A little over a week ago, the shock of terrible news echoed throughout our community. A three-year-old girl was thrown from a horse and had to be taken off life support. Everyone spoke of little else. Those in my church community, led by our bishop, gathered at the church to pray for this little girl and this family before the final news came that she was brain dead. We all prayed for a miracle because we know they happen. In this case, it was that sweet angel child's time to go Home.
Once again, my community gathered for a balloon release in her honor. People came from miles around to support this family in their deep loss at that little girl's funeral, as she was carried to her grave not in a hearse but by a horse-drawn carriage.
My husband and I wept for this family as we heard of their loss. Something came up to stop me from making each event, but I rejoiced in the support they received. I sent that little girl's bereft mother a message of support on FaceBook, and my husband attended most of it.
I am not close to the family. I may have seen the little girl in passing but had not met her. But this hit my husband and me hard because we understand what this family is going through on a personal level. It all echoes back through time and makes our pain feel fresh. I woke in tears over a dream that my two living children had died.
It also reminds me of how little support we received when our loss happened. We felt judged, rejected by our community at the time because we'd failed in a parent's primary responsibility: to keep a child alive. The undercurrent was that whatever happened, we deserved what we got. If only all communities could understand the power of support and love at the time of such a deep and life-shattering loss. We still felt people's prayers and did have friends and family from nearby and elsewhere come to the funeral, but I think the loss would have been even a little bit less impossible to endure if we had the kind of support this sweet family had. I'm just happy for them that they have it and would pray for all who have a catastrophic loss that they'd feel the kind of outpouring of love this sweet family has had.
I know some people probably question how all of these prayers did not result in a miracle. How could such a terrible thing happen to good people? I sometimes, I have to remind myself that prayer is about aligning our will with the Father's. He knows the larger picture. If we would have been most blessed, the plan for our lives most fulfilled, over the healing of our baby Alli, she would have been healed.
But the Lord, in His mercy, knew we had to pass through hell at that time. I can't explain why everyone loses a child, but I believe I have come to some understanding of the whys in our case. We needed the growth, the empathy, the lessons we learned through loss.
Faith is about trusting that He knows what we need. We want this thing, and we pray for it. But if we don't get it, we will still trust and believe. That is the purest kind of faith, the faith that gets us closest to Him. If I could have it all over again, would I choose a redo? You'd better believe I would. I'd give my life for my little girl rather than have her taken from me.
I'm thankful for the blessings that have come from this loss, but I still have a hard time being grateful for the loss itself. I can't claim to know everything, even about our own situation. It brings me comfort to know I will hold Alli again, that we will be a family forever. It also brings me comfort to know my heart can be healed through Jesus's sacrifice, his atonement. In the meantime, it still hurts. And my heart still bleeds for those who have to join the empty arms club. I will reach out to them as often as I can.
I believe in angels, and that they watch over us. I believe God loves me. I believe we can be together forever. For now, that will have to do.
