The garden no longer felt scary.
It felt sacred.
Someone had gathered all that sadness and brought it together.
However, none of the letters explained why.
As I approached another stroller, I heard a car door close behind me.
I turned around.
Several neighbors were standing along the sidewalk, looking at the grass.
More vehicles stopped by the curb.
People started getting off them.
Entire families.
An older woman walked forward.
—Kate?
I nodded.
—My name is Linda. I left the little blue car.
I looked in that direction.
Linda smiled at me sadly.
Another woman raised her hand.
"The pink one was my daughter's," she said. "She lived for six weeks."
A man approached a green stroller and stopped next to it.
One after another, people moved forward.
Each person identified the stroller they had brought and the child who had once owned it.
I realized I was surrounded not only by strollers, but by dozens of parents who had suffered the same unbearable loss.
After everyone had finished speaking, I asked the question I most needed answered.
—I don't understand… Why bring them all here?
Linda smiled.
—Yesterday Elena came to the community resource center. She kept talking about the woman who had emptied her son's room so that another baby could have a chance.
He gestured towards the grass.
—We're all part of a monthly support group. When I told the others what you did for Elena, each of us went home and opened a closet we'd been avoiding.
Linda pointed to the wrapped packages.
Then a silver family car pulled up next to the curb.
Thomas left with a manila folder.
He froze when he saw the garden.
"What...?" He peered across the grass. "What is this?"
Linda answered before I could speak.
Thomas frowned.
-I don't understand.
"You wouldn't understand," I said, running my fingers over a baby blanket. "You left before I could."
He stared at me.
