"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. 

Love Notes

August is a heavy month and last year was no different. I dreaded it. I always found my mind straying to the past and anxiety was almost a constant. Last year was easier than the one before that, but difficult moments were never far away. It just seems to be one of those months, and I have a feeling it will always be like that in one way or another.

But just like every August since Alma passed away, tender mercies began showing up. Sweet reminders and messages (I call them love notes) from Heavenly Father letting me know He's there and helping me feel Alma nearby. I've come to depend on those love notes, especially when August rolls around.

On one day last August, I was at the temple. I always love going to the temple, and I was especially excited to be there because this was my month. The month where the darkness seeps into my soul and I needed my Savior's light more than ever. The temple is also the place where I usually feel Alma most often, and I was hoping so much to feel his presence there. I desperately needed that comfort and reassurance. As I went about the temple, I kept watching and waiting for something, anything that would let me know Alma was close by, but...nothing. I felt disappointed as I changed back into my dress. I tried to shake the feeling and thought, "Well, maybe next time." I grabbed my bag and began walking toward the exit. As I passed through the doorway, I glanced down and noticed a small rainbow prism illuminating the soft carpet. I took note of it and then strode right by it, thinking, "Hmm, that's pretty," with no further thought. When I stepped out into the foyer, that's when it hit me. That was my love note from Alma. There, at the very end when I had almost lost hope, was a very sweet and very personalized message from my son and from my Heavenly Father.

"...the Lord's tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ..." (David A. Bednar, "The Tender Mercies of the Lord," April 2005).

Later that month in the evening, I was driving by myself to a church meeting. It had been raining earlier, so the air and ground were still wet and the clouds were white wisps in the blue-gray sky. Since it was summer, it was still light out even though it was approaching 7:00. I was thinking about Alma and was rounding a curve when suddenly, right in my line of sight, was a beautiful, vibrant rainbow set against the soaked trees and rainy sky. I couldn't stop the tears from filling my eyes. Another love note.

"I will not leave you comfortless. I will come to you" (John 14:18).

To those whose grief is still very raw and whose sorrow is still a constant companion, don't give up. To those who are struggling through a trial, some heartache, or failure, hang on. Feel all of those hard feelings and know that it does get better. There will come a time when there is more sweet than bitter. Love notes are all around you...if you just look for them. God is there. And just like He has never, ever left me comfortless, He will not leave you comfortless. You can feel peace. Ask God to help you recognize those tender mercies, and He will send help and you'll come to cherish those sweet love notes. God knows who you are because you are His child.

"We should not underestimate or overlook the power of the Lord's tender mercies. The simpleness, the sweetness, and the constancy of the tender mercies of the Lord will do much to fortify and protect us in the troubled times in which we do now and will yet live. When words cannot provide the solace we need or express the joy we feel, when it is simply futile to attempt to explain that which is unexplainable, when logic and reason cannot yield adequate understanding about the injustices and inequities of life, when mortal experience and evaluation are insufficient to produce a desired outcome, and when it seems that perhaps we are so totally alone, truly we are blessed by the tender mercies of the Lord and made mighty even unto the power of deliverance (see 1 Ne. 1:20)," (David A. Bednar)

March 2019

I recommend this talk (so good): The Tender Mercies of the Lord.
Why rainbows remind me of Alma: 20 Weeks: Rainbow Baby

Shift

I avoided social media for about four months after Alma passed away. I felt prompted to check my messages the night before I gave birth to him, which was a tender mercy because one message in particular brought immense comfort and helped me focus on the good the next day. However, when I was back in the routine of things (as much as possible after losing a child), I logged onto Facebook. After about five minutes of seeing baby picture after baby picture, my heart turned so bitter and hard that I signed out and didn't get on again.

I admire those who have been through something similar and are still able to get on social media right away because it was too difficult for me. It took me awhile to even look at all of the kind messages people sent me online because my mind was blurred with grief and nothing anyone said at that time was good enough for my grieving heart.

When I finally decided I was ready to come back, it was for multiple reasons. One of them was that I needed resources. I needed help. I needed perspective from those who had done this or who were going through it right then like I was.

I remember jumping on the computer and searching online for any sort of personal reference to stillbirths. The hospital had given me a list of in-person grief groups I could attend, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to go and open up to a circle of strangers - even if they had been or were trudging through the trenches too. I think that was the denial part of grief talking me out of it. That, and fear. But one day when I got on Facebook, I saw a message from a girl in my ward. She had linked a blog post authored by a woman who had just announced she was pregnant with her rainbow baby. Although I was skeptical, I clicked the link which led me to find more posts. Posts of her grieving her first child. And I couldn't get enough. It was like I could have written them, and it felt so good to know I wasn't alone. Someone else had gone through this too, had the courage to share, and provided some relief. I thought, "I'm not crazy for feeling all of these things!"

I'm not crazy.

I clung to those blog posts. And then when I found more blogs written by women who had also lost one of their children, I clung to those as well. Then it was my turn. Four months after Alma passed away, I found the courage to log into my blog and write a few posts. Six months later, I changed my blog's name. The month after that, I shared Alma's story.

Looking back on some of my old posts, I am amazed by how open, vulnerable, and raw I was in my thoughts, feelings, and experiences about Alma. I shared a piece of my heart with the world. And in the process of trying to help even one person, I was able to help myself too and gain a greater relationship with my Heavenly Father than I ever had before.

However, a couple of years ago, I found myself at a crossroads. I felt like my blog had become just about Alma and that people were probably thinking, "Man, just get over it. Why do you feel like you always have to talk about him?" So I stopped writing so much about him. I began to lack the courage to be so open, but I guess, in a way, deep down I was also ready to stop writing about him so often. My perspective and healing had changed. The grief was still there, but it had slightly...shifted.

A blogger I followed once shared what she called her, "Piano Post." In it she shared an article describing personal, daily grief, which continues to resonate with me.

STEVEN KALAS:

When you lose a child, grieving is a lifelong experience

When our first child is born, a loud voice says, “Runners, take your marks!” We hear the starting gun and the race begins. It’s a race we must win at all cost. We have to win. The competition is called “I’ll race you to the grave.” I’m currently racing three sons. I really want to win.

Not everyone wins.

I’m here at the national meeting of Compassionate Friends, an organization offering support and resources for parents who lose the race. I’m wandering the halls during the “break-out” sessions. In this room are parents whose children died in car accidents. Over there is a room full of parents of murdered children. Parents of cancer victims are at the end of the hall. Miscarriages and stillbirths are grouped together, as are parents who have survived a child’s suicide. And so it goes.

In a few minutes, I’m going to address Compassionate Friends. This is the toughest audience of my life. I mix with the gathering crowd, and a woman from Delaware glances at my name tag. Her name tag has a photo of her deceased son. My name tag is absent photos

.

“So … you haven’t … lost anyone,” she says cautiously.

“My three sons are yet alive, if that’s what you’re asking me,” I say gently.

She tries to nod politely, but I can see that I’ve lost credibility in her eyes. She’s wondering who invited this speaker, and what on earth he could ever have to say to her.

My address is titled “The Myth of Getting Over It.” It’s my attempt to answer the driving questions of grieving parents: When will I get over this? How do I get over this?

You don’t get over it. Getting over it is an inappropriate goal. An unreasonable hope. The loss of a child changes you. It changes your marriage. It changes the way birds sing. It changes the way the sun rises and sets. You are forever different.

You don’t want to get over it. Don’t act surprised. As awful a burden as grief is, you know intuitively that it matters, that it is profoundly important to be grieving. Your grief plays a crucial part in staying connected to your child’s life. To give up your grief would mean losing your child yet again. If I had the power to take your grief away, you’d fight me to keep it. Your grief is awful, but it is also holy. And somewhere inside you, you know that.

The goal is not to get over it. The goal is to get on with it.

Profound grief is like being in a stage play wherein suddenly the stagehands push a huge grand piano into the middle of the set. The piano paralyzes the play. It dominates the stage. No matter where you move, it impedes your sight lines, your blocking, your ability to interact with the other players. You keep banging into it, surprised each time that it’s still there. It takes all your concentration to work around it, this at a time when you have little ability or desire to concentrate on anything.

The piano changes everything. The entire play must be rewritten around it.

But over time the piano is pushed to stage left. Then to upper stage left. You are the playwright, and slowly, surely, you begin to find the impetus and wherewithal to stop reacting to the intrusive piano. Instead, you engage it. Instead of writing every scene around the piano, you begin to write the piano into each scene, into the story of your life.

You learn to play that piano. You’re surprised to find that you want to play, that it’s meaningful, even peaceful to play it. At first your songs are filled with pain, bitterness, even despair. But later you find your songs contain beauty, peace, a greater capacity for love and compassion. You and grief — together — begin to compose hope. Who’da thought?

Your grief becomes an intimate treasure, though the spaces between the grief lengthen. You no longer need to play the piano every day, or even every month. But later, when you’re 84, staring out your kitchen window on a random Tuesday morning, you welcome the sigh, the tears, the wistful pain that moves through your heart and reminds you that your child’s life mattered.

You wipe the dust off the piano and sit down to play.

Copyright: Las Vegas Review-Journal

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. Contact him atskalas@reviewjournal.com.

My piano, persay, continues to shift. A few years ago, it made me feel almost like a broken record sharing about Alma. But now I'm realizing that he is part of my play and my story, and he will always be a part of my life, even if the grief is no longer obstructing my view and I'm not constantly banging into it.

Instead of writing every scene around the piano, you begin to write the piano into each scene, into the story of your life.

So now it's time. It's time to come back and write the piano into the story of my life. It's time to open myself up again, to weave the hope back in, and help others (and myself) in the process. Because hope is there and healing is possible.

Finally Friday

This week has been one for the books (and not in a good way). 

Aidan's face says it all, and Kimball is where I wanted to
be all week - snuggled up with a blanket in, not a stroller, but a bed

I didn't really want to blog about it, but I knew I would be shortchanging myself if I was anything but honest and just posted about the gem-like snippets of the week, such as:

- Getting my teeth cleaned (yay!) -

- Hearing a cute story about Aidan from my friend after she watched him for a couple of hours -

- attending Seminary graduation (which I wasn't excited about at first, but it ended up being great) -
- Kimball's one year appointment -

I knew it was going to be a long week when, on Monday night, I was wishing it was Friday. It's been storm after storm, wave after crashing wave, and a lot of blindsides. 

Each night when I went to bed, I'd close my eyes and hope for a better day tomorrow. 

Yet, it seemed no matter how hard we tried, something went wrong. Out of the midst of it all, last night finally brought some relief and I'm grateful that I can see a flicker of light through the darkest of dark. 

Today is going to be a good day.

That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.
-Doctrine and Covenants 50:24-

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

Missing Alma

Aidan grinned from ear to ear and happily ran to the playground. Once he got there, he was a little more cautious. With some prompting, I finally convinced him to climb the stairs so he could go down the slide.

As he started up the stairs, I looked down to check on Kimball, who was still sleeping soundly in the baby carrier against my chest. I looked up again and saw that Aidan had made it to the top of the tall, brown slide. He sat down, smiled, and seemed to want to come down, but didn't seem sure if he could.

I kept saying, "Come on, Aidan! You can do it! Come on down - it'll be fun! Wait, where are you going? Yeah, come on down! You've done it before!" After a lot of prompting, down he slid until he came to the gradual stop at the end of the slide. Once at the end, he hopped back onto the ground, looked my way, and headed toward the stairs to start the process again.

After he was done with the slide, we walked unsteadily across the wood chips to the horses on springs. It was his first time being on one, since the park we always went to in Rexburg didn't have any. He wasn't quite sure what to do, so I asked him, "Do you want to get on? Here, let me help you." I awkwardly bent down, Kimball still in the baby carrier, and plopped him into the saddle.

A little kid who we had met at the slide and looked to be about 5 years old ran over and jumped onto the horse next to Aidan's. He asked me to hold the little toy he had with him so he could rock away as fast as he could without losing his toy. Aidan stared at the little boy and watched his every move.

By watching the little boy, Aidan slowly made the connection that the horse was meant for rocking, and oh! he could put his feet on the metal stirrups to get more momentum.

Feet on the stirrups.

Aidan grinned and laughed as he made the horse go faster and faster for a few seconds and then he went back to watching the little boy, seeing if he could learn anything new again.

Then a little girl came along, jumped on a horse, rode it for a second, jumped back off, and ran to the sand pit. After that, Aidan wanted to go to the sand pit, too. So I gave the little boy back his toy, grabbed Aidan's hands and pulled him off the horse, and off to the sand pit we went...where Aidan did a lot of standing around and watching, trying to figure out how the sand pit worked. Finally, after watching the other kids for a little bit and after a little prompting from me, he carefully walked over and started playing in the dirt. It wasn't long, though, before he stopped what he was doing and went back to watching the kids all around him.

While Aidan was trying to get his bearings in the sand pit, I stood off to the side, trying to let him be independent. As I stood there, one mom asked me how old Aidan was.

I told her, "21 months." 

She smiled, nodded, and said, "He's a cutie." 

"Thanks! He likes watching more than he likes playing with other kids. I don't think I get out with him enough," I said, a little apologetically.

She smiled and said, "Oh, that's okay," and pointed out her little girl. "That's how my daughter was. She recently turned three and is just barely starting to play more independently when we come here. I think it's just a personality thing. Her older sister was a little more crazy and bold when she was that age, but my three-year-old used to be content to just hang out around me and watch the other kids play."

At that point, she got distracted and Aidan started wandering back to the horses, so I kind of waved goodbye and followed Aidan. He got on the horse again, but didn't seem as interested, so we headed toward the swings. I asked him if he wanted to get on, and he replied in his cute little toddler way of affirming that, yes, he did want to get on the swing.

Once on the swing, Aidan had the time of his life! He laughed and kept saying, "Mooooore, mooooore!" So, I stood there, took pictures, grabbed at his feet, and pushed him higher and higher.

As I pushed and played with Aidan, a knot tightened in my stomach and I had to blink back tears in the midst of laughing with him. For some reason, every time I get on the swings and swing with Aidan, or when he swings by himself and I push him, I think of Alma. Every time. And as I pushed, I thought of the reason why this time at the park, my heart felt heavy. It wasn't just because it was a new and unfamiliar place or because it was the first time I was at the park by myself with two kids and felt a new and awkward carrying a baby around and following a toddler, trying to make it look like I knew what I was doing. It was more than that because, really, none of that was really bothering me because I love what I do - trying to be a good mom to my kids. 

My heart felt heavy because of how careful and cautious Aidan was around this new and unfamiliar park. He was attempting to play with kids he didn't know - ones who were older than him and seemed to know how the different entertainment on the playground worked. And what the mom said stuck out to me about her little daughter who was also cautious. She was the second child and Aidan is the second child. I've heard from a lot of moms that the second baby tends to be calmer and easier than the first baby (obviously, not always the case), and it made me wonder what Alma would be like. Would he be more crazy and bold like the mom's older daughter? Would I be out of breath chasing him around, while also keeping an eye on Aidan and Kimball? 

At that moment, I wished Alma was there. I wished he was there so I could experience him. Experience his personality on a day-to-day basis and see him play with his younger brothers. I could just imagine him with high energy, running around everywhere, while pulling Aidan along and showing him how things worked. Being the older brother and taking care of his younger brother. Showing him the ropes and getting in some trouble now and then. 

It's hard being an angel momma. The "what if's" are always there and my invisible child is always lingering in moments like these where I remember I'd be watching over three boys and not just two. The moments where I try to imagine what my life would be like if I were raising Alma right now along with Aidan and Kimball.

These heart-wrenching, lump-in-the-throat moments hit me like a ton of bricks, and it's hard to catch my breath and get back up again. Grief isn't ever-present anymore, but in the moments it comes, it hurts just as much as the days following Alma's death did.

In times like these, I'm even more grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for His love for me. They are reminders to grow closer to Him and rely on Him - in both good times and bad times. They're also reminders that I haven't forgotten Alma, and he's still a huge influence in my life. I'm so grateful for that! That he is a part of our family and always will be. I just want to live worthy enough to see and hold him again. I know I can claim that promise of forever families and eternal life if I just turn to my Savior and seek for the peace and comfort that comes only through Him.

"Faith in Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice is, and forever will be, the first principle of the gospel and the foundation upon which our hope for 'peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come' is built. In our search for peace amidst the daily challenges of life, we’ve been given a simple pattern to keep our thoughts focused on the Savior, who said: 'Learn of me, and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me. I am Jesus Christ.'" 

("A Pattern for Peace," W. Christopher Waddell, 2016)

Pregnancy Update: 36 Weeks

This past week has been a little bit of an emotional roller coaster. It seems that the closer I get to having this baby, the more anxious I get. I get flashbacks of what happened with Alma. And while I love remembering Alma - the moments when I had him and got to hold him - I don't love what happened. It was so hard, and right now my due date is looming. We're so excited to have this baby, but it's taking more and more effort to be excited rather than just wanting it to be over with. I'm trying to not let fear take over and trying to envision taking another baby home, but some days are better than others. So, like my last pregnancy, I'm focusing on the good this week:

Doctors and Nurse Practioners: 
My doctors and nurse practioners are the best. When I go to doctor appointments, I feel loved and cared for. After doing the routine checkup, one of my doctors asked me how my head was. I took a deep breath while tears pooled in my eyes and answered, "Um, okay," and could only nod after that. He let me know that they are in this with me. I'm not alone. Everyone wants a good outcome - a baby in my arms I can take home with me. I am in their prayers. It was just what I needed to hear. I'm so grateful for my doctors.

Warm Weather:
With Alma and Aidan, I was in my third trimester throughout the entire summer. This time around, it's been fun to be in my third trimester with summer right around the corner. It makes me look forward to walking outside with Aidan and the new baby, as well as having precious sunlight stream through my windows.

Ultrasounds:
The other day I told the ultrasound tech, "These just kill me! They make me want to hold my baby right now!" It's been the best being able to see my baby so often. The other day he had his tiny fist clenched and close to his face, and it was just the sweetest thing.

Braxton Hicks:
Just this past week I've had lots of Braxton Hicks. They put me into major nesting mode. I told my mom, "All of a sudden, I feel like I need to make freezer meals, wash baby clothes, set up the pack 'n play, and vacuum my whole house!" In fact, I want to vacuum every single day "just in case." Yes, definitely in major nesting mode.

Which leads me right into the next point...

Prepping for the Baby:
There's something so hard about prepping for a baby after losing a baby. I hated packing all of Alma's things away. We also left the crib up for a couple of months after he was born with the glider and ottoman right by it. I would get home from school, sit in the glider while holding his blanket, and just cry. So, it really does take an act of faith preparing for the baby. There's always the "what if" in the back of my mind. But a couple of days ago I got out the baby clothes, bibs, wash cloths, tiny socks, and blankets and washed, dried, folded, and put them all away. It was a first step to preparing and has made me want to keep preparing.

p.s. Those baby clothes are tiny! I can't believe Aidan was that small!

Sleep:
I'm so grateful Aidan sleeps through the night, because I'm already up every 3-4 hours going to the bathroom and waking up from crazy dreams. I'm trying to take advantage of the sleep I get now, but also mentally prepare for not getting sleep when the baby gets here.

P90X Stretch:
Who knew pregnant people could do P90X? :) Yesterday, Jayze and I decided to exercise during Aidan's naptime. We popped in P90X Stretch, and it felt wonderful! Even though I wasn't able to do some of the stretches, I was able to do a majority of them. It was just what my body and mind needed.

Prayers and Scriptures:
As I've really tried to pray and study my scriptures daily, I have felt an abiding peace. The Lord is with me. No matter what happens, He won't let me down. He has never let me down. He is with me every step of the way, and I am so grateful for Him. Whenever I'm struggling, it seems like the scriptures I read that day were written just for me. And they were! Whenever I get down on my knees and pour out my heart, I feel my Savior's love. I'm so, so grateful for prayers and scriptures.

This is an exciting time. I'm excited to see Aidan be an older brother, excited to smell that glorious newborn smell, excited to change millions of diapers a day, and excited to be a mom all over again.

I'm trying to be aware of the small and simple things in my life - baby kicks, milestones Aidan reaches, Jayze getting to be home more now that he's graduated, time with friends, sweet and tender mercies...these moments are small but make up to become big, beautiful things in my life. And what a beautiful life it is.

Pregnancy Update: 30 weeks

Today I am 30 weeks along! This pregnancy is really flying by, which I am both happy and nervous about. As I get farther along, I long for Alma more. I long to feel him in my arms again. I long for that perfect labor and delivery and feeling his spirit close by.

I also ache more.

I ache for the moments I'll never get in this life. Ache for the moments I never got to see him alive. Ache for the moments I don't get to see him interact with, play with, and love on Aidan.

My anxiety for this baby to be born has gone up, although I've tried not to let it get the best of me. I get so excited about having another baby and the thought of seeing Aidan with his little brother, and then I get...scared.

Scared that I'll have to bury this child, too. Scared Aidan will be left with two brothers in heaven. Scared I'll have to go through the same trial again.

Aidan loves babies, and it breaks my heart to think of the possibility of not seeing him love our baby - his baby brother.

As I'm progressing farther, I'm reminded over and over again that there is no safe zone for me. No safe zone in this pregnancy. It could happen at anytime and anywhere. It could happen in the middle of the night when I'm sleeping and not counting the baby's movements.

I've been pushing these feelings down, trying to feel like a normal pregnant person - full of hope, only worrying about the aches and pains and no sleep and weird food cravings. But my innocence is gone. I don't get that first-time pregnancy joy again...I've lost it. I've lost my baby before, and it's hard to find that beautiful joy other women who haven't lost a baby have of knowing all the pregnancy hardships will be worth it once my baby is in my arms. I don't know if I'll get that.

As I've thought about and pondered all these thoughts (and more) this past week, I was reminded of a quote from President Thomas S. Monson's most recent general conference talk, "Be an Example and a Light.":

"Remember that faith and doubt cannot exist in the same mind at the same time, for one will dispel the other. I reiterate what we have been told repeatedly—that in order to gain and to keep the faith we need, it is essential that we read and study and ponder the scriptures. Communication with our Heavenly Father through prayer is vital. We cannot afford to neglect these things, for the adversary and his hosts are relentlessly seeking for a chink in our armor, a lapse in our faithfulness. Said the Lord, 'Search diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good.'"

Satan works hard on all of us, especially when we're trying to be righteous and good. He tries to overshadow me with doubt, and sometimes he wins because I let him. I let doubt dispel my faith and listen to all of the things Satan tells me that can go wrong in this pregnancy, or with life in general.

But I'm learning more and more that it's MY choice. I choose to let Satan in or not. I choose to have faith or doubt. And the more I have faith and act on my faith by reading, studying, and pondering the scriptures and praying to my Heavenly Father, the more peace, joy, and love I'll feel. Strength will fill my soul, and I will claim the promise that "all things shall work together for [my] good."

Things will work out. If I don't get this baby now, I pray I can be worthy to be with him and Alma in heaven. BUT, I am hoping with all my heart and trying to have faith that I'll get this baby here.

I'm hoping I'll get to bring him home and learn about him and snuggle him.

Figure out how to take care of a baby and a toddler on so little sleep.

Figure out how to grocery shop with two children.

Be amazed that my love has multiplied yet again for another child.

I am a mother - it is my greatest calling. I love being a mother. It is the best hard I have ever done. My testimony of motherhood has grown so much, of family, and of marriage. That's what this life is about, and I'm grateful to be part of it.

So, without further ado, here is my pregnancy update:

Cravings: I've become a pickier eater. Definitely. I only want cereal, toast, yogurt, fruit, breads, smoothies, sweet treats (mostly baked goods and chocolate) - pretty much breakfast and easy foods. Probably why I have been feeling tired. I need to vamp up my diet!

Aversions: Spaghetti (unless it's with meatballs...like I said, I have turned into a picky eater). Beans, enchiladas, pizza (except homemade), stir fry, soup. Surprisingly, Mexican food. But, once I start eating something, then I enjoy eating it. It's weird.

Movement: LOVE feeling this baby move. It's still at the point where it doesn't hurt. This baby is a mover, too, which is the best ever.

Heartburn? If I don't eat frequently enough, in comes the burn. However, it generally goes away when I eat cereal with milk.

Sleep: Because of vivid dreams, I don't sleep very well. I've woken up in a cold sweat a few times. It's nice I can take a nap during Aidan's nap time if I need to.  

Best moment this week: Getting to hear the baby's heartbeat. I had to take the gestational diabetes test (yucky drink, but I passed!), and his heartbeat was beating like crazy. It was so fun to hear it and know he's doing well.
 
It was also awesome hitting 30 weeks. Just 10 more weeks to go!

Pregnancy Update

The baby bump is finally popping out! I've only taken two pregnancy pictures so far because I haven't seemed to grow as much or as fast as I thought I would with this third baby. Just counting my blessings I still fit in my jeans. Maternity clothes are expensive.

At the beginning of the pregnancy, I felt sick, but way better than with the last two babies. Because it was different, I thought for sure we were having a little girl this time. Nope! Baby BOY number three is well on his way, and Jayze and I couldn't be happier we're having another boy.

One of the many perks of experiencing pregnancy before is recognizing the baby's movement. I've been able to feel him since about 13 weeks, which is such a tender mercy. This little guy wiggles around quite a bit, and I love it.

Update:
How far along: 23 weeks today. (!) It's going by so fast.
Total weight gain: 6 lbs.
Maternity clothes: Still in my regular clothes. It's nice being a stay-at-home mom this time around because I can hang out in my sweats most of the time. The winter, snowy weather makes me want to stay inside anyway. Thanks, Rexburg. :)
Miss anything? Working out hardcore. Although I did get a maternity workout video this week, and it has already helped out a lot with all the aches and pains.
Best moment of the week: On Jan. 7, we went in for the 20-week appointment. I love getting ultrasounds because I get to see the baby, and so that was the best. He's a mover and so cute. The ultrasound tech got him with his hands by his head and printed it out for us. This week, the best moment was Jayze helping me out with dinner on Friday. I still get tired more easily, and it was awesome having help.
Food cravings: Oatmeal with bananas and cinnamon. Berry smoothies. Brownies. Toast with peanut butter and berry jam and a glass of milk. I have a HUGE appetite this time around. I pretty much have a second dinner every night, so thankfully I have mostly healthy cravings. Thanks, baby.
Anything make you queasy or sick? Spaghetti. Or just pasta in general lately. Weird, because I normally love pasta.
Happy or moody most of the time: So happy! I have a lot of peace with this pregnancy. There have definitely been ups and downs, but I really am so excited to have another baby in our home (fingers crossed and knees bent!)
Looking forward to: Not having varicose veins anymore. They are kind of the worst.
 
Ever since we found out we were pregnant, there's been a mix of emotions. BUT, the good news is we are pregnant! And this baby moves and I can actually envision having another baby in our home, which was so hard to do when I was pregnant with Aidan. I feel like I have healed so much. There are still hard times - up and down days, but for the most part it's been good. At the beginning, I just gave it all to Heavenly Father. He gave us this baby, and so I'm giving our baby back to Him in a sense. I'm just praying to be okay with whatever happens. So for now, I'm just going to try to be as excited as I can.

A Blanket for an Angel

Side note: I almost gave up on this post because I started writing it in December and felt it was kind of late to finish and post it. But I felt prompted that this needed to be shared. I hope it can help someone.


The year we lost Alma, I had a difficult time figuring out what to get him for Christmas, or if we should get him anything at all. Our home felt empty and with the holidays right around the corner, grief was even more constant and present. I couldn't bear the thought of not getting Alma anything and pretending we never had a child. I needed something to fill the part of my heart that was homesick for Alma.

A couple of weeks before we left for the long drive to Arizona I was at Walmart doing some Christmas shopping. After picking up a few things, I began wandering up and down the aisles looking for something - anything - I could buy to give me even a tiny glimpse of my baby boy. I rounded a corner and began pushing my cart alongside a shelf filled with scented candles. I stopped and picked up a few to test their scent and as I held one small candle in my hand, the thought came to me that this is what I could get for Alma - a light. A flame of hope that could break through the darkness of my despair and grief and provide a warm glow in my heart and home once again. It seemed such a little thing, but it felt perfect.

I came home with my treasure, tied a ruby red ribbon around it, and placed it under our lit Christmas tree. When Jayze came home, I told him of my idea, and we decided we needed two candles - one to remind us of Alma and the other to symbolize our Savior Jesus Christ, who is the light of the world. This was the start of a new tradition in our home.

Fast forward one year and we were celebrating our first Christmas with just Jayze, me, and our rainbow baby, Aidan. Aidan turned 3 months old on Christmas, and I was excited to shop for his Christmas presents. Yet, it was hard too because I knew we were still missing a part of our family. As I shopped, the thought kept coming to me that we needed something more than the candles to help in the healing process. Something to help more than just me and my family. Something we could do for someone else. Something we could do to give back and to teach Aidan the value of his older brother's life and the healing and love that comes from serving other people. Service really is love.

After looking at different websites and blogs, I realized I could give something back. What was really special and sacred to Jayze and me as we held Alma in our arms was not just our child, but the generosity and love of other people. Blankets were donated, as well as matching child/mom bracelets and necklaces. Services like photos of Alma, casts made of his hands and feet, and the traditional footprints and hand prints were offered that day and are things I cherish more than I thought I ever would. Things I didn't think about because grief only allowed me to think about one thing at a time, but things others did think about. Without even realizing it at the time, I realize now that others were there to meet my needs and my family's needs and I wanted to do that for someone else - even if it was just meeting a simple or small need. 

So that year I decided to make a blanket to donate to the hospital for stillborns. A white, crocheted one similar to the one Alma had at the hospital.

And I did crochet a blanket - one that was cried over and stitched together with a grief and longing and love that comes from deep within after losing someone you love. After we donated it, I was glad and felt peace and some healing, but I also started thinking that maybe I should do something else the next Christmas because it was so hard working on a blanket I knew was meant for a dead baby. As I crocheted, I seemed to physically feel the pain I knew other couples or mothers would feel holding their sweet baby angel in their arms, and I was almost overcome with the grief I imagined them feeling intertwined with my own grief.

As soon as Thanksgiving was over this year, I began writing up Christmas shopping lists. The thought to make another blanket to donate crossed my mind, but I brushed it aside thinking it would be too hard emotionally and the candles would suffice this year.

But I think the man upstairs had something up his sleeve because when I was out Christmas shopping, it was almost like my body wasn't its own. It found its way to the yarn aisle, and stood there as my mind contemplated which shade of white to choose. It had to be perfect. I picked up a skein, showed it to Aidan, and placed it in the cart along with the other Christmas things. I couldn't believe I had actually bought the yarn and tried to ignore it as I went about my daily tasks and Christmas planning. Finally, after a week of seeing it sitting on my dresser, I mentally threw my hands up in defeat and began looking for a simple baby blanket pattern.

The first few stitches were torture and I was already sobbing by the time the first row was done. I thought, "I can't do this! I don't want to do this. It's too hard. I should just let others who have never gone through losing a baby do it - it's a lot easier for them."

I took a break and throughout the day, I kept feeling prompted to keep working on the blanket. Keep crocheting. Keep going.

So, not knowing why I had to go through this, I did.

To keep my mind occupied, I looked up Conversations on the Mormon Channel and clicked on Elder and Sister Holland's interview with Sheri Dew. My hands crocheted while my mind focused on the conversation. It worked! I worked faster and I wasn't crying anymore.

As I listened and worked, Sheri Dew played an excerpt from one of Elder Holland's general conference talks titled "The Ministry of Angels." I actually stopped working, in awe that out of all of Elder Holland's talks, Sheri Dew picked one that fit what I was going through right then in that moment.

"My beloved brothers and sisters, I testify of angels, both the heavenly and the mortal kind. In doing so I am testifying that God never leaves us alone, never leaves us unaided in the challenges that we face. '[N]or will he, so long as time shall last, or the earth shall stand, or there shall be one man [or woman or child] upon the face thereof to be saved.' On occasions, global or personal, we may feel we are distanced from God, shut out from heaven, lost, alone in dark and dreary places. Often enough that distress can be of our own making, but even then the Father of us all is watching and assisting. And always there are those angels who come and go all around us, seen and unseen, known and unknown, mortal and immortal."

"May we all believe more readily in, and have more gratitude for, the Lord’s promise as contained in one of President Monson’s favorite scriptures: 'I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, … my Spirit shall be in your [heart], and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.'"

Tears came to my eyes once again as a sweet and tender spirit filled my heart. For the first time while donating to a cause so close to my heart, I felt joy. All of a sudden, my perspective changed and I could feel that I had been thinking about it in the wrong way. An image of a dead baby was no longer in my mind as I thought about what Elder Holland said - instead I saw a baby angel. A soul who had passed on but still lived! An angel like mine. And instead of grief and pain, I felt the same feelings I had in the hospital when I held Alma in my arms. Peace, love, joy. His happy spirit.

Crocheting the blanket no longer was a burden. Gone were the feelings of heartache and despair. Rather, it became a precious and sacred experience. It finally, truly, became the "something more" our family needed.

I know Heavenly Father is aware of my needs. He is aware of yours, too. When healing seems hard to come by, hang in there! It takes time and seems to come in increments (it has for me), so be patient with yourself and trust in God. He will not leave any of us comfortless.