5 years later

My name is Tamara Copley.  I started my blog, or rather set up for my blog, five years ago just after my sweet baby died at four months.  She was the center of my world, aside from my older two children and my husband, and suddenly, she was gone.  I was left with a gaping chasm where my baby was supposed to be.

I thought blogging would help, but then I ran into a naysayer, a person I will get into in the not so distant future, who did not want my words out there nor did she care at all about whether or not I healed.  She told me for selfish and damaging reasons that a blog when you're newly mourning was a bad idea.  It would not have been the bad idea she said it would be because sharing is a good way to get through it.  I know that now.  But at the time, I was in so much pain that I could not bear any more and heeded her bad advice.   So now, so far down the road, I have to recreate my initial responses.  Fortunately, I'm a writer, so I wrote anyway, just for me.  And I'm very religious, from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day saints.  The Lord has helped me heal a great deal.  But I wonder how much more I could have healed had I gone ahead and reached out for more support.

I will share some of my early writings, many of them poems that speak more of pain than of particular genius.  This was the talk I shared at the funeral.  The day is as foggy and pain-ridden in my memory as the rest of those days right after she rolled into a pillow and suffocated.  Mostly, I remember wondering how I was going to survive and how it was possible that the words, "baby" and "coffin" could possibly fit in the same sentence.  Here is initial response, as I told it then, with square brackets to show clarifications and changes:

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Alamanda Marie Copley, our little Alli, was our miracle child.  When we decided it was time to bring in a new baby, Heavenly Father knew we needed time.  [My 3-year-old girl] needed time to call herself my baby.  [My boy] needed time to absorb all the knowledge Mommy had to give.  So [the Lord] held off lending her to us until we were ready, eleven months later.  She started to come, then in a moment, she had decided she was not yet ready, and she stayed with her Father for a short time more.  We miscarried [for the first time].  But Heaven offered comfort in the form of multiple [priesthood] blessings [and the Spirit].  Then, finally, we found out she was really coming, were told in a blessing she would be returning to us, the same glorious, special angel.  But it wasn’t easy.  Heavenly Father decided I could handle the challenge of knowing I have an antibody that [w]ould treat every baby in my body like a disease instead of like the precious [souls] they are.  But He also offered miraculous protection from that antibody, so even the doctors that tended my pregnancy so carefully to ensure my blood didn’t attack hers marveled she wasn’t made anemic or even affected.  Every other week, we went down to McKay Dee in Ogden for ultra sounds.  We’ll have to do the same with every other baby heaven sends our way.
 And like a miracle, [Alli] came three weeks early but perfect.  After the jaundice, she had no other problems.  She was so beautiful, with eye color like that of daddy’s and shape like mommy’s, perfect flawless skin so soft to the touch and all the right number of toes and fingers.  She was tiny, 5 lb 13 oz, but so healthy. 

 Her blessing stated that she was special, that she was close to the Lord.  Daddy got the impression she would be our spiritual giant, our "heavenly chieftain" like her name implies.  She was an enthusiastic eater who wanted to spend every waking minute with Mommy because unlike myself, she knew her time here was short.  Daddy thinks she was always asking her endless visitors from the other side of the veil, the family who had passed on and probably even Jesus, if her time here was done. The first few months--especially months two and three when colic set in--were tough. That last month, she proved] the wait was worth it because she had a ready smile and even many giggles for all of us.  She loved to play with her brother and sister even though she didn’t understand the games, loved to watch as life went by. I’m so thankful Heaven trusted us with four months with this special one.

 Then last Tuesday, her calling here ended, and Heavenly Father took her home.  She was so perfect, she only needed a body to be complete.  It’s been such an ordeal, so hard losing her, missing her.  But she visited us and told us she was okay, that she loves us.  She’s probably been at our home regularly, worrying for Mommy and Daddy and sad she couldn’t hold us and tell us she would return as soon as she can.  We’re taking this as a wake up call, time to change our lives, time to work to be worthy and strive for the day we will be an eternal family and Alli will not leave us again.  She’s our little celestial being, our personal angel watching over us.  A friend of mine suggested we pray Heavenly father and his angels will hug her where we can’t, and Heavenly Father promised us we can always pray to know how she is.
 Alli, I miss you, my sweet one.  I know you’re here today.  We will live our lives so you don’t have to walk alone into the eternities.  We love you so much and we will look forward to seeing you again. 

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That was my talk.  I see many things I left out because it was a public forum.  I left out the agony.  When people said, "How are you?" I knew no one wanted to hear, "I'm dying inside."  There are not words to describe the experience of losing a child.  But if you bear with me, I will piece together my mourning, the suffering surrounding her death above and beyond just the mourning itself, and what has happened since.  This will end up, for a while anyway, being more or less a retroactive blog.  Above all, keep in mind that no one should be able to tell you how to mourn.  If you need to write, write.  If you need to keep busy, do it.  If you need to reach out, there are always people there to grab your hand and help you through.  Until next time.