"Armies of Heaven"

This week (Saturday) is Alma's birthday. I've thought about it many times throughout the month, but it hasn't been like in the past where August 1-August 31 is hard. We've just been so busy with moving, Jayze starting law school, Aidan starting kindergarten, and so many other things that I hadn't had time to really sit down and think about Alma's birthday until this past weekend. I knew his birthday was coming up, and I hate waiting last minute, so I wanted a plan for Saturday so I would be prepared.

We talked about it with Aidan and Kimball yesterday during dinner, and decided that we're going to make a cake, maybe drive to the temple, and of course, serve someone (we always try to do some sort of service on Alma's birthday). I also might snag a candle from the store, and that will be that, I thought. It's going to be a great birthday.

Initially when we moved to Snowflake, the thought crossed my mind that we would actually be close to Alma's grave for his birthday this year. Then a couple of months later when we were accepted to law school and I saw the starting date, I realized that we actually weren't going to be there for Alma's birthday, and I was sad about it. "Aw well," I thought. "We can still celebrate from afar like we've always done." And that was that again.

But I woke up this morning, walked to the bathroom, saw that Jayze had written a beautiful quote by Jeffrey R. Holland on our bathroom mirror, and I lost it. 

 "In the gospel of Jesus Christ you have help from both sides of the veil, and you must never forget that. When disappointment and discouragement strike—and they will—you remember and never forget that if our eyes could be opened we would see horses and chariots of fire as far as the eye can see riding at reckless speed to come to our protection. They will always be there, these armies of heaven, in defense of Abraham's seed."

~Jeffrey R. Holland~

As I read that quote - When disappointment and discouragement strike - with tears burning my eyes and a sob caught in my throat, I thought about holding Alma. I thought about having to say goodbye SO many times and hating it. I thought about seeing the autopsy stitches all over his tiny body and feeling so badly for him, feeling like I failed as a mom. I thought about how I should have a 7-year-old going to school this year. I thought about having to explain to my kids that they have a brother in heaven, and since I haven't had the heart to show them pictures yet - I haven't felt like it's the right time yet - they don't quite understand the concept. I thought about how we just had to bury their Papa this year and Alma being gone is just another reminder that another person we love isn't here. The concept of how anyone can die at any moment has been a struggle for me, let alone teaching it to my kids and having them see it firsthand. 

I guess I just didn't realize how much I was struggling. "I'm beautiful. I'm strong. I can do this," I've been telling myself since our last couple of weeks in Kansas. And this past weekend regarding Alma's birthday, "It's okay. I feel a little bit sad, but I'm strong. I got this."

It's important to say that to myself - it helps me get through. But in reality, it's also important to say, "This is hard, and I'm struggling. I'm sad and discouraged and feel defeated, but God's got this. God is strong. God's got me." With God, I can do anything. 

"...you have help from both sides of the veil, and you must never forget that...you remember and never forget that if our eyes could be opened we would see horses and chariots of fire as far as the eye can see riding at reckless speed to come to our protection. They will always be there, these armies of heaven, in defense of Abraham's seed."

My dad is a part of the ones "riding at reckless speed to come to [my] protection" now, and so is Alma. I imagine them up there cracking jokes, having joy in the paradise they enjoy, anxiously waiting for our turn, and wanting to help us in any way they can. I'm grateful for them. I'm grateful I'm not alone.

If there's anything I could say to anyone is that we really are NOT alone. Satan tries his best to isolate us, whether it's from us feeling shame about a sin or us feeling lonely in our grief, but that's not truth. God never leaves His children alone. Work hard to come unto Him, and He'll be there. I haven't been able to do any of this without him. And I won't be able to do this week without Him - at least not with true peace and joy. 

So I'm entering this week with courage. Courage to cry when I need to and then stand back up again and keep moving forward. Courage to be happy AND sad. Courage to find peace and healing amidst this ocean of grief. Courage to remember. YOU can have courage too, no matter what you're going through. Trying matters, and you WITH God got this. Keep moving forward one step at a time - there really is joy to be found in the journey. 

"A Psalm of Life"

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Wast not spoken of the soul.

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act, —act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing

Learn to labor and to wait.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "A Psalm of Life"

My Alma Wreath

The day after we found out Alma passed away, we had many heartbreaking and surreal decisions to make. One of them was where to bury our baby.

My first instinct was to bury him in Idaho. It was where Jayze and I lived and had already made so many special memories, we could visit him anytime we wanted, and, frankly, it was the most convenient. Plus, I honestly didn't even think it was possible to have him buried anywhere else because I didn't think we had the resources to make all of the arrangements for that.

However, after talking to our families, we found out that it was possible to bury him somewhere other than Idaho. Although, upfront, it would be less convenient and more heart-wrenching, we knew that burying him in Arizona was where he was supposed to be. In our heart of hearts, we knew that Rexburg was temporary, whereas Arizona was more permanent. Both sets of our parents live in the same town, so it was more likely we would have more opportunities to visit our baby boy once we no longer lived in Rexburg.

I wasn't sure how it was all going to work out, but through many earthly (and, I'm sure, heavenly) angels and tender mercies, it all did. All the nitty, gritty details worked out, as well as bigger issues. We were so blessed and grateful and knew we weren't alone.

Now, three years and a half years later, I'm glad that Alma is buried in Snowflake. I wish I was able to visit him anytime. It's hard not taking Aidan and Kimball on a regular basis to go see him, too, but I'm grateful he has loved ones nearby who can and do visit him and leave flowers and decorations.

My mom and Jayze's mom send me pictures from time to time of Alma's graveside. It's usually decked out in the decor of the season: spring flowers, fall leaves, snowmen figurines, summer daisies, and a "Happy Birthday" sign in August. Seeing the pictures always make me tear up and wish we lived closer. But I'm grateful others are there to give him love when I can't be there in person.

When Alma was first buried there, I remember before Jayze and I left for the Phoenix Airport to go back to Rexburg, I wanted to see him one more time. So we drove to the cemetery and, hand-in-hand, walked to where he was buried. The fresh mound of dirt was the only thing marking our baby's burial place. It was then that I realized I didn't have anything for him. No headstone, no flowers, nothing. My arms and hands felt even emptier. I had to leave some token of love for my sweet baby boy before flying miles away from him. I knelt down on the soft mound and with my finger I drew, "We love you," with a heart. It was still more difficult than I can express to walk away, but leaving something there helped.

A few days later, my parents texted and asked if they could put a small, homemade metal plate to mark Alma's graveside. That was the beginning of the outpouring of love Alma would receive on his grave.

I'm grateful for my mom and Jayze's mom who, after the first set of decorations had been up for awhile, offered to put them in a box and save them for us. When I first saw and held the decorations, I couldn't help but get teary-eyed at all the love and support. We really weren't alone, and Alma wasn't forgotten. We toted the box back with us to Rexburg and put it with Alma's other things. I knew I wanted to keep the small treasures, but I didn't want them to just sit in a box in storage. In essence, I wasn't sure what to do with them.

When we finally made it to Kansas and things settled down a little bit, I started making our little apartment into a home. We found some couches and a coffee table, Jayze assembled our black bookshelves, I arranged and re-arranged bookshelf decorations, and we worked together to fit Aidan's toddler bed and Kimball's crib in the kid's bedroom. I hung up some pictures, and organized our closets (still in the process, haha).

One day as I was organizing our front closet, I found the box full of Alma's graveside decorations again. I stopped for a minute to look through them. As I touched the leaves and flowers and picked up the figurines, the thought came to me, "Why not make a wreath?"

Background: I've wanted to make a wreath ever since Jayze and I got married and just never got around to it. I love wreaths and other door decorations because it's kind of like a, "Welcome to my home!" before stepping inside. Well, this was my perfect excuse to buy a lovely grapevine wreath (they smell sooo good) and break out the glue gun.

Once the kids went down for a nap, I pulled up Pinterest for inspiration and went to work designing my own, custom wreath. I have to admit, it was hard pulling the leaves and flowers off. I didn't want to ruin them! I prayed and crossed my fingers everything would work out.

And it did! I tied a piece of twine in a loop in the back and hung up my new wreath on my front door. I love how it turned out. It feels wonderful and makes me happy to see another touch of Alma in our home.

During the past three and a half years, I've thought many times how such a small person with such a short life could make such an impact on others...and on me. I've thought of how Alma's life has helped me pause and reflect on the sacred moments life gives us every single day. How his life has caused me to be more service-oriented and caring towards others. How his life has shown me the good in others and how willing people are to give of their time, talents, and love. How his life has taught me to love being a mother and to not take it for granted. How his life has increased my love for his siblings. It's been humbling, to say the least.

Tomorrow will be the third Thanksgiving without him. Lately, seeing Aidan play and interact more with Kimball has made me ponder what it would be like to have Alma here. I wonder what it would be like to see three of my children physically play together. I wonder what it would be like to convince two toddlers to go to bed and hear them giggle together. I wonder what it would be like to see my two older boys fawn over their baby brother.

I think that all of the wondering has brought some sadness, but it's also filled me with gratitude. I'm so grateful I've been able to have more children. And not just more children, but children HERE. Here to raise and love on. Here to teach and discipline. Here to pray, cuddle, and play with. Here to practice motherhood on.

I'm so grateful to be a mom to THREE wonderful, sweet, happy boys. I'm grateful for my marriage with Jayze. I'm grateful for the glimpses I get of Alma when they do come. I'm grateful for God's love for me. And I'm grateful that this life isn't the end.

"Regardless of our circumstances, each of us has much for which to be grateful if we will but pause and contemplate our blessings."

~ Thomas S. Monson ~ 

What Matters Most

I was out in the foyer sitting with Aidan because he had screamed yet again during Sacrament Meeting. I held him close and tried to listen to the speaker. He was telling his conversion story, and I always love hearing those. I was only able to hear bits and pieces, but one specific one that made it through caught my attention, "My mother was Catholic and always wanted her son to receive the priesthood. She passed away a few years before I joined the [LDS] Church. She was not able to be there physically when I, her son, eventually received the priesthood...but I know she was there."

That last phrase caught my attention because it was so familiar. I've heard similar phrases so many times from people about their loved ones who have passed on. Phrases like:

 "I know my mom was there at my wedding." 

"I felt my dad close by when I graduated college - one of the dreams he had for me."

"My grandpa is my guardian angel."

I've said phrases like that myself about Alma. He's been there during especially tough moments when I've wanted to give up, and he's also been there during special and sacred moments. I know I have felt him close by.

As I sat there in the foyer and thought about how people are able to feel their loved ones, who have passed on, close by (and this isn't unique just to Mormons), it occurred to me that the veil is thinner than we think. It was probably more of a reminder, but it's true! Sometimes I feel like the veil between me and God and my loved ones is a wrought-iron door, but in reality we have angels all around us. And I think that especially includes our loved ones. Sometimes it's just easy to forget as time goes by.

Because it's so easy to forget, I love moments of remembrance. The moments of silence, remembering and respecting those who have lost their lives for our country, or who lost their lives in a senseless shooting or bombing. Or at funerals and memorial services when people speak softly and reverently, trying to keep the spirit of their loved one close by as long as they can before the day-to-day distractions and hustle and bustle somehow whisk him or her away.

I love those moments because it's when people pause and...remember.

Remember their loved ones.
Remember the event.
Remember that this life is not the end.
Remember that we will get to see our loved ones again!

Ever since Alma passed away, it seemed that people wanted us to move forward...move on...get past this...heal right away...because life goes on whether you want it to or not. After someone you love dies, the world just keeps right on spinning, even though it feels like you're stuck in one spot and you're not ever going to move again. You wonder, how can the world go on and expect you to go on? People want you to be the same and are disappointed when you aren't. But how can one be the same and move on after such a life-altering experience?

The truth is, you can't.

Sometimes I get caught up in the desire to be who I was before Alma died. Retain the innocence I lost and not feel a tightening in my throat every time someone asks me how many children I have. Or be able to say without any hesitancy and a smile on my face, "Three boys," rather than having to say with a brave face, "Two boys, with their brother watching over us in heaven."

But I'll never be the same.

My life changed the minute I saw the positive sign on the pregnancy test, the first time I felt Alma kick, and the moment when the nurse couldn't find his beautiful, perfect heartbeat.

And more and more I'm realizing that it's okay that I'll never be the same.

Looking back on how much Heavenly Father has taught me and shown me, I don't want to be the same. Realizing this reminded me of the story about the class criticizing the Martin handcart company. After hearing the story a few years ago, one survivor's quote stuck with me:

"The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company."

("Refined in Our Trials," James E. Faust, 2006)

I've learned - and am still learning - that becoming acquainted with God is such a beautiful thing. He transforms us through our trials. Heartbreak can be a beautiful thing, because the Savior is there to heal us! He can heal any heartbreak that we encounter, and even more - he helps us along in the process.

 
President Uchtdorf told a sweet story about "Great-Aunt Rose" that touched my heart. This part stood out to me:

"Aunt Rose smiled. 'I discovered faith. And faith led to hope. And faith and hope gave me confidence that one day everything would make sense, that because of the Savior, all the wrongs would be made right. After that, I saw the path before me wasn't as dreary and dusty as I had thought. I began to notice the bright blues, the verdant greens, and the fiery reds, and I decided I had a choice - I could hang my head and drag my feet on the dusty road of self-pity, or I could have a little faith, put on a bright dress, slip on my dancing shoes, and skip down the path of life, singing as I went..."

'Faith in the Savior taught me that no matter what happened in the past, my story could have a happy ending...

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."

(Revelations 21: 3-4, emphasis added)

Trying to have faith in my Savior has taught me that, like Aunt Rose and despite the tragedy of losing Alma, my story can have a happy ending. The Lord promised that very thing when He said:

"But blessed are they who are faithful and endure, whether in life or in death, for they shall inherit eternal life" (D&C 50:5).  

And that's what I want - eternal life. I want to be with my angel again. I want to hold him in my arms and experience him every.single.day. Until then, Alma helps me keep an eternal perspective. He is our angel on the other side of the veil cheering on his family. He's there encouraging us to not give up so that we can all be together as a family.

Because, really, what matters most on both sides of the veil is family.

Whether you're old, young, married, single, divorced, widowed, male, female, teenager, child...whatever...you have family rooting for you - on both sides. Angels are all around us, give them a chance. Like Aunt Rose, choose faith, hope, and confidence in the Savior, because He is the one who provided a way for us to be with our families again.

Because of Him, I'll get to see my Alma. Because of Him, all wrongs can be made right. Because of Him, all tears will be washed away. Because of Him, joy can be found in the journey now.

 

January 1, 2016

My Lifeguard

Dark, ominous waves crashed against the side of the boat, spraying fine, cold mists across anxious faces and frantic-working hands struggling to control the bobbing boat. Lightening lit up the black sky and thunder crashed in the not-too-far distance. The wind tossed them on the rippling waves, and it seemed the night would never end and all hope was lost.

Suddenly, there in the distance, was a white light in the form of a person. As the figure neared, the men in the boat realized it was walking on water. The appearance of the strange phantom, in addition to the angry storm, seemed to push them over the edge and they cried out in fear.

"But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid."

Then one of the men in the boat called Peter said, "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water."

And the Lord answered, "Come."

Peter did come. With the furious wind still blowing his hair and the waves threatening to swallow him up, Peter came. He stepped out of the unsteady boat and placed one foot after the other onto the likewise unsteady water. Taking one step at a time, Peter walked on water toward the Son of God - his friend, his master, his Savior.

His drenched robes dripped water back into the tumultuous sea, his eyes on Jesus, his path straight. Until, Peter realized where he was and what he was doing. Who was he to walk on water? The wind sounded in his ears, the water felt cold, and Peter's faith wavered and he feared. Slowly, he began to sink.

And, probably with waving arms, he cried out, "Lord, save me."

"And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" (Matthew 14:24-31)

I love the story of Peter walking on water because I'm like Peter - we're all like Peter. There are times I walk confidently towards the Savior, but then realize that I'm doing more than I thought I was capable of. I see the winds trying to blow me over and the water struggling to swallow me whole and my faith wavers. I take my eyes off the Savior and worry about all of my troubles and heartaches and despairs and sins and begin to sink because I'm trying to fix them all on my own and it's not working. I can't do it on my own - I need the Savior.

In 17 days, Alma would have been 2 years old. How do I deal with this? The unworried moments leading up to finding out he died. The short, beautiful moments I had him in my arms. The agonizing moments after burying him. 

There are so many emotions going through my mind and my heart I can barely comprehend. So many missed moments. I'll never get to see Alma play with Aidan in this life. Or take his first day of school picture. Or watch him balance and ride a bike for the first time. So many questions. How did this happen? Why did this happen? So many doubts. What did I do wrong? Was I not good enough?

Feeling broken.

The hurt has eased up, but there are still moments when I'm angry and wonder why. There are still moments when I catch my breath and realize my life isn't the same as it would have been with Alma here. There are still moments when I wipe away my tears, wondering, wishing, speculating, hurting, feeling broken all over again...

I was looking through my journal recently and came across a sticky note with short reminders I didn't want to forget about during the months after losing Alma. A few stood out to me: "same story of faith," joy amidst the sorrow, immersion in spiritual things, generosity.

Faith, joy, spirit, generosity. These are things that point to Christ. Yes, I had numbing emotions, empty arms, emotional and physical pain, but I also had love, happiness, a sense of humor, and peace - things that only come from the Savior.

Some days I lost my faith and I let the wave of grief wash over me and drag me down. Some days my faith was less than perfect and I let the wave of anger engulf me. Some days I lost sight of what was really important and let the wind blow me over and let the wave of fear and doubt overtake me.

There were days I thought I was drowning.

And there are still days when I let the waves conquer me and the wind rip me apart, and I begin to drown. Those days aren't over. But, my Savior has always been there for me. He immediately stretches forth his hand and saves me from drowning. He saves me from the immense, black deep gulf of misery and anguish and brings me back to Him. I may be soaking wet, but because of Jesus Christ, my faith is restored.

"When [Christ] says to the poor in spirit, “Come unto me,” He means He knows the way out and He knows the way up. He knows it because He has walked it. He knows the way because He is the way" (Jeffrey R. Holland, Broken Things to Mend, 2006). 

The Savior knows what each of us go through. He has been there himself because He took upon himself each of our pains and sorrows and sins. He knows how to comfort each of us. I know because I've been there. I may lose sight of my Savior, but He never loses sight of me. And He never loses sight of you.

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I'm still on the mend. I'm still in the healing process. But it's a lot easier when I let Christ do it instead of sitting in the corner licking my own wounds hoping they'll heal on their own painlessly and without infection. But it doesn't work that way. Doing it on my own brings me zero real happiness. With Christ, I can have joy amidst the sorrow. I can feel love because love comes from Him. I can show him my wounds and cry and come to him, and He can doctor them up, give me the proper salves, and help heal me. It takes time, but I'm never alone when I focus my eyes on the Savior. And whether I lose my faith or not, He's always there to be my anchor.

So, hold onto your faith. Don't give up. When Christ extends his arm, grasp it and don't let go. He knows you perfectly, and He loves you perfectly. He can mend you and heal you and make you whole.
 

"If you are lonely, please know you can find comfort. If you are discouraged, please know you can find hope. If you are poor in spirit, please know you can be strengthened. If you feel you are broken, please know you can be mended." 

~ Jeffrey R. Holland ~

Is Time a Healer?

The beginning of August is here, and it's so hard to believe that it has been nearly a year since we lost Alma.  Has it really been that long?  Sometimes it seems like just yesterday when I was in the ultrasound room straining to see any sign of movement on the screen.

I've heard people say that time is a healer.  I've said it myself.  Time should heal all wounds, right?

Losing Alma caused this gaping wound.  I keep telling people that yes, time does heal, but then I have also wondered if time will eventually make everything better.  If somehow the wound will magically go away as time goes by.  Realistically, I don't think the wound will "magically" disappear.  The pain has lessened, and a scar is forming where the wound used to be so fresh, but I will always remember the moment I found out my baby boy had died and that I wouldn't get to bring him home.  I will always remember the pain of that moment.  How can anyone be expected to recover quickly from a moment that changed his or her life forever?  I will always wonder what he would be like if he was here.  Whether his hair would still be dark brown or if it would have turned white blonde.  If he has Jayze's hazel eyes, my dark brown eyes, or a pair of shockingly blue eyes.  If he would be tall like Jayze's family or my Mom's side of the family, or if he would be shorter like my Dad's side of the family.  Those questions will always run through my head.  Even now, being pregnant, I wonder what it would be like to be chasing two little boys around, laughing their heads off as they mischievously and knowingly exasperate me.  But for now, all I get to know is what it's like having my firstborn baby boy in heaven and his little brother here with me (I hope) and keep wondering.  People who have lost children say that those same children are still watching over them.  The siblings of that child somehow still have a relationship with the child who is in heaven.  I have been desperately hoping that will happen when we finally get Alma's little brother here.  That they will have a special bond and that this little boy inside me will get to know his older brother through more than just pictures and his story.

Last month on the 29th, I couldn't stop thinking that Alma would be 11 months old.  I didn't think it would affect me very much, because the real landmark is his actual year-birthday, August 29.  But I thought about him all day long.  I came home from work, and I couldn't concentrate on what Jayze was saying.  I just kept staring at him and nodding my head.  In a sudden moment, tears began pooling in my eyes and falling down my face and when Jayze asked me what was wrong, I couldn't get out the words.  I just kept shaking my head.  Finally, I was able to say, "He would have been 11 months old," and then buried my head in my arms and sobbed.

How can I have gone 11 months without holding my little baby boy? 

If the 11-month mark was that hard, I know the year-mark is going to be even harder.  It seems like August 29 is looming, and I'm not sure what to do that day.  It's all such a mix of emotions.  I'm not sure whether or not to celebrate that day or to shut myself in my house and let grief overtake me.  How can I celebrate his birth when at the same time it was his death?

Sometimes time brings hard days, and grief has its victory.

Those hard days are still going to come up.  Time is not going to take those away, and I don't think time will ever change the fact that losing Alma has changed my relationship with Jayze, my relationship with others, the way I feel when I hear of someone who has gone through the exact same thing as me, or the comments I hear from other people who haven't gone through the same thing as me.  Time goes by and life does go on, but the memory remains.

But, as I look back, I do think time has also helped to strengthen my mental, physical, social, spiritual, and personal capacity to deal with this trial.

I can say "stillborn" to strangers without crying anymore. 

I don't cry every day.

I am not on autopilot anymore.

I can look babies in the face again and smile.

I have an appetite now.

Jayze and I, despite everything, are even closer now because of losing Alma.

I don't avoid looking at or walking through the baby section at Walmart anymore.

I can sleep without Alma's baby blue blanket.

I can look back and remember all the earthly angels who helped us out during those dark days.

I know without a doubt that families are forever.

Yes, death has changed so much.  Yet, despite many of the tragic things death brings, it has also let me see what I can do because of it.  It has allowed me to choose to become closer to my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.  Because what I have found is that I am happy.  Not every minute of every day, but I am happier than I was a little less than a year ago.  I can laugh again and not feel guilty because I know Alma doesn't want me to mourn him forever.  He wants me to move forward and live life - to live life in such a way that I will be able to see him again.

I really don't think time is the real healer, but I do think it helps.  God is the real healer.  He uses time to teach me.  

When I read over Alma's story again the other day, I realized that I have forgotten to figure out what I'm supposed to learn from this trial.  Instead, I have been hoping time will go by and that things will just go back to normal and I can be the same as always.  But I know that's not what my Heavenly Father wants.  This life isn't about staying the same - it's about changing and growing and becoming better.  I hope that my wound caused by Alma's death will be a reminder to me to always choose God despite my circumstances and allow Him to change me for the better. 

"Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us."
~David Richo~

 

Forcing Myself

I was looking on the school bulletin board the other day in the baby genre, and I saw that a girl was selling a big bag of baby boy clothes.  I thought to myself, "Well, I know we need some clothes, and it's a pretty good deal."

So, I emailed her.

I asked her if any of the items were long-sleeved and how many were in the bag, and she replied that most of the things in the bag were long-sleeved and there were about 50 clothing items.  Since I'm having a Fall/Winter baby and since we live in Rexburrrrrrrrrrg (negative degree weather), I thought, "Score!" and got the girl's address so I could go take a look at the clothes in person.

She texted me her address, and I hopped in the car after work and went looking for it.  I finally found it, parked my car, and found her outside sweeping her front steps with a little boy closely standing by.  I introduced myself again, and she led me to where the clothes were.

There inside was another little baby.  He was so cute and, come to find out later, was only about 3 months old.

I didn't realize how hard it would be to not stare at him.  Even though Alma would have been about 9 months old, the little jolts and punches I get in my stomach when I unexpectedly see a baby boy still surprise me.

The girl was super nice.  She went into a room and brought out the clothes.  As I grabbed the huge garbage bag and dumped out the clothes on her couch, I had to blink back some unexpected tears.  What was wrong with me?  I didn't want to cry in front of this stranger who probably thought I would be crazy just crying in front of some baby boy clothes instead of oooing and ahhhing.

I was able to gain control of myself and kept myself distracted by asking her some questions and trying not to focus on the baby clothes too much.

Then the question from her came.

"Is this your first pregnancy?"

I said, "No, this is my second."

"Oh, then you must have had a girl."

I shook my head and said, "No, we had a baby boy."  

I knew what was coming, but wasn't sure I wanted to spoil her happiness and cause an inevitable awkward silence, so I kept going through the clothes and avoided eye contact.

She went on, "Well, he must have been a summer baby."

There was no escape.  I braced myself and told her, "No, he was born in the winter.  But he was...he was stillborn."

Silence.

"Oh."

I kind of babbled on and said, "Yeah, so we didn't really have a chance to, you know, get clothes for him."

Which was kind of a lie because I was 37 weeks when Alma passed away and we had plenty of opportunities to get clothes for him.  I guess it was kind of a tender mercy we didn't buy very many things for Alma because we didn't spend tons of money and I only had a box full of baby things to pack away out of sight instead of a room full of baby things.

I announced that I would buy the clothes, gave her the money, said thank you, and walked out.  I was sad that yet again, I had to explain that this was my second baby but technically the first one I'm raising.  Lately, I just feel bad about making it awkward for other people.  I know that if I had Alma here and someone told me they had had a stillborn, I wouldn't know what to say either.  What can you say?  "I'm sorry" just doesn't seem to cut it.

But what was also going through my mind as I walked away with the bag of clothes in hand was that I wasn't happy about my purchase.  I came home, dumped the bag in the spare bedroom on the floor, and closed the door on my way out.  When I told Jayze what I had bought, I half-heartedly asked him, "Do you want to see what they look like?"

The excitement just wasn't there.  Whenever I start thinking about all the baby things we didn't buy for Alma that we will need for this baby, I wonder if there's even a point to buying it.  

I don't want to have to pack away a huge pack 'n play, a stroller, a high chair, a car seat, diapers, pacifiers, wipes...

I realized that I have been forcing myself to look at baby things on the bulletin board, forcing myself to walk through the baby section at Walmart, forcing myself to prepare for a baby that I might not have the chance to raise here in this life.  I think of the money I have that could be spent on the baby, but find myself wanting to spend it on Jayze and me instead.  

And maybe it will be okay in the end...but how do I know for sure?  I realize that I really don't know for sure.  No one knows for sure.  I wish my doctors knew.  I wish Jayze knew.  I wish I knew.  But we don't.  

Only Heavenly Father knows the outcome.  He is the one who knows whether I will get to bring this second baby home with me or not.  

Sometimes I wish He would just tell me.  Just give my hand a squeeze and let me know that everything is going to be okay.

But then I realize that He has already done that.  He has already let me know that no matter what happens with this next baby, everything is going to be okay.  Even if things turn out exactly the same as last time, it will somehow all be okay.  

It's going to be okay because I have Him on my side, and He knows what is best for this baby - not me.   

So right now, I'm just going to keep forcing myself.  I'm going to get the clothes, the diapers, the wipes, the pack 'n play, the stroller, the car seat, decorations for the baby's room.  I'm going to help Jayze put the crib together, clean it, and put crib bedding in it.  I'm going to keep having faith and hope that I'll get to raise this baby here right now.

Because when I finally get to hold this second baby boy in my arms, I will know that all the pain, all the worry, all the heartache, all the stress, all the tears, all the sleepless nights, all the "what if's," all the doctor's appointments, all the pleadings, all of it will be worth it. 

“It isn't as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don't worry. I say that to myself every morning. It all works out in the end. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. He will not forsake us. If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him, if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers.” 

~Gordon B. Hinckley ~

Learning to Smile Again

The day I had Alma, I was feeling anything but sociable. When they told me I could go home, the nurse brought in a wheelchair, and I slowly lowered myself into it.  I didn't really feel like being wheeled out of the hospital because I didn't feel like a mother.  I didn't feel like someone who had just had a baby.  But I also didn't feel like walking.  I didn't really feel like doing anything.

The nurse started wheeling me out, and then Jayze took over.  Everything was kind of a blur for me.  The only thing I was holding was the blanket the woman had given me to hold during labor.  I remember going past my parents and my in-laws.  Some of their eyes were red from crying.  My own eyes were swollen and red from crying off and on all day long, but at that moment I didn't feel like crying.  I couldn't look any of my family in the eyes.  I couldn't talk to any of them.  I just wanted to make it to the safety of our car.

Jayze had gone and parked the car in front of the hospital a few minutes earlier, so thankfully it was right there and he didn't have to leave me again.  He helped me get out of the wheelchair, opened the car door for me, and helped me into the car.  I was sore and in pain, but none of that soreness and pain could compare with the pain and ache in my heart.

My arms felt empty and heavy.  Something was missing.  My baby was gone.

I couldn't smile at all.  I couldn't smile at anyone.  I just wanted to go home and do nothing.   

Thankfully, Jayze and I were able to have some time to ourselves at home.  His parents were nice enough to go pick up my antibiotics and painkillers from the pharmacy, and my parents went to go pick up some food.

We lived in the upstairs of a house, and it took me about 10X as long to walk up those stairs than it normally did, but Jayze was patient and I was able to make it up one step at a time.

I made it up the stairs, put my hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open.  Inside was our spacious living room, our two couches, our TV, and a few odds and ends.  I paused, letting it sink in that, like my heart, it too was empty.  The crib was empty, the glider was empty, the nursing pillow that came in the mail wasn't going to be used, and no sweet little baby boy was going to fill those clothes I received from the baby shower.

I stumbled over to the big couch and laid down on it.  That's all the strength I had.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't think of my baby now in the mortician's care.  I couldn't think of my empty and heavy arms.  I couldn't think about plans for the graveside service.  I didn't let myself think about any of it.

It was all too hard.  How was I going to make it through the night?

Jayze's parents came back with the medicine, and my parents came back from getting their food.  Jayze and I had food in the house from the kindness of others, but I wasn't hungry.

After chatting for a little bit, Jayze's parents left to go stay at my sis-in-law's house, so it was just my parents, Jayze, and me left.  No baby.  No happiness.

But then I'll never forget my dad and the way he responded to everything- to the whole situation.  I knew it was hard for him, because I had seen the sad, somber expression on his face that morning when he gave me the priesthood blessing.  I had seen that same expression again in when he and my mom came into the hospital room before Alma was born.  But, when Alma was born, my dad had a different expression on his face when he held him.  My dad's face was happy and he knew just the right words to say to make me feel good.  He admired my baby with me-his third grandson and grandchild.  He helped Jayze and me see the family resemblances Alma had.  He and my mom stayed all day in the hospital, even when they only saw Jayze, me, and Alma for about 30 minutes total.

Then when we were home again, my dad still had a happy expression on his face.  He had always teased me growing up, and helped me smile when I didn't want to.  He did that then, on the hardest day and evening of my life-August 29, 2013. 

As my parents and I held a normal, light conversation, I was guiltily thinking:  How can I smile?  How can I be happy?  My baby is gone.  What is there to be happy about?

But my dad and mom making dinner and my dad cutting up the delicious fruit they had thoughtfully picked up on their way to Idaho (how in the world did they have time to do that?) made such a difference to the spirit I felt in my home.  Such simple acts of kindness truly helped my dark mood lighten, and I was able to think and converse with them there. 

For a couple of months before Alma was born and before my parents came, there were some things that needing fixing at our house.  One of the light switches to our kitchen light didn't work, one of our kitchen lights was out, and a couple of other things.  We just hadn't gotten around to fixing those because we were both working and preparing for the baby. 

I remember walking into the kitchen at one point that night because I was tired of laying on the couch.  I walked in and turned on the kitchen light without thinking about which light switch I was using.  It actually turned on that time using that specific light switch, and both kitchen lights actually worked.  It was really bright!  Jayze and I wondered aloud about it, and my dad said that he had fixed both of them while we were at the hospital. 

Little did he know that, with the small and simple services he did, he was helping to fix my shattered heart as well.  Those small and simple services were a huge deal to me and meant so much that night and in the days following.

Those small and simple services reminded me of my Heavenly Father.  He wasn't leaving me alone during this trial-He was sending me small, tender mercies through those around me.  The workers at the hospital, the people in my ward, the people I worked with, and my family.

He gave me the gift of having my parents there helping me out.  If my parents hadn't been there the day Alma was born and the night Jayze and I came home from the hospital, I would have sat crying on the couch in the dark, not eating anything.  Wasn't it so much better to sit there in the bright light, eating fruit, and spending time with the family I did have with me?  I never stopped thinking about Alma or feeling sad.  How could I?  But the strength my parents brought was a huge blessing. 

I love this quote from Spencer W. Kimball, "God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs."

God was sending me His love through my parents and those around me.  He was even sending me His love through family, friends, and strangers who lived far away from Jayze and me.  Through these people, He was letting me know that He was there watching over me and that He could trust that my earthly parents and others were watching over me, too.  They were helping me stay in the light and find happiness even in the midst of such a dark trial.

So, even though I didn't want to smile after Alma wasn't with me-when he was no longer inside of me or in my arms-I'm thankful that I was able to smile in the moments when my dad gave me a priesthood blessing before I went to the hospital, when Alma was born, and as we held him throughout the day.

I found that because of my parents' support that night, I could begin smiling again-even when I didn't want to.  That evening was a beginning.  Heavenly Father was teaching me, through others, that I could learn to smile again and that I could smile again sincerely and with only the true happiness that He provides.     




  

Anger Issues

"How are you feeling?" one of the secretaries at work asked me.

There was that question again.  How do you answer such a question after you have just lost a baby?  After you have just given a part of yourself away and buried it in the ground?  After your heart has been shattered into a billion pieces, never to be quite the same again?  

"I am angry all the time," I confided, slightly ashamed, slightly confused.

Grief is a funny thing. They say that you go through stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  I think I am abnormal, because I think I only experienced three of those - denial, anger, and depression.  I don't think I had made it to the acceptance stage yet.  Well, maybe I had, but it was coming in steps - not all at once like I thought acceptance did.

I experienced denial at the doctor's office when they told me that my baby had died.

I experienced denial at the hospital when those two words, "Fetal demise," came from the mouth of the front desk lady.

I experienced denial when the somber mortician walked into the room and started discussing options with Jayze and me.

I experienced depression in the weeks ahead.  I cried.  I cried a lot.

There were times when I didn't want to do homework, get out of bed, see anyone, clean the house...

But anger, boy did I experience anger.  I was angry at everything.  I was angry when someone told me his pregnant wife was complaining that she was sick and that she wouldn't be able to enjoy Thanksgiving this year.  "We'll have to get pregnant at a different time other than Thanksgiving," he told me she had told him.  Bah, be grateful you are pregnant, my bitter heart said inside.

I was angry when people asked me how I was doing.

I was angry when people stopped asking me how I was doing. 

I was angry whenever I checked the mail and there were a million sympathy letters.  I didn't want letters.  I just wanted my baby.   

But then I was angry when I didn't get anything in the mail.  Did people already forget?  How could people go on living their lives when my baby was no longer living his?

I was angry when I went back for a check-up at the doctor's and the secretary at the front desk asked me as I was leaving if I wanted the "baby packet" they gave to the women who had just had a baby.  And when I told her no, she pressed, "Are you sure?"  Of course I'm sure!  Don't you know who I am?  Don't you know that I don't have a baby at home?  Don't you know that that packet is useless to me?  Don't you know who I am - the woman who was having a perfect pregnancy and then lost her perfect baby?  Someone, tell that woman to get a clue and to not talk to me ever again.  

I was angry when I heard about the birth of other babies.  I was angry when those same people posted pictures of their babies on Facebook.  Were they trying to pour salt into a fresh wound?

I was angry when I saw and heard about pregnancy announcements.  How dare they be happy?  Didn't they know it could happen to them too?

I was angry when other people admired other people's babies in front of me.  Didn't they know I had just lost a baby and that no one could admire him with me?

I was angry when a mom complained about their babies or children.  Be grateful you have a baby.  Be grateful you have children.  Be grateful you can practice being a mom right now. 

It wasn't just about babies, pregnancy, or motherhood either...

I was angry when Jayze asked me what was for dinner.  Oh, you're hungry?  Well, I don't know what's for dinner.  Why do I have to be in charge of it all the time, anyway?  Take your turn.

I was angry when Jayze didn't cry with me.  When the way we grieved was different from each other's. Aren't you sad all the time too?  Don't you feel the same way?  How can you already be over it?

I was angry when Jayze didn't answer my texts or phone calls right away.  Wasn't I more important than whatever he was doing right then?  Was he okay?  Didn't he know that I worried something had happened to him when he didn't answer me right away?  Was he trying to scare me?

I was angry when Jayze asked me to pick my clothes off the floor (a bad habit I have when I get stressed).  Just deal with it, okay?  It's not that big a deal.

In fact, I was angry with Jayze ALL the time.  Why was I so angry with him? 

Because I had to go throughout the whole day answering thoughtless, not really wanting an answer, "How are you's?"  At the grocery store when the cashier asked me, when someone came into the office, when my teacher walked into the classroom and asked how everyone was doing...

Because I had to go through the whole day with a forced smile on my face, pretending everything was fine.

Because I had to go through the whole day feeling guilty for smiling, when I didn't even want to smile anyway.  Isn't it a lie smiling when all you feel is empty and brokenhearted?

Because I had to go through the whole day not being able to explode.

Because I had to go through the whole day wondering who knew what had happened.

Because I had to go six whole stinkin' weeks without exercising because I gave birth to a baby I didn't have with me anymore.  Six weeks of not being able to vent in any way at all.  Six weeks of not being able to punch a bag, kick an imaginary villain, run until I couldn't run anymore - and then run some more.

So what did I do?  I went home with all of those vent up feelings and took it all out on Jayze. 

Let me tell you, grief is funny.  Grief is sarcastic, bitter, selfish, idle, pathetic, and angry. 

People said they admired me because I had every right to be angry at God, but I didn't seem to be.  They were right.  I wasn't angry at God...I was angry because I couldn't control anything.  I couldn't escape from the comments of others.  I couldn't escape from the million, every day reminders that my baby was gone.  I couldn't escape from the stares of others, wondering how I was dealing with it all.  I couldn't escape from thoughts that Satan put into my heart - that I was contaminated, that it was my fault, that I couldn't protect my own baby.

I was right in one thing.  I couldn't control anything.  I can't control anything.

But God can.  So why was it so hard for me to trust in Him?

When I first moved into our new ward and was still happy and pregnant with Alma, the Relief Society president gave a talk about wives loving their husbands.  I didn't really think it applied to me.  Then Alma died, and I couldn't stop thinking about the story she shared about a woman who prayed to love her husband again.  The story is called, "Falling Out of Love...and Climbing Back In."  You can find it here.

This woman just didn't love her husband anymore.  She had two options: divorce or a marriage full of unhappiness.  Another choice popped in her head, why not try to fall in love again?

The story goes on to say how she fell back in love with her husband.  It wasn't easy, and she couldn't have done it without Heavenly Father's help.

Well, I needed help.  I needed help with my anger issues.  I needed God to help me not be angry anymore with Jayze, with other people, and with myself.  Could that be possible?

So, I prayed and prayed.  And prayed.  And prayed again.

A few weeks went by.  I was able to exercise again and vent my anger through that instead of at Jayze.  I started looking for the positive things in Jayze, rather than all the negative things.  Once I started looking for the positive things, I saw them, and there were a lot!  I started forgiving people for their comments.  After all, didn't I say the same things when I was pregnant?  They didn't know they were hurting me, so I tried not to take offense.  Instead, I focused on them and kind of just brushed off the comments that didn't seem so offending after all.

I cried when I received sympathy letters - this time because I was happy someone had remembered me.

It felt good to hear things like, "What color was Alma's hair?"  "How old would Alma be now?" 

Even though I broke down into a watery mess every time someone sincerely, front-up asked me, while looking me in the eyes, "How are you doing?"  I was grateful they cared.  I could suddenly feel their love.  I could feel that they really wanted to know because they took time out of their busy schedule to listen and to give comforting words.  They forgot that it might be awkward, that I might be uncomfortable talking about it, and that they might be going out of their comfort zone to ask.  That meant the world to me.  Because I don't mind talking about Alma.  I love it when people use his name.  He is a real person.  I had a real baby, with a real birth weight and height, with real fingers and toes, with real, beautiful dark hair.

It meant so much to me when one of my co-workers followed me to the bathroom when I had a breakdown at work and gave me the biggest, best hug ever and just let me cry on her shoulder for a little bit.

When that same day, that same breakdown, a woman I didn't even work with and had barely talked to had seen me booking it down the hall to the bathroom in tears and stopped me on my way back to let me know she cared.  To let me know that the same thing happened to her daughter and that life is just hard sometimes.   
Remembering people from my work offering their free flight points so Jayze and I wouldn't have to pay for the flight down to Arizona.  When the secretaries from my work stopped by the same day Alma died, with a basket full of food and goodies, and tears and hugs and love.

When the Relief Society brought Jayze and me dinner before and after we came back from Arizona.

When my sister-in-law and brother-in-law brought us dinner and flowers the same day Alma died.

 

When the two doctors at the clinic I go to sent me a huge bouquet of pink and white flowers, letting me know they cared.

When I couldn't stop crying at night, so Jayze brought me the soft, baby blue blanket that reminded me of Alma.  I clutched it, still crying, but able to cling to something solid that reminded me of my baby boy.

It meant so much when the same woman who gave me that blue blanket came to my home and gave me casts of Alma's feet and hands, a beautiful red rose, and a glass block with a Rexburg Temple figurine in it.

When my mom sent me a book she, my dad, and my sister made.  I cried when I opened it.  Jayze and I sat down together and read all of the quotes.  It has been such a comfort.  Just another reminder that my family loves me, that people have remembered my little Alma, and that my Heavenly Father loves me too.

   

When I started crying at the end of a visiting teaching lesson (one that I was giving), and my friend came over and sat by me, cried with me, and said, "It may sometimes seem that people have forgotten, but they haven't.  They just don't really know what to say.  But we love you."

And I totally understood.  What would I say to someone in my situation if I hadn't gone through it myself?  I felt other people's love, and that's all I needed.

I could go on and on and on about all of the good things people did or said to Jayze and me.  The positive things were there, I just hadn't been looking for them.  Once I started noticing the positive things, I realized that the good far outweighed the bad. 

And slowly, gradually, little by little, I wasn't angry anymore.  I stopped yelling.  I stopped slamming doors.  I stopped bristling when Jayze asked me to do a favor or when he told me something that would have made me angry before.

I started loving my husband again, with a fiercer feeling than I had ever felt before.  I deeply love him.

I started loving others more, too.

And I thanked my Heavenly Father for my Savior Jesus Christ's grace.  I thanked Him for loving me anyway.  I thanked Him for giving me just a tiny amount of His love that made all the difference.

Things are still hard.  My heart is still healing.  But I am no longer angry.

Let me tell you a story...

Things have been really hard for Jayze and me for the past few months.  We lost our baby boy when I was 37 weeks pregnant.  I am hoping that by telling my story, I can reach out to others who are going through a hard time too.

I don't believe we are meant to go through our trials alone, so I hope that I can help someone somewhere out there who has also lost a baby, a loved one, or just needs a little hope.  I do believe we are meant to be instruments in our Heavenly Father's hands.  Jayze and I have felt the many, many prayers said in our behalf, and so many earthly angels have helped us, as well as angels beyond the veil, including our Alma.  This is my small way of hopefully giving back...

On Thursday, August 29, 2013, we gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.  He was 6 lbs. 2oz and was 20 inches long.  His fingers and toes were just like Jayze's, and his nose, ears, and mouth were just like mine.  He had dark hair, which I absolutely loved and was hoping for because all of the grandkids at that time on both sides of the family had blonde hair.  We named him Alma Jayze Flake.  He was perfect in every way except that he was stillborn.

It all started in Fall Semester 2012 at Brigham Young University-Idaho.  Jayze and I took a religion class together called "Eternal Marriage."  Our instructor was amazing, and we both learned so much from him, me in particular.  It helped me look at marriage, families, and life in a completely new way.  All the doctrine I had been learning about my whole life finally sunk in and made complete sense as our instructor taught in a simplified, yet profoundly deep way.

When Jayze and I got engaged, we talked about our future and decided I would be on birth control for a year and then we would start trying to have children.  Jayze was more hesitant to do it that way than I was.  I wanted a year with just Jayze and me - no kids!  In fact, I was sooooo worried the birth control wouldn't work.  I remember working at the office after our honeymoon, and this couple came in and talked to some of the employees who worked in the office right next to the one I work in.  I could hear them excitedly announce they were just 8 weeks pregnant and, even though it wasn't planned, they couldn't wait.  I sat there and thought, "Are you kidding me?  I would be SO angry right now if the birth control doesn't work and Jayze and I end up with a honeymoon baby.  There's no way I would be okay with that."  Seriously, I would have been livid.  Looking back now, I can see how sadly wrong I was.  I needed to repent, but I didn't know that at the time.

One of our assignments in the Eternal Marriage class was to read about birth control and what the prophets and apostles have said about it (quotes here and here).  A few quotes in particular stood out to me:

God has a plan for the happiness of all who live on the earth, and the birth of children in loving families is central to His plan. The first commandment He gave to Adam and Eve was to “be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth” (Genesis 1:28). The scriptures declare, “Children are a heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). Those who are physically able have the blessing, joy, and obligation to bear children and to raise a family. This blessing should not be postponed for selfish reasons.

 “Supreme happiness in marriage is governed considerably by a primary factor—that of the bearing and rearing of children. Too many young people set their minds, determining they will not marry or have children until they are more secure, until the military service period is over; until the college degree is secured; until the occupation is more well-defined; until the debts are paid; or until it is more convenient. They have forgotten that the first commandment is to ‘be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it.’ (Genesis 1:28.) And so brides continue their employment and husbands encourage it, and contraceptives are used to prevent conception. Relatives and friends and even mothers sometimes encourage birth control for their young newlyweds. But the excuses are many, mostly weak. The wife is not robust; the family budget will not feed extra mouths; or the expense of the doctor, hospital, and other incidentals is too great; it will disturb social life; it would prevent two salaries; and so abnormal living prevents the birth of children. The Church cannot approve nor condone the measures which so greatly limit the family” (Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, 328–29).

“The Lord has told us that it is the duty of every husband and wife to obey the command given to Adam to multiply and replenish the earth, so that the legions of choice spirits waiting for their tabernacles of flesh may come here and move forward under God’s great design to become perfect souls, for without these fleshly tabernacles they cannot progress to their God-planned destiny. Thus, every husband and wife should become a father and a mother in Israel to children born under the holy, eternal covenant” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1942, 11–12). -Heber J. Grant, J. Reuben Clark, and David O. McKay

“I am offended by the sophistry that the only lot of the Latter-day Saint woman is to be barefoot and pregnant. It’s a clever phrase, but it’s false. Of course we believe in children. The Lord has told us to multiply and replenish the earth that we might have joy in our posterity, and there is no greater joy than the joy that comes of happy children in good families. But he did not designate the number, nor has the Church. That is a sacred matter left to the couple and the Lord. The official statement of the Church includes this language: ‘Husbands must be considerate of their wives, who have the greater responsibility not only of bearing children but of caring for them through childhood, and should help them conserve their health and strength. Married couples should exercise self-control in all of their relationships. They should seek inspiration from the Lord in meeting their marital challenges and rearing their children according to the teachings of the gospel’ (General Handbook of Instructions [1983], p. 77)” (Cornerstones of a Happy Home, 6). - Gordon B. Hinckley

These statements are very bold, and they spoke straight to my heart.  Where before I thought there was nothing really said about birth control, here there were multiple quotes about having children and how family is the most important thing.

Our instructor also taught us the doctrine behind having children that totally opened my mind.

The reason we have children and families is because it is central to our Heavenly Father's plan.  It gives us the opportunity to practice becoming even more like God.  Even though that is stated in The Family:  A Proclamation to the World, I had never looked at families that way before.  Family is central.  It is the whole reason why we are on this earth.  Ultimately, in the end, it doesn't matter what kind of car we drive, how much money we make, or how big of a house we live in.  What matters is where our priorities are.  We won't be able to take any material things with us, but we can take our families and our knowledge with us.  (D&C 130:19 and D&C 132:15-20).

I would like to say that after I read the quotes and learned the doctrine behind families I was sold on going off birth control, but I wasn't.  My heart was still stubborn and wasn't willing to change.

Jayze kept feeling like we should start trying to have a family sooner than we had planned.  I had a harder time with feeling the same way because I knew our whole lives would change once we got pregnant.  Our lives had already changed just by getting married!  I guess I thought that we would be married a year, then BAM! we would have a baby.  But the baby has to bake for 9 months, and I didn't really think about that length of time.  I was selfish and had worries and doubts.  I didn't feel the desire to have a baby.  I wanted to finish school, exercise without having to worry about hurting a baby inside me, worry about a crying baby outside of me, be able to go out whenever I wanted, save more money, and have more alone time with Jayze.  It never occurred to me that I could still do all of those things with a baby. 

Jayze and I talked more about it, and he helped me work through all of my feelings.  He gave me a priesthood blessing (learn more about those here), which helped immensely.  We made the decision to go off the pill and see if the Lord wanted us to have children at that time or not.

What happened in the following weeks really strengthened my testimony of taking a leap of faith and not seeing the miracle until after the trial of faith is over.  I began to desire to be pregnant.  I made a complete turnaround.  We went off the pill in October, and I was sooooo disappointed when I wasn't pregnant by November or December.  I finally missed my period in January and took a pregnancy test.  It came out positive!  I wanted to be sure, so I ended up buying two more pregnancy tests, and they came out positive too!  I was pregnant!

I wasn't as happy when the morning sickness came.  I tried to be as happy as I could because I know how many women are not able to get pregnant, and I wanted to be positive throughout the whole nine months.

Everything went as perfectly as can be expected.  Despite having a hard time gaining weight at the beginning of the pregnancy, my belly still measured right on appointment after appointment.  The baby's heartbeat was right on, and he kicked and stretched quite a bit.

It was such a special moment when we found out we were having a boy.  Jayze and I both thought we were going to have a girl for some reason, so I eagerly anticipated the ultrasound technician to say, "It's a girl!"  Instead, she said, "Well, you ready to hear what you're having?"  Jayze and I nodded, and I kind of smiled like I knew what she was going to say.  "You're having a boy!"  What?!

But the cool thing is that Jayze and I both wanted a boy first, so it was just perfect.

I kept growing and growing and was getting nervous about starting school again, having a new person in our house, and quitting my job (I love my job soooooo much).  I knew a piece of my heart was going to break when I left work, but I had developed a testimony of being a stay-at-home mom and it was worth it to me.  This was my new desire - my new dream.

About 25 or 26 weeks

28 weeks

31 weeks

36 weeks

37 weeks and 2 days - August 26

On August 27, it seemed like my new dream had shattered.  I had an 11:00 appointment.  I left work, eagerly anticipating hearing my baby's heartbeat and seeing if I was at all close to going into labor (even though I was only 37 weeks - somehow I felt like he was going to come early, and I ended up being right).  It was just going to be a routine check-up with the nurse.  I was nervous because I was seeing a nurse I hadn't seen throughout the whole pregnancy, but I had loved all the workers at Madison Women's Clinic so far, so I figured it was going to be just fine.

It was the day I had to wait forever.  Seriously.  I don't think going to the doctor is a great idea in the middle of the morning, right before the afternoon, right before lunch, when it's so stinkin' busy.  For some reason, as I kept waiting, I was getting more and more nervous. I was anxious about the upcoming birth because I had no idea what the birth was going to be like, and I didn't like waiting in the lobby or the doctor's office for so long.  I just wanted to hear my baby's heartbeat and ask the nurse some questions I had on my mind and then make the routine call to Jayze to let him know the baby's heartbeat was "perfect" and my tummy was "right on" again. 

The nurse finally came in, and she put the heart doppler on.  Usually the nurses found the baby's heartbeat within seconds, but it took longer that time...

"I'm sorry, but I can't find a heartbeat."  The words hung in the air, but I don't think they quite sunk in.  No heartbeat?  How could there be no heartbeat?  He was perfect just last week!  I felt him moving last night.

"We're going to do an ultrasound and see if we can find it on there."

As we waited for the ultrasound tech to come, the nurse tried to look for the heartbeat again, but nothing came up.  She said, "I'm going to keep trying to find the heartbeat on the doppler, but it doesn't look like it's coming up.  So, we're going to do an ultrasound and hopefully we can find it on there..."

She told me to call Jayze and have him come over.  I didn't want him to have to come over.  Wasn't everything going to be okay?

I called Jayze and then numbly walked into the ultrasound room.  Suddenly, I did want Jayze there.  I needed him there.  I didn't want to do this alone.  But everything was okay, right?  Well, I wanted Jayze there even if everything was okay.  The ultrasound tech finally came in and squeezed the warm gel onto my bare belly.  The door to the room opened, and Jayze walked in looking mildly concerned.  I gave him a small smile, relieved that he was there, but only half of my attention was on him.  The other half was desperately looking at the ultrasound machine screen, wishing I could read it.  Wishing I could see the outline of my baby.  Wishing I could see my baby's heartbeat.  Wishing I could see my baby move.  I kept thinking that not being able to find his heartbeat was all a mistake.  That our baby boy was playing a trick on us and his heart was going to start beating again and he would say "Gotcha!" and we would all chuckle with relief and stroll out of the office happy again.

Everyone was quiet as the ultrasound tech looked for a heartbeat.  I wanted to scream at her and ask her how my baby was doing.  Was he okay?  He was alright, wasn't he?  This was my perfect baby.  Nothing could happen to him!  But I just sat there, still numb.  I couldn't say anything.  

The ultrasound tech took some measurements and pictures of the ultrasound, shook her head a little, and then stopped.  She gave the nurse who had tried to find the heartbeat earlier a small, knowing, kind of sad nod.  The nurse turned to Jayze and me and said quietly, "I'm so sorry."

Jayze squeezed my hand hard as he started to cry.  I couldn't cry.  I couldn't believe it.  This was all a mistake.  The nurse led us into the next room and left us alone for awhile.  I sat there, with Jayze crying in front of me, not knowing what to say or do or feel.  It didn't seem real.  It didn't seem like it was happening to me.  Finally, the tears slowly came with the realization that our baby had died.  Jayze scooted closer to me and held me as we cried and cried.

The nurse and doctor came back in and explained what was going to happen next.  It all seemed like a blur.  There was such a mix of emotions.  Part of me was still in shock.  Part of me was happy that I would be having the baby earlier than expected.  That I would get to hold him in my arms.  Then I remembered that our baby had died.  Questions whirled inside my head.  Was it even possible to have the baby?  Did I have to have the baby?  Did I really have to go through that?  Couldn't they get the baby out some other way?  How would they induce me?  Would my parents come?  Would Jayze's parents come?  Would I have to go back to work that day?  WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?  I just didn't know what to expect at all, and I was so scared.  I was scared of having the baby.  I was scared of seeing the baby.  Would he look okay?  Would I still love him?  Would I be able to hold him?

The doctor was explaining as these things went through my mind.  I would have the baby.  I could have him the next day or the day after.  I could go into labor on my own.  If I didn't, then they would induce me.

The doctor checked me to see if I had already started to go into labor on my own, and miraculously, I was already at four cm.  So, he told me I would either continue going into labor on my own, and if I did to go to the hospital.  Otherwise, I was scheduled to go to the hospital on Thursday, August 29.  The doctor and nurse were so kind.  They made everything so much easier.  Having all the facts, not emotions, laid out gave me something solid to think about.  

We decided to have the baby the day after so that we and our parents would have time to register what had happened and make plans.

It was sooooo hard calling my work and our parents and our bishop (I was scheduled to go back to work after my appointment, but knew I couldn't face going after what had happened).  I didn't want to talk to anyone, but at the same time, I wanted to tell people.  I needed their support.  I needed their love.  Saying it out loud made it real, and I didn't want it to be real, but my mind needed me to realize it was real.

I didn't go into labor naturally, which I was actually really grateful for.  Having it all scheduled out made it easier because there weren't any surprises.

My parents drove all the way up to Idaho in one day.  Words can't describe how grateful I was that they came.  The drive to Rexburg is long, especially when you do it in one day, so I really appreciated their sacrifice.  I don't think I'll ever be too old to not need my parents.

Jayze and I were already asleep when my parents made it to our house.  I actually slept well that night, considering everything that was going on.  Another tender mercy from the Lord.  I was scheduled to go to the hospital at 6:30 the next morning, and Jayze and my dad gave me a priesthood blessing before I went.  How grateful I am for the priesthood!

I was nervous and didn't want to let Jayze out of my sight.  We weren't able to find parking though, so he dropped me off, and I ended up waiting for him because I didn't want to go upstairs by myself.  We finally found where we were supposed to go (the directions to the labor and delivery were confusing!).  We got into the elevator and when it hit the second floor, the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

I let the front desk person know that I was scheduled to be there at 6:30.  I remember her talking on the phone with another nurse, letting her know the situation (insurance reasons), and I'll never forget the words she used, "Fetal demise."  My poor baby.  How I wished he was alive!  I kept hoping the doctors were wrong, that the ultrasound was wrong, and that a screaming, healthy baby would come out instead of my non-breathing baby.  Hearing those two words made it even more real, and I felt numb, like I was in a fog, as she led me into the delivery room.

Jayze left for awhile to give someone my insurance information, and I missed his presence.  I slowly changed into the hospital gown and climbed into the bed.  I was so grateful when Jayze came through that door and stayed with me the rest of the time.  It's amazing how much I depend on him.

Our nurse, Kristine, was wonderful.  She was super spunky and told us that if we didn't want anyone in the delivery room with us, then she could be the bad guy for us.  She was so nice and accommodating and made everything so easy.  I had been worried because the front desk woman had told me that I would have a different doctor than I was expecting.  I liked the doctor just fine, but I wanted the other doctor who was there when we found out Alma had died.  I asked her about it, and she said, "Oh, no, Dr. [    ] will deliver the baby.  He is the one on-call today.  And even if he wasn't, we would have called him because he wants to deliver your baby."  I was so grateful and relieved!

The nurse put an IV in me with the medicine to induce labor.  After, she sat down right by my bed and asked a ton of questions, but it didn't really drag or get annoying because she had so much energy.  She put me at ease right away.  Whenever she left, I was a little anxious.  She knew what she was doing, and I was worried something out of the ordinary with the labor or birth would happen whenever she was gone.

 At around 8:15 the doctor came in and said, "Hey girl, how are you doing?"  He was so nice.  He and his wife had two stillborns, so I felt like he really understood - even deeper - what Jayze and I were going through.  I was so grateful he was there, understood the situation, was sympathetic, and just understood.  It is so much easier to take certain comments from people who have gone through the exact same (or similar) thing as you.  It was easy to let him know how I was doing, cry in front of him and the nurse, and have them cry with me.  I kept telling them, "If this had to happen, I'm grateful it happened in Rexburg and that I can deliver here at this hospital."

The doctor explained a little what he hoped was going to happen - that they would try to speed up the process and that I would hopefully deliver the baby with as little physical pain as possible.  He checked to see how far along I was (I can't remember what I was dilated to at that point) and said he was going to break my water so that would help things move along more quickly.  He broke my water around 8:30.  My parents arrived about then, and I was grateful to know they were in the hospital.  I just wanted Jayze, the doctor, and the nurse in the labor room with me (my original plans anyway) though, so they went and stayed in the waiting room with Jayze's parents and Jayze's sister, NaElle.

Before the doctor left, he asked us if we wanted an autopsy done on the baby.  Jayze and I looked at each other not really know what to say.  At a loss of what else to say, I asked, "Does it cost a lot?"  The doctor explained that it would cost some money, but he recommended it because then maybe we would find out what had happened.  Hopefully when the baby was born, they would find out what happened there, like maybe a knot in the cord or something strange with the placenta.  But he told us to consider the autopsy in case nothing seemed wrong with the cord or placenta and let him know what we decided.  There were so many things to think about - the funeral home, where to hold the services, where to bury our baby, and now if we should have an autopsy done or not.  The doctor left, and I became more aware of the contractions as they got harder.

I hadn't practiced the breathing techniques that go with natural birth, but I was still trying to decide if I should go with an epidural or not.  The nurse let me know that the doctor recommended I get an epidural.  They wanted me to go through as little pain as possible, considering how much emotional pain I was going through.  She said that women who don't practice the breathing techniques don't realize how painful birth really is, and it ends up being, well, not a very beautiful or tender experience.  I opted for the epidural.  The contractions hadn't been too bad at first, and they felt differently than I had expected them to.  Slowly though, they began to get harder to where I couldn't concentrate on answering the questions very well or contribute to the conversation.  I think the nurse noticed, because she asked me if I wanted the anesthesiologist to come in.  I wanted to go as long as possible without it, but when Kristine told me that it would take about 20 minutes for them to actually get the epidural in and then another 10 minutes or so for it to start working, I said, "Yes!"  I didn't think I could handle it after another 30 minutes.

The anesthesiologists were really nice.  One of them cracked jokes the whole time, and the girl explained everything she was doing so I would know what to expect and what was going on.  The contractions kept coming, and the nurse helped me breathe through them as I was sitting up waiting for the needle to go in.  It was one of the hardest moments to sit completely still, during a contraction, and have the girl stick the needle in.  Afterwards though, the effect was amazing.  Both of my legs went completely numb.  It was like being at the dentist, except for the bottom half of my body went tingly and numb, not my face.    

Kristine kept looking at a screen that showed how hard the contractions were and kept asking me how the epidural was working.  I would just feel pressure, not really pain.  I think I was dilated to a seven by then.  She said it would probably be another couple of hours, so she dimmed the lights, closed the blinds, and let me go to sleep during that time.  I was to push the button if I needed anything.

Before I had the epidural and had been in the hospital room for a little bit, a woman by the name of Jill came in.  She was carrying a baby blue, soft blanket.  She told me that so many people in the hospital were praying for us that day.  She held my hand as she said that, and then she handed me the blue blanket.  She told me, "I want you to hold onto this while you are having the baby.  It is something that you can hold onto and remember this moment with."  For a split second, I didn't want that blanket.  I didn't want something to remember my baby with.  I just wanted my baby.  Couldn't I keep him?  Couldn't I hold him in my arms?  Did I have to give him up?  I took the blanket, but I honestly didn't think it was going to help much.  Little did I know how much that blanket would comfort me that day and in the days and weeks and months ahead.

It was nice being there in the dark, holding Jayze's hand, and dozing.  About an hour and a half later though, earlier than expected, I felt like the baby was lower and I wanted to push soon.  I let Jayze know, and I pushed the button.  Kristine came in, and she checked me and said, "Amazing."  I was complete.  That happened so fast!  She said she could feel the baby, so she called in the doctor.

The doctor got ready, and I was anxious for him to hurry because I felt like I wanted to start pushing.  It was almost like the contractions were pushing the baby out on their own, and I wanted the doctor there!  He got settled, and the nurse and Jayze kept encouraging me as I pushed.  Kristine said this part was like a marathon.  It was like putting one step forward and taking one step back.  Every time I pushed, the baby would come out a little bit, but then go back in.  I wasn't super tired yet, though, so that was good.  The doctor came in at around 11:20, and Alma was born at 11:42 p.m.  It was so exciting and encouraging to hear things like, "I see his head.  Nice and easy now.  He's coming."  Along with the nurse encouraging me and Jayze squeezing my hand and nodding his own encouragement.

When he was born, I wasn't worried about anything else.  I didn't think about the placenta or about pain (I was numb, so I didn't really feel pain), or about anything I thought I would worry about when the baby was born.  All I wanted to do was see the baby.  The doctor had him in his hands, and I kept trying to catch glimpses of him.  I finally asked, "Can I see him?"  The nurse said, "Of course!" and wrapped him up and gave him to me even before she had cleaned him off.  It felt so wonderful to hold little Alma in my arms.  It was such a sacred feeling.  I kept saying thank you to the doctor and nurse and looking at Jayze and gazing at our baby son.  I couldn't stop looking at him. 

 
He was perfect.


A few minutes later, my parents and Jayze's parents came in.  They each held him, and it was such a special experience.

It was a beautiful day.  The Spirit was so strong in that hospital room.  Alma's spirit was so strong, too.  If I could go back, I would do that day all over again just so I could hold Alma in my arms again and feel of his precious spirit again so strongly.

Jayze and I took turns holding him.  Neither of us wanted to stop holding him, but knew we needed to give each other the chance to hold him.  After about two hours, the nurse asked me if I wanted to take a shower.  I wasn't too sure about it, considering I just gave birth and wasn't sure I could walk across the room.  And I just wanted to be with my baby, but the nurse helped me.  So, while Jayze held Alma, I was able to take a quick shower and go to the bathroom.  I had torn a little, so I was sore, but I didn't really think about it.  The nurse was the best and kept encouraging me, so I felt like I was going to heal just fine - physically at least.  She got both Jayze and me some food.  I kept drinking chocolate milk.  I couldn't get enough of it!  It seemed like everything was perfect.  I couldn't stop rocking my baby.  

But soon the time came for the mortician to take Alma away.  That was the hardest part of the day.  The hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life.  It was around five in the afternoon when he came.  I didn't want to let Alma go, but I knew I needed to.  When the mortician was there, I cried and cried.  And after he left, I cried and cried.  I couldn't imagine going home without my baby.  I felt so empty.  I felt like something was missing.  My arms felt heavy.  It didn't seem right to have Alma in my tummy for 37 weeks, go through labor, hold him all day long, and then not be able to take him home.  Jayze held me for a long, long time.

After Alma was gone, I didn't want to see anyone.  I didn't want to stay in that hospital another minute either.  What was the point? My baby wasn't there, so why should I be there?  Suddenly, the Spirit was gone.  I felt empty and sad and mostly just numb again.

Jayze didn't want to stay there anymore either, so we asked the nurse if we could leave.  The nurse who had been with us the whole day had already left (her shift ended at six).  She gave us each a hug before she left, and when she was gone, I felt even emptier.  This new nurse didn't know - couldn't know.  She didn't understand - couldn't understand.  Maybe she did, but she didn't understand me or how I was feeling at that moment, when it seemed like our other nurse always knew exactly what to say, when to give me a hug, and be able to admire my baby with me.  Those moments were gone.  They were gone so fast - too fast.

The nurse said we could leave.  Before we left, they gave us all these things, even toothpaste.  Why would I need toothpaste?  Why would I need a prescription for pain killers?  They couldn't take the pain away from my heart.  Fortunately, they convinced me to take everything.  I couldn't have cared less at the time what I needed for me to heal physically.  What I really needed was my baby.  I needed to be figuring out how to nurse him, worry about his sleep schedule, wonder what habits he had, get used to putting him in the car seat, and be able to hold him whenever I wanted.  But these needs and wants couldn't be satisfied.  My baby was gone, and I didn't know if I would be able to see him again before he was buried.

No couple should have to figure out where they're going to bury their baby.  How they are going to pay for the tiny coffin, the autopsy, the plane ride to where they want their baby buried, the morticians, the hearse, the grave plot.

I wanted to be paying for the car seat, the stroller, the diapers, the baby shampoo, the bottles, the blankets, the clothes, the crib bedding, the nursery decorations, the pack 'n play, the tiny fingernail clippers.

I wanted my family to be worrying about how they were going to get off work to come to the baby blessing, not how they were going to get off work to come to the graveside service.

I wanted to just say goodbye to my baby once, not a million more times after the hospital.  I was grateful because I was able to see him again at the funeral home, and his spirit was so strong there.  I had such a special experience there with him.  But it was hard to say goodbye again.  I thought that was going to be the last goodbye.  That that was going to be the last time I had to walk away.  But I had to say goodbye one more time at the graveside service - this time in front of everyone.  I had to walk away one more time when I didn't want to have to walk away at all.  No one should have to walk away from their baby.

But I guess the Lord was trying to tell me that it's not what I wanted.  It's never about me.  It's more about what the Lord wants.  The Lord doesn't want me to suffer.  He doesn't want to see me in pain.  But He is with me every step of the way.  He cries with me and comforts me and surrounds me with loving arms.  He sends earthly and heavenly angels to buoy me up and help me live every single day when sometimes all I want to do is curl up in a ball and stay in bed.  He knows that someday, I will understand why he took my firstborn son back to His presence when I thought it was too early.  Someday I will understand that it was and is a blessing that I, as one of the people I see at work told me who had lost one of their children as well, "already have one socked away."  That maybe I can find it in myself, through my Savior, to find the blessing amidst the trial.  I don't think I'll quite understand until I get to see Alma again, but what I can understand is that the Lord was, and still is, reminding me to ask myself, "What can I learn from this?"

I can learn that we are all mothers.  Wasn't Eve called "Eve" because she is the mother of all living - even before she bore children? (Moses 4:26)

I can learn that families really are forever.  That the gospel of Jesus Christ really is true.  That if I try with all my might, mind, and heart, I can be with my Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and Alma again.  That Alma is okay and happy and excited to prepare and help send his siblings come down to Jayze and me. 

I can learn that the prayers and fasting and temple blessings are so, extremely powerful.  I look back and know I could only have said goodbye to my son because of the prayers of others.  Because of the knowledge that I will see him again.  Because of his spirit and the Lord's spirit that I felt uplifting me and supporting me through it all.

I can learn that others have gone through the same thing as me.  And more will go through the same thing as me, and I will be able to hold them and let them know that I understand exactly how they feel and cry with them.

I can learn that motherhood is the greatest blessing of all.  Right now I don't care as much about getting my degree.  I don't care as much about being in the best shape of my life.  I don't care as much about traveling the world.  I don't care as much about how much money Jayze and I are going to have.  Those things are not the ultimate reason why we are here on earth.  In the end, it doesn't matter because I can't take those things with me.  What I can take with me and have with me forever is my family.  So, what I do care about is having children.  Having little hands that need me.  Having mouths to feed, scrapes to kiss and put bandaids on, minds to read to, curious questions to answer, and spirits to nurture.  I care about holding precious souls in my arms, knowing they came fresh from my Heavenly Father's presence.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will make the right choice and gain a testimony of their own and have their own personal relationship with our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will choose a happy and righteous lifestyle.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will make it home safely after a school dance.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will be safe on their mission.  I care about worrying and praying that my children will marry a good person.

I can learn that it's okay not to be okay.  That it's okay to cry.  That it's okay to mourn.  That it's okay to grieve.  That it's okay to have hard days.  That it's okay to let Christ in and heal my broken heart.

Life isn't easy.  Trials come to all of us.  The trick isn't how to get out of the trial.  The trick is figuring out how you are going to react to the trial.  And I know that this trial of mine has been so much easier with Christ walking with me every step of the way. 

Until we meet again.