“Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.”

—W.S. Merwin

WHAT’S GOOD

Shine On, Little Lights — A Community Walk of Remembrance

This Saturday, November 15, from 3–6pm, Charis Park will host the SHINE ON Remembrance Run/Walk, a heartfelt gathering to honor and remember babies lost during pregnancy or infancy.

This event holds special meaning for our community. Many among us have walked the path of loss and we are honored to welcome our friends at the SHINE ON team as they lead this day of remembrance, reflection, and hope.

The theme this year—“Shine On, Little Lights”—celebrates the light each child brought into the world, no matter how brief their time. Families and friends will gather for a community walk, butterfly release, and moments of connection, healing, and shared love.

Event Details
Date: Saturday, November 15, 2025
Time: 3:00–6:00pm
Location: Charis Park, San Antonio

Registration includes a commemorative t-shirt and butterfly for release. Proceeds support Shine On, a nonprofit offering care and connection to families navigating loss.

Register for Shine On here.

A Life Defined — and Refined — by Grief

Amber Meegan, Director, Shine On, & Licensed Professional Counselor - Associate

I’ve been sitting with a question recently: Am I okay with my life being defined by grief?

Seventeen years ago, I delivered stillborn twin boys—Sean and Liam—on my birthday, October 10th (10-10). Over the years, I’ve shared this story many times, often wondering why that day of all days. In a recent conversation with a dear friend, I realized that if it had been any other day, I might have found ways to tuck it away, to move on quietly. But because that single date now holds both birth and death, I had no choice but to face it—raw and unguarded. Grief does this to us; it demands reflection. It asks why, challenges who we thought we were, and reshapes who we become.

And yet, when I pause to reflect, I can say with certainty that Sean and Liam have deeply defined—and refined—my life. Without them, I likely wouldn’t know the moms I share a soul connection with. I might never have gone back to school for counseling, or chosen to focus on grief as the heart of my work. When I first began therapy after their deaths, I thought I could approach grief the same way I approached every other challenge: with grit and determination. I thought I could “earn my A” in grief and move on unscathed. But grief doesn’t work that way. It isn’t conquered; it’s integrated. It becomes a part of who we are—woven in with the joy, the laughter, and the quiet moments of peace.

Over the years, my family has found ways to honor that integration. When my kids make me birthday cards, they include how old Sean and Liam would be. Last year, my oldest painted a canvas of me looking to the sky—my hair flowing, my gaze lifted—while angelic images of the twins watched from the clouds. Maybe that’s what healing really looks like: learning to look up, to carry both love and loss in the same breath.

This journey of grief has also led to beautiful connections. As many of you know, when you experience pregnancy or infant loss, you become part of a club you never wanted to join. But within that club are the most soul-stirring connections. Years ago, I met Jess Lowry and Taylor Bates through a shared coworking space that welcomed mission-aligned hearts. Before I ever heard the vision of Charis Park, I knew their stories—Ava and Ellis, their angel babies. We shared our heartaches and hopes, and I even had the chance to tell Sean and Liam’s story on Taylor’s Rainbow Baby Podcast.

In those early days, our paths ran parallel. They dreamed of turning an empty parking lot across from their church into a place of beauty and healing. Around the same time, I was helping bring Shine On to life. Though our timing didn’t align that first year, it now feels poetic that our paths have converged again—this time at Charis. Partnering with Jess and Taylor in that space isn’t just about a location; it’s about honoring how grief evolves, intertwines, and connects.

Grief can be the loneliest place in the world. But it can also be where we find the deepest sense of belonging. What a gift to bring all of this together—to share stories, spaces, and hearts that remind us that even through the hardest parts of our lives, we are never truly alone.