Side note: I almost gave up on this post because I started writing it in December and felt it was kind of late to finish and post it. But I felt prompted that this needed to be shared. I hope it can help someone.
The year we lost Alma, I had a difficult time figuring out what to get him for Christmas, or if we should get him anything at all. Our home felt empty and with the holidays right around the corner, grief was even more constant and present. I couldn't bear the thought of not getting Alma anything and pretending we never had a child. I needed something to fill the part of my heart that was homesick for Alma.
A couple of weeks before we left for the long drive to Arizona I was at Walmart doing some Christmas shopping. After picking up a few things, I began wandering up and down the aisles looking for something - anything - I could buy to give me even a tiny glimpse of my baby boy. I rounded a corner and began pushing my cart alongside a shelf filled with scented candles. I stopped and picked up a few to test their scent and as I held one small candle in my hand, the thought came to me that
this is what I could get for Alma - a light. A flame of hope that could break through the darkness of my despair and grief and provide a warm glow in my heart and home once again. It seemed such a little thing, but it felt perfect.
I came home with my treasure, tied a ruby red ribbon around it, and placed it under our lit Christmas tree. When Jayze came home, I told him of my idea, and we decided we needed two candles - one to remind us of Alma and the other to symbolize our Savior Jesus Christ, who is the light of the world. This was the start of a new tradition in our home.
Fast forward one year and we were celebrating our first Christmas with just Jayze, me, and our rainbow baby, Aidan. Aidan turned 3 months old on Christmas, and I was excited to shop for his Christmas presents. Yet, it was hard too because I knew we were still missing a part of our family. As I shopped, the thought kept coming to me that we needed something more than the candles to help in the healing process. Something to help more than just me and my family. Something we could do for someone else. Something we could do to give back and to teach Aidan the value of his older brother's life and the healing and love that comes from serving other people. Service really is love.
After looking at different websites and blogs, I realized I could give something back. What was really special and sacred to Jayze and me as we held Alma in our arms was not just our child, but the generosity and love of other people. Blankets were donated, as well as matching child/mom bracelets and necklaces. Services like photos of Alma, casts made of his hands and feet, and the traditional footprints and hand prints were offered that day and are things I cherish more than I thought I ever would. Things I didn't think about because grief only allowed me to think about one thing at a time, but things others did think about. Without even realizing it at the time, I realize now that others were there to meet my needs and my family's needs and I wanted to do that for someone else - even if it was just meeting a simple or small need.
So that year I decided to make a blanket to donate to the hospital for stillborns. A white, crocheted one similar to the one Alma had at the hospital.
And I did crochet a blanket - one that was cried over and stitched together with a grief and longing and love that comes from deep within after losing someone you love. After we donated it, I was glad and felt peace and some healing, but I also started thinking that maybe I should do something else the next Christmas because it was
so hard working on a blanket I knew was meant for a dead baby. As I crocheted, I seemed to physically feel the pain I knew other couples or mothers would feel holding their sweet baby angel in their arms, and I was almost overcome with the grief I imagined them feeling intertwined with my own grief.
As soon as Thanksgiving was over this year, I began writing up Christmas shopping lists. The thought to make another blanket to donate crossed my mind, but I brushed it aside thinking it would be too hard emotionally and the candles would suffice this year.
But I think the man upstairs had something up his sleeve because when I was out Christmas shopping, it was almost like my body wasn't its own. It found its way to the yarn aisle, and stood there as my mind contemplated which shade of white to choose. It had to be perfect. I picked up a skein, showed it to Aidan, and placed it in the cart along with the other Christmas things. I couldn't believe I had actually bought the yarn and tried to ignore it as I went about my daily tasks and Christmas planning. Finally, after a week of seeing it sitting on my dresser, I mentally threw my hands up in defeat and began looking for a simple baby blanket pattern.
The first few stitches were torture and I was already sobbing by the time the first row was done. I thought, "I can't do this! I don't want to do this. It's too hard. I should just let others who have never gone through losing a baby do it - it's a lot easier for them."
I took a break and throughout the day, I kept feeling prompted to keep working on the blanket. Keep crocheting. Keep going.
So, not knowing why I had to go through this, I did.
To keep my mind occupied, I looked up
Conversations on the
Mormon Channel and clicked on
Elder and Sister Holland's interview with Sheri Dew. My hands crocheted while my mind focused on the conversation. It worked! I worked faster and I wasn't crying anymore.
As I listened and worked, Sheri Dew played an excerpt from one of Elder Holland's general conference talks titled
"The Ministry of Angels." I actually stopped working, in awe that out of all of Elder Holland's talks, Sheri Dew picked one that fit what I was going through right then in that moment.
"My
beloved brothers and sisters, I testify of angels, both the heavenly
and the mortal kind. In doing so I am testifying that God never leaves
us alone, never leaves us unaided in the challenges that we face. '[N]or
will he, so long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there
shall be one man [or woman or child] upon the face thereof to be
saved.'
On occasions, global or personal, we may feel we are distanced
from God, shut out from heaven, lost, alone in dark and dreary places.
Often enough that distress can be of our own making, but even then the
Father of us all is watching and assisting. And always there are those
angels who come and go all around us, seen and unseen, known and
unknown, mortal and immortal."
"May we all believe more readily in, and have more gratitude
for, the Lord’s promise as contained in one of President Monson’s
favorite scriptures: 'I will go before your face. I will be on your
right hand and on your left, … my Spirit shall be in your [heart], and
mine angels round about you, to bear you up.'"
Tears came to my eyes once again as a sweet and tender spirit filled my heart. For the first time while donating to a cause so close to my heart, I felt joy. All of a sudden, my perspective changed and I could feel that I had been thinking about it in the wrong way. An image of a dead baby was no longer in my mind as I thought about what Elder Holland said - instead I saw a baby angel. A soul who had passed on but still lived! An angel like mine. And instead of grief and pain, I felt the same feelings I had in the hospital when I held Alma in my arms. Peace, love, joy. His happy spirit.
Crocheting the blanket no longer was a burden. Gone were the feelings of heartache and despair. Rather, it became a precious and sacred experience. It finally, truly, became the "something more" our family needed.
I know Heavenly Father is aware of my needs. He is aware of yours, too. When healing seems hard to come by, hang in there! It takes time and seems to come in increments (it has for me), so be patient with yourself and trust in God. He will not leave any of us comfortless.
