe, keeping him strong, and giving him the best chance to meet us alive.
Mirari taught me about the delicate coexistence of joy and sorrow – that even in intense sorrow over not being able to bring him home and watch him grow up, there can be such intense joy in feeling his movements, in having time with him, in meeting him, and in finally holding him and inspecting him ever so thoroughly. It’s crazy how much joy I feel in looking at his photos, in remembering his life, and it’s crazy how much love and impact this little boy has had on my heart and my life. I would not trade it for anything.
Mirari taught me about the beauty of marriage – I watched Vinayak become the most amazing husband and father – he advocated for Mirari’s life from beginning to end. He handled the most intense conversations with doctors with such grace, conviction, and strength. When I was sad or felt scared to push doctors too much, he would push forward and with both strength and gentleness advocate for the best care possible for both me and Mirari. Marriage isn’t just a partnership but a sacrifice – a laying of one’s life down for another. And through Mirari, I saw this beautiful side to marriage, to Vinayak – Mirari is the luckiest boy with such an amazing father who sacrificed so much for him, and I am so blessed to walk this journey of life with him.
Mirari taught me about strength & resilience – there were so many things I feared and so many things I had no idea if I could really go through with. But I did. Mirari taught me that love really can give strength to face one’s fears. I hate needles, and yet I got through each thing I thought I could not get through – an amniocentesis, two IVs, all the bloodwork. I got through childbirth. I met my son alive, and I said goodbye to him, all in the same day. All incredibly unimaginable things that I did not know if I could have the strength to go through, and yet, because of Mirari, because of the inexplicable love I have for this little boy who didn’t do anything for me but simply exist, I did it all. Mirari taught me that we are stronger than we know, and the strength that is needed can be found when the moment comes.
Mirari taught me about faith and God. There were a lot of ‘whys’ in this journey, a lot of angry and sad nights when I wondered why I had to lose my son, the baby I so very much wanted. But I was reminded that God Himself gave up his own Son for our sake, and though I may never know or understand why we had to go through this, I am comforted that God is no stranger to loss, to heartbrokenness, and to sorrow – that He does not put me through something He himself has not gone through. He is not a God who stands far off in our sorrow and difficulties, but He steps into our experiences, He’s walked this path before, and He continues to walk this path with us. Through Mirari’s life, I learned that so much of life, the Christian life, and God cannot be nicely fit into theology, into cliché faith statements, that the more I experience in life, the more I realize that there is no theology for any of this, the more I understand why God doesn’t really explain much in the Bible, He simply demonstrates – He lived out a human life with all its sufferings and challenges so that we know that no matter what we go through, no matter how incomprehensible something is, we know that He truly knows. That He understands. That He can handle our frustrations and our anger. That faith is not endless optimism or putting on a happy face, but that faith is going back to God repeatedly, even in anger and frustration, like Job did.
My dear sweet boy Mirari – thank you for making me a mom. It was an absolute joy, privilege, and honor to carry you and to know you. You were always the sweetest little fighter. Every night, I’d tap you every few hours because I’d worry about you, and you’d always nudge back and wiggle a bit, relieving me of my fears and instead filling me with such joy that you were nestled so safely inside. You always gave the mightiest kicks and would make happy circles with your feet when you liked what I ate – and you were so picky! You did not like leftovers, just like your dad. I loved how responsive you were to your dad’s voice, shoving and pushing and kicking all over the place, and yet you’d go so instantly still when your dad would try to feel you and you’d make him wait for it. I believe you felt the Holy Spirit within you because whenever we prayed for you, you’d move so actively. You were such a strong fighter – at each ultrasound giving a strong heartbeat, showing off your active and strong nature for the doctor, staying so vibrantly alive until 41 weeks, and finally even making it through a very long labor – I am so proud of you, Mirari, for beating so many odds, for making it into our arms alive, and for holding on so that you could hear our voices outside and feel our love and warmth for you. I will always wish for more time with you, but I know we will meet again one day, and there will be no more tears and no more sorrow, and I will once again smother your adorable chubby cheeks with all the kisses in the world. I love you so much, baby boy, and I will always miss you. You will forever be our special little boy, our firstborn son.
Mirari's Birth Story
