Into the Face of Mortality

Things were going okay.  We had challenges like anyone else, but our life was okay.  Then, we got the news recently that my husband was borderline diabetic.  People can live okay with managed diabetes, but I've seen and heard of the dangers it can pose to arms, legs, eyes, and overall health.  His brother has lost a lot of vision, likely due in part to his diabetes.  His father and mother also had it, so it's not really a surprise.  However, that doesn't mean it's going to do him any favors.  A young man I heard of recently died due directly to his diabetes.  It's scary stuff.  The best hope he has is to trim off the pounds and control the diet better. 

However, this isn't the worst of the news we've had recently.  We just learned the only sibling my husband feels at all close to was just diagnosed with skin cancer.  He found out about his condition due to miraculous circumstances rather than through careful planning or even intent.  He had no idea it was coming. Skin cancer can be curable, but only if it's caught early enough.  At this point, we can only pray it was.  My niece had cancer a few years ago, when she was little.  She was stage four and yet has been declared cancer free. 

I believe in miracles and guardian angels.  I know my Alli and others watch over me and my family.   I believe that the Savior suffered not just for my sins but also for my pains.  I know He can heal my heart.  However, I also know that the Lord sometimes asks us to undergo hard things.  I've lived many of the last years since I prayed my baby would live on what some have called "but if not" faith.  "Lord, I would like my husband/brother-in-law/baby/etc. to be cured of this malady.  But if not, I will still trust and follow."  It's a hard place to be.  We'd all like to think that all we need to do is pray, and all will be right with the world.  But that's not how the Lord works.  He tries us and blesses us as we strive to follow.  But even the most righteous, wonderful person can still suffer, can still die, can be called on to endure the most miserable trials in faith.  I will pray and even fast for my husband and his brother.  I will trust that things will go as they should, that a Father who cares enough to send us here to grow and become like Him, has our best interests at heart.  If my husband and his brother are healed, we'll show undying gratitude.  But if not, we will still believe and obey and be thankful for our blessings. 

Forgiving Symbols of Christmas

Two years ago, even last year, songs surrounding Christmas about the baby, the angels, birth were hard for me.  Tears would spring to my eyes at unexpected moments.  One of my favorite songs, "What Child Is This?" was off my menu for a while because it talked too much about my triggers.

This year, I've held a beautiful 2-month-old baby and older little ones, sung and listened to Christmas songs, put the angel on the Christmas tree, and sought ways to serve so I could put those acts of service on little slips of paper to put in my angels' jar to be opened on Christmas, and involved myself in any number of former triggers and felt little to no pain.  I hope this is a sign of healing.  I'd like to think it is.  I've thrown myself into this ordinarily painful season with abandon.  It's not a perfect time.  I still look at the photos and other reminders of my angels on the tree and feel a moment of sadness.  But it feels okay because other symbols on the tree, those of the Lord who overcame death, have come to mean a little bit more to me.  It still hurts to ponder my losses, but I know it's not forever.  I will hold my angels again.

When the Rainbow Fades

So we have a theory about our miscarriages.  Before, I thought that when we gave up on trying to have a baby, the Lord may still send a sweet little one then protect him or her when the time was right.  I've now come to the conclusion that no matter how a baby comes and when, my body will just not support a baby.  In fact, I'm fairly certain I have an unknown medical condition that is taking out the babies.  It may be another antibody.  It may be that my hormones don't kick in.  There's no way to say.  But I had a good two weeks of using the pills the doctor gave me to ward off baby loss--baby aspirin, progesterone, and prostaglandin--and it still did not help.  I still lost the baby at roughly the same time as the later ones of the others.  We can't know what's going on.

But at this point, we can know that my body will not support a baby.  There will be no rainbow baby for me, at least until the Second Coming and the Resurrection.  Then, I will have my army of angels where I can hold and love them.  Until then, I have to be grateful for what I have and continue in the hardest kind of faith, the "but if not" faith.  Elder Simmons of the LDS church described true faith, faith in the Lord that will not be shaken even when our prayers don't seem to be answered as we're hoping.  Lord, I want this.  But if not, I will still trust and believe.  And that is where I live, in the land of but if not faith.  I will not hold a rainbow baby, but I can be grateful for my angels and grateful for the children I can hold.  My peace and joy are both in gratitude.

Family Trips

I like family trips.  I know my angels come with me.  They're never so close as when we go together on memory-building adventures.  I don't visit Alli's grave often because I know she only goes there to be with us.  She can just as easily be with us anywhere.  But I know I can invite her and the others along on trips in prayer.  I pray that my angels be allowed to come as we trek through Yellowstone or the Tetons or even just on local campouts.  

I know I have my own private army of guardian angels.  We've tried their protective power out a few times with problems and minor accidents with which we've dealt.  I know they are attuned to our wants and desires.  My little girl asks for a pet in prayer, and my angels are there to grant her wish with as much detail as they can manage.  But there's really no need for Alli or the others to be with us all the time.  I can, however, know they will be there when I invite them, when there's need or true and sincere desire.  They travel with us.  I love days in which I know they're there.  I'd travel every day of the year if I could, just to create memories and bond with those we can see and those we can't.  

A Hug from Heaven

My little girl has always been a toucher.  We called her the Squish [until she told us the nickname dies or else] because she wanted to hold, touch, squish food, people, pets, EVERYTHING, and she wanted to be held and tickled and snuggled.  She's a tactile learner, and her love language is touch.

She also always had a bond with Alamanda, her baby sister.  The day before we found out we were pregnant, my two-and-a half-year-old girl came in to tell me her baby sister was coming.  When we so much as suggested we may get a boy, she looked at us as if we had grown a third eye.  When her baby sister was taken from us, we did not explain how it happened, but she gave us details she couldn't have known from anyone but Alamanda.  They have a bond.

My girl still struggles with the loss of her sister, even after counseling, even after all this time.  Alamanda knew she did.  So when my little girl requested and prayed for a kitten for her 8th birthday, Alamanda sent her an entire batch of kittens to raise from a week old.  But my angel knew that the one we selected would not be the perfect match for my girl.  So six months later, she sent another batch with just the perfect kitten, the one that would remain tiny, the one who would be docile, who would let herself be hauled around and loved and snuggled to bed.  And Heavenly Father wanted us to know this gift was a miracle because each ounce up to a pound was hard fought until we united our voices in prayer with others.  Then that tiny kitten practically doubled her weight overnight.

Alamanda could not be here to give her sister all the hugs she craved, so she sent a hug from heaven, a constant, everyday hug.  And it only occurred to me now that this is the case.  So every time my girl hugs her fuzzy baby, she can know she's hugging her angel, too.  It just goes to show that guardian angels really do watch over us, and our loving Heavenly Father cares about even the little things if they're important to us.

Some Things I've Learned through Mourning

Yesterday, I chatted with a friend of mine who had recently had an early miscarriage right after having a still birth.  A few days ago, I talked with my sister, who is reasonably certain she lost not one baby but twins in a very early miscarriage, when she is so eager to have her third live birth.

One thing I've learned through my experience in the club of those who have lost is we are not alone.  It's one of those topics that most people don't want to discuss.  If they've lost a baby, many times, they don't want to think about it or are very tender about it.  If they haven't lost a baby, they don't want to think about the possibility.  But it's important to know that one is not alone and that all it takes is reaching out in a support group online or in person or even among our friends or family and chances are, we will find someone who feels just as silenced and is just as eager to talk about the love they have for the child they cannot hold.

Another thing I've learned is everyone mourns differently, and it would be helpful if we can be a person who is willing to listen.  We don't always need to be the one to talk about our own pain. I read in a mourning book about how this cultural silencing used to be more extreme.  The writer of the book had a crush on a girl in the fifties or sixties, and the girl died.  He told the mom of the girl how much she impressed him and how much he missed her, and the mom opened the floodgates of tears, seeking him out at every opportunity to talk to this young man because he would listen.  Of course, some of us don't want to think about loss.  If that's the case, sometimes, it's okay to be the person ready with hugs or kind words.  We also need to remember that it's important to help other mourners feel loved instead of judged.  Just because we need to talk about our losses doesn't mean they will.  Just because we feel like we're ready to move onto another pregnancy or stop having kids or do whatever it is we feel will help us cope doesn't mean we should expect the same in someone else.  It's important that everyone be allowed to mourn at their own pace and in their own way.

I believe in forever families.  There was a time I felt that a child had to take a breath to be counted among my babies.  But in recent years, I've come to know that sometimes, simply being pregnant, whether the child comes or not, is enough that we can name that child and count him or her among our family.  And one day, it will be possible to hold them in our arms.

I know I've learned much more, but the last thing I will mention now our angels are still here for us, nearby, watching over us and loving us just as much as they did when they were here.  Angels are real, and I'm thankful for mine.

Mourning Progress

For a while after we lost our baby, we went to a support group at a retirement home, mainly peopled by those who had lost a spouse.  It gave me a clear-eyed view of how difficult it was to lose a spouse with whom one had lived for decades, how hard it would be to constantly want to look over for advice to the seat next to you only to find it empty, to not even know what to wear or to eat because half the brain was gone.  I cannot imagine how hard this must be.

What most stuck with me from those times attending those sessions was words of wisdom shared by the licensed counselor in charge of the meetings.  I'd heard before in the support group Shareparents and other sources about the five stages of mourning: 1. denial and isolation, 2. anger, 3. bargaining, 4. depression, and 5. acceptance.  [5 stages] The counselor and my experience taught me there's nothing organized or clear-cut about these so-called "stages."  Stages in social science are usually a little more predictable, like stages of childhood.  Concerning these emotions, one can experience all of them or none of them in a day.  One can feel acceptance of the situation one second and then see something that reminds you of them, a trigger, and be off into the land of depression then scream out in fury all in the course of a few minutes.  One can skip one or multiple ones of these.  There is nothing like I would call stage-like in these stages.

It only surprised me a little to find a book scientifically debunking these five stages, The Truth about Grief by Ruth Konigsburg. [Truth about Grief] According to Konigsburg, the stages' origin was in Kubler-Ross's head, not in science, and had more to do with acceptance of one's own death than acceptance of anyone else's.  Konigsberg also went on to say that there is no scientific basis or reliable study to back these stages.  What the book did not give me in a way that satisfied me was a really good definition of what healing is or a way to know when one is "healed."  Their definition seemed to state healing means coping and maybe moving on from spousal death to new relationships.  I don't see this as a particularly useful definition in general, and certainly not when it comes to the loss of a child.  The book also said that people who had been through grief weren't particularly good experts on the subject of loss.  That strikes be as being false since I find those who haven't suffered deep grief don't seem to understand it like for those who have.

I have heard two truly useful things about grief, one from the counselor in the aforementioned support group and one from an LDS General Conference talk from October 2012 by Elder Shayne Bowen, "Because I Live, Ye Shall Live Also."  [https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/10/because-i-live-ye-shall-live-also?lang=eng] The counselor said that one's emotions tend to be all over the place as one zips through the different "stages" of grief.  And this, from my experience, is true.  He said that as long as one's progress is in an upward direction, meaning improving rather than getting worse, one is healing.  If one is getting worse or finding no progress, that's when one needs to call on a counselor or other help.  My husband and I both had to get a counselor, though he needed a little more help than I did.  Everyone's grief experience is unique.

Concerning Elder Bowen's talk, he told the story of his infant, who asphyxiated on chalk.  He talked about healing through faith and through Jesus Christ's atonement, or suffering, death, and resurrection.  The whole talk is well worth reading.  But the part that stood out most to me was his description of healing.  He said:

     As I felt the guilt, anger, and self-pity trying to consume me, I prayed that my heart could change. Through very personal sacred experiences, the Lord gave me a new heart, and even though it was still lonely and painful, my whole outlook changed. I was given to know that I had not been robbed but rather that there was a great blessing awaiting me if I would prove faithful.

     My life started to change, and I was able to look forward with hope, rather than look backward with despair. I testify that this life is not the end. The spirit world is real. The teachings of the prophets regarding life after death are true. This life is but a transitory step forward on our journey back to our Heavenly Father.

Elder Bowen also said we will never truly get over our loss until we are reunited on the other side of the veil or through the resurrection, and anyone who has been there could agree.  We can, however, find cheer and joy and even gratitude for our pain because it shows we can love deeply.  The Lord will help us endure.  In my experience, having the Spirit near us can buffer us, help the pain feel less acute.  According to Elder Bowen, we can still remember and feel the presence of our loved ones even through the veil and find peace.  Even after five and a half years, I still don't feel like I can call myself healed by any sense of the word, but I no longer suffer as I did and for the most part, have found peace and joy.  I know my angel Alli is near when I need her, and she's still very much a part of my family.  

Healing is individual.  If it helps some people to look to "The Five Stages," then it's good they can find something that will help, some kind of hope for a better emotional state.  If one wants to look to scientifically proven resources or counseling for comfort, that is also a valid route.  Some people may even need a prescription to survive the pain.  But in my view, healing can only go so far without the help and comfort of God's hand, the knowledge that we can be together with our angels again.  I know that's my source of hope and peace in this life.    

Angels among us

This season, I've often felt close to tears.  I cannot get over the sheer amount of loss and sadness I've seen around me.  At the same time, I love to know that angels are all around.  I know my personal angels, the spirits of my babies who have passed, have been present for and with us.  Not just that, but I've seen human angels all around, reaching out to those who are suffering.  We as a family find opportunities to serve and then record what we do.  We put little slips, stating the things we do for people, in a jar.  It's our gift to our angels and the last present we open Christmas morning, so we can read them together.  It's the perfect time to have and be an angel.  It doesn't stop the hurt inside, but sharing and reaching out to others sure does help.