Sunday 15 November 2020

Singing to Abigail


It's windy at the cemetery, which is common. We huddled around Abigail's grave as a family and I sang her one of my favorite primary songs, "I Often Go Walking."

I wanted to replace the first "mother" with "Abigail" to say, "Dear Abby, all flowers remind me of you."

Corbin (4) sang an original song he made up on the spot. The first line was, "When Abigail loves you, your heart begins to love." ❤️

So true! 🌻🌷🦋🦉🌹🌸🌺🌼🥀

Friday 13 November 2020

Last Night's Nightmare, My Reality

What a tender, awful nightmare. It's hard to put it into words.

Abigail, our Abigail, was there with us, and I was taking care of her: picking her up and putting her down for sleep, though she wouldn't sleep. She cried and I tried to comfort her. It broke my heart that I couldn't comfort her.

And then the realization hit me that she was not really here at all; it was only an illusion of her, and even the illusion was painful because she was inconsolable.

And I asked myself if I could give up the illusion of her, understanding that it wasn't real and that I couldn't have her in fullness, in reality. It was either this painful illusion of caring for my daughter or nothing.

And yet, I couldn't let go. Even the dream was hard to let go as I felt myself waking from it. I wanted to stay there with her, even just the illusion of her -- in spite of the pain of watching her cry and being unable to calm her.

I cannot let her go, even after she is gone.

Wednesday 11 November 2020

A Year From Abigail's Anencephaly Diagnosis

Here, in pictures, is my path on campus to my one in-person class.
I'm thankful today for professors, guidance counselors, and teaching assistants whose personal interest in my success has buoyed me up through what has been the most difficult year of my life. 
November 8 marks a year from the day we received the fatal prognosis of our first daughter's anencephaly. 💔
I still remember going to class the next time after and staying after class to tell my neurobiology professor about the anencephaly diagnosis. She hugged me and gave me the best comfort she could have given me about the reality of my daughter's spirit despite this birth defect.
Since then I have received nothing but support from every teacher. It hasn't always meant a good grade in the class or an easy time. It hasn't meant that at all. 
But it has meant shared humanity and kindness and shared growth. I'm grateful for that. 🦋🦉🌻🌷☀️

Thursday 10 September 2020

Six Months Later, Celebrating Her Life

 

We miss Abigail every single day.

If pebbles were thoughts of you, I'd have a beach.
If pebbles were thoughts of you, I'd have a beach.

Recently we were able to celebrate her half birthday (August 25, 2020) and the six month anniversary of my death and rebirth. It was a special day and we packed it with ways of remembering our sweet angel sister.

We experienced a few small miracles

No such thing as coincidences:

1) Our masks arrived from Anencephaly Hope



2) Abigail's Angel Face rose had a full bloom on it. This is the rose bush our dear friends the Crocketts gave us at her funeral.


3) I saw white butterflies flitting around in her garden throughout the day. The butterfly is the symbol of infant loss.

Image by Ronny from Pixabay 

Things we did to remember her

On Abigail's half birthday, we planted a Love Song rose bush and two lavender shrubs in her honor. What was one of the barest spots of the yard now has some pink and purple color to cheer it up. Happy Half Birthday, Abigail Réileen! 🌹


On Christmas Eve, we gave Abigail gifts, mostly things we promised to do. 

On her half birthday, we met around her grave and reread our promised gifts to her. Mine is to write a song to remember her. I've written a lot of lyrics but the music hasn't come so easily. We have four months until next Christmas.





We had cake and ice cream in honor of Abigail's half birthday. The boys were very excited about this part of the celebration. There was some argument about which ice cream flavors Abigail would prefer. (Pretty sure it's strawberry.)


Making a cake for my daughter was a very emotional experience for me. I've made a lot of dinosaur, frog, rocket, and pirate cakes. Making a baby angel girl cake was very sweet.


I'm so thankful we were able to honor Abigail on this special day. I'm thankful that my family was all together to celebrate.

Moving forward with life and goals

Fall 2020 semester began at BYU recently. I'm trying to live my life to make Abigail proud of me, and that means walking through the paths God has already set for me. Being back on campus, when the last time I was there I held her in my body, is bittersweet. Everything reminds me of her.

A statue on BYU campus

During the break for Covid-19, the Neuroscience department sent out a survey and my answers were featured in the BYU Synapse Magazine, a Neuroscience department newsletter.

BYU Synapse Magazine

This semester I've signed up for a class called Social Impact Project (SIP). It's an internship designed to help businesses and non-profits make a social impact. 

I received my SIP internship assignment and I'm going to be working with a company called Live Love Well that helps farmers in Kenya to produce and market superfood ingredients to the nutrition markets in the US. Cool, right? I've always wanted to make an impact that touched the lives of my brothers and sisters in Africa and now I have an opportunity to do that in my own small way. I'm looking forward to this semester and all the work my team will do together for this cause.

I still find joy in simple creative endeavors, like weeding Abigail's memorial garden and painting.





A few days after the six-month anniversary, I told my near-death birth story briefly to some other women who had similar experiences. We were in a zoom support group for moms in their first year after AFE (amniotic fluid embolism). My emotions are all over the place, but I'm glad I joined the discussion. Every one of us has a unique story with shared elements. Finding those similarities and differences teaches us and can be comforting. There's nothing more isolating than fearing you are the only one inside your experience.

Every day we make choices to let ourselves isolate or to make ourselves connect. That's why I felt like the quote in this picture is relevant.



The boys are so resilient and full of hope. For them it doesn't seem to be a daily struggle. Here are some pictures of our recent pond study and cleanup, organized by my friend, Ruth. 



We saw crawdads, minnows, tadpoles, scrub oak, wild rose, and more. During the cleanup we saw old boots, beer bottles, soda cans, bagged poo, and a football. Our group carried out about two bags' worth of garbage. We love Burraston Pond so we feel good about saving it from the recklessness of litterbugs.


As always, our faith in Jesus Christ is an anchor. I wrote this last week:
Been pondering this truth lately. 
When we die, we need nothing and we want nothing. We are sheltered and sustained by God's love and the peace that comes with it. As I was pondering this, a scripture came to my mind. It was, "Can ye feel so now?" Alma 5:26 
"...and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?"
Then, like a rush of evidence to back this feeling up, other scriptures came to me.
Fear not, little flock.
Consider the lilies.
Be of good cheer.
Not even a sparrow.
Perfect love casteth out fear.
Be still and know. 
And I realized that we don't have to wait to be dead before we can need nothing and want nothing because we are embraced by the Light. With trust, we can feel that peace now. 
Mosiah 4:9-10
"Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend."


This past Sunday we had a blessed Sabbath.



In spite of the heavy grief that is still with me always, I am often surprised by the depth of joy that is also present in my life in moments of growth and connection with loved ones. It's alarming and yet beautiful to realize that the pain is the growth is the connection is the joy.

 

"the pain is

 

the growth is

 

the connection is

 

the joy"

Sunday 16 August 2020

Landmarks and Angels: A Dream

Last night I dreamed of a series of months, each about four weeks long, on a calendar. The goal of each week was to get through that week toward the end result of being changed. It's difficult to describe such an abstract dream--only that the feeling of hope and excitement and striving stayed with me.

At its core, the strange dream was about earth life and progress. My hopes were about improving myself and helping others to progress as well. I think I was experiencing also the hopes of guardian angels on my behalf. They had goals--benchmarks, or maybe more aptly, landmarks--for me to reach so I would be on track for my destination, for my destiny.

Sky, Clouds, Rays Of Sunshine, Weather, Cloudy

Though this may sound self-centered, it was the opposite. I understood in this dream that my progress was tied up with the progress of those around me, and we were all connected--me and the angels and all the people in the world. Specifically, it mattered to my family what changes in myself I accomplished with the help of these angels, but others were affected, too... ripples.

Abigail first taught me the lesson of ripples, how even something seemingly small or brief in duration could send out life-altering and hugely influential ripples. We think of a baby as being helpless, powerless. But Abigail came with power, healing, and forgiveness.

Last night before I went to sleep, my tired mind slipped into thoughts of despair for my long human life. I've been reading made-up stories about immortals and thinking about the more difficult parts of life--the pain and the mundanity. I tried not to let those thoughts be my last thoughts before bed. Using all my practice in controlling my own mood and thoughts, I forced them into a hopeful direction. I remembered my cousin's dream, which she shared with me, of our blissful reunion with Abigail as a young girl in heaven. And I let myself feel hope for that blessed day--that long-awaited reunion.

It was enough.

Sunday 9 August 2020

When a Prophet Suffers Infant Loss



Forgive the history lesson here but there's a point, I promise. I'm studying the Pearl of Great Price this term at BYU. It includes Joseph Smith History. Some of the details of this story come from that, and some come from previous studies and other resources.

Emma Smith's story has always torn at my heartstrings. Like many other happy newlyweds, she and Joseph eagerly began planning for their future family. Emma became pregnant in the midst of the Restoration of the Gospel of Jesus Christ in the era of the early 19th century, and her husband happened to be the prophet chosen by God to usher in this last-days dispensation, to gather in one all truths, priesthood powers, and ordinances of past dispensations. It wasn't a simple calling. He was no ordinary preacher, graduating from a seminary after years of preparation. Joseph didn't attend a seminary. He was tutored by God himself and by angels who ministered to him directly and gave him commandments from God.

Most people know that Emma and Joseph had a rough time becoming parents. They lost multiple children during pregnancy and some after birth. Each loss as gut-wrenching and painful as the first. But did you know that the first loss coincided with another great loss?

Most people know that Joseph Smith lost 116 pages of the earliest translation of the Book of Mormon, comprising the now lost Book of Lehi. We learned the story as primary children in Sunday School.

Joseph had accomplished an incredible feat. Through multiple scribes, he had transmitted the holy writ of ancient Hebrew-American prophets. It wasn't even close to done, but 116 written pages was nothing to sneeze at. One of the later scribes, Martin Harris, who was also helping to finance the translation process, asked Joseph to inquire of the Lord. He wanted to know if he could take the pages to prove to his family the validity of this work he'd been supporting financially. Martin's wife seemed skeptical, and others in his family were laughing at him, too. He knew Joseph was a prophet, not a fraud. He had seen the miraculous work of translation by the power of God with his own eyes and he knew Joseph's heavenly gifts were real. But he wanted to hush up his critics, maybe convert them in the process. Here, in these 116 pages, was proof. Joseph asked God, as Martin implored him to do. God said no.

This is the part where, in Sunday School, we focus on the lesson of accepting God's answers because Joseph fails to do this. At first, he goes to Martin and tells him no, but then Martin asks again. And again. Each time Joseph asks God, the answer is the same. Finally, Joseph asks God and he receives a conditional yes: Martin Harris must only show the pages to five specific people in his family, and he must keep them secure and locked away and he must return them at a certain date.

Martin doesn't keep his promise. He and his wife show the manuscript to people outside the five approved ones. The end result is that the 116 pages become lost. Martin Harris cannot find them. His wife claims not to know where they are, though the drawers they were locked within were owned by her and she had the key. Nobody knows what has become of the sacred and precious text that we will never read. 

In Sunday School the lesson is clear. Don't ask God for something He has already forbidden. This is all I had really thought about when I heard the story thereafter. What a sad loss of precious, sacred knowledge!

But when you read Joseph's own words about this period of time, it becomes clear that Joseph and Emma were suffering much more than just one loss.

"To us, at least, the heavens seemed clothed with blackness, and the earth shrouded with gloom. I have often said within myself that if a continual punishment, as severe as that which we experienced on that occasion, were to be inflicted upon the most wicked characters who ever stood upon the footstool of the Almighty--if even their punishment were no greater than that, I should feel to pity their condition." (Lucy Mack Smith, Biographical Sketches of Joseph Smith)

Joseph was in the gall of bitterness. He believed his calling had ended, that his trust with God had been shattered, and that God wouldn't trust him with the rest of his mission. The heavens felt distant. The plates and the translators (special artifacts prepared to aid a seer in the process of spiritual translation) were taken by the angel. 

What's worse, Joseph had nearly lost Emma when her pregnancy ended in a complicated birth and the death of their firstborn son, just before they learned of Martin's betrayal. As Joseph traveled back to Palmyra, he lost consciousness. The young couple were in stress, in grief, and in crisis. And it was during this period of grief that Martin was expected to return the papers that represented all their work on the Book of Mormon translation up to this point.

When Martin finally showed up, he was afraid to confront Joseph and tell him the awful news. When he did, Joseph cried, "All is lost! All is lost!"

For several months, about six, Joseph didn't translate anything except a rebuke from the Lord aimed directly at him.

As I reread this story for my Pearl of Great Price class at BYU, just over five months after Abigail came to us, I couldn't help but weep.

I knew what heavens clothed in blackness and shrouded with gloom felt like. I knew what the loss of a child means. I knew how grief could make one feel condemned, blamed, and punished by misfortunes.

I was able, this time, to picture Joseph and Emma, as the hopeful newlywed couple they were. The pains of the future were far off, and the hopes of a prosperous and God-led future filled their view. They were expecting their first child! And Joseph was making progress on his life's divinely called work! Everything was right with the world, except perhaps the constant state of poverty and needing help from family and friends. But imagine that sense of hope they must have felt. Bun in the oven, sacred book in the process of translation. It was a high time, a busy and hopeful time, a blessed time.

Then the unthinkable happened. The baby was lost. The pages were lost. His standing with God was in question. Had Joseph and Martin lost their souls, too? Was there forgiveness for what they had done?

Yes. By the fall of that year, the translation started again. God gave a school teacher named Oliver Cowdery a vision of the plates and sent him straight to Joseph's door. Through Oliver as scribe, the translation went faster than ever.

But the lost pages were never retranslated, as enemies had gotten hold of them, ready to find any flaw in Joseph's retranslation to prove he wasn't inspired. What was lost was lost. And the baby that had died was not brought miraculously back to life, either. What was loved was lost. It's easy to see why Joseph and Emma, who had suffered so much on their journey to try to fulfill God's purposes, would rejoice when later visions taught them of the eternal nature of families. Emma would rock that baby in a future time and place where death would no more come to separate parents and children.

Emma and Joseph suffered so much more loss than I have in my life. "Only five of Joseph and Emma's 11 children (including two adopted) lived beyond childhood." (Source) It didn't just happen to them once. Through sickness and mob actions, they lost other babies. The losses never got any easier. They were blessed to raise multiple children, including an adopted child, though that child's twin died of exposure because of a combination of illness and mob action. Later in life, long after Joseph's own untimely death, Emma would also raise the child of her second husband's mistress. Emma knew she would have her children, all of them, one day. She remained a faithful wife and mother until the end of her life on earth and I love to imagine her now, surrounded--just surrounded--by her children who are bonded to her in love.

The lesson of the lost 116 pages feels different to me now. In the context of what else was lost, I can almost--almost--feel the desperate and hopeless grief Joseph expressed when he cried, "All is lost! All is lost!"

I have made bad calls in my life--tons of them. Millions of them, maybe. And I have experienced separation from God because of that sin. I have also experienced the redeeming embrace of the atonement of Jesus Christ.

I know that God is love and God is good. As I've listened to Emily Freeman's beautiful book, Even This, I have come to believe that God truly is good all the time. There is only this small part that we see. We see death and sin and sorrow, but in that other place it becomes life and forgiveness and joy through Jesus Christ. This life is not the end. If it were, then tragedies would be permanent, as permanent as they actually feel to be when we are living through them. Because this is not truly the end, there is hope and the possibility of future joy.

I am learning that there can also be joy right now. Yesterday was a heavy grief day. In reading so much about Abraham and Isaac and Sarah; then Joseph and Emma Smith--I was swimming in deep water. I relived emotions that are so many months old now.

Less than six months ago, I was pregnant.

I was eagerly anticipating our first girl child. I was hoping, through the premonitions of trouble, that all would be well with us. 

On the other side of those five months and change, Bill and I are thriving and struggling. Some moments we feel great and are accomplishing our work and loving our kids and each other. At other times, we ache. Those feelings manifest as pain or weakness or exhaustion in our bodies. We are less patient with one another and with our children.

But then, for me at least, I see a white butterfly in the shasta daisies of Abigail's garden, and I hear the wind rustle the leaves of some nearby trees, and I know she is not lost. She is here. I can't see her yet but she's here. I thank God for these people and stories that have given me perspective. I will probably write more on scriptural infant or child loss because it is strangely comforting to know that bad things happen to good people when those bad things have happened to you, too. What is your favorite scripture or history story about loss?


Sunday 2 August 2020

Becoming My Better Self


There have been so many emotions going through me these past few months. At first, I didn't know how to deal with the sadness and grief. Ask Katrina and she will tell you I've never been much of a crier (she once called me "heartless" as a joke). So now all of a sudden I'm feeling these emotions regularly that I haven't had to feel on a regular basis before. But I know that one overall feeling that I've had more of is the feeling to be my best self.

It started with my weight loss journey (of which at the moment I'm 30 lbs down). I knew I wanted to feel good about myself and my weight loss from just eating fewer calories had slowed down. I knew to become my best self, I needed to do more. That's when I got online and found a local half marathon that I could run in. It just so happened to be the day after my birthday. I've signed up for a half marathon before, but it ended up getting cancelled and I hurt myself running my own 13 miles. It's been a long journey back since then, but I felt ready for it. The first few runs were difficult. I never really rehabbed from the last injury and I was more overweight then last time I trained. I distinctly remember going 2 miles and then having to go home because my knee hurt. But I persevered. I put in the practice. I learned I could no longer go running and not stretch afterwards, which I've done before. I learned to listen to my body and slow down when necessary and when to head home when I had enough. I learned what paths my body could take and which ones made certain parts of my body hurt. I learned that when my body tells me to stop to go to the bathroom, you do it.


I've learned so much about myself just by running than I've learned by doing anything else. And with that, I've learned how to let my emotions go. Just like my father-in-law was there to give me tips on my long runs, I've got people around me to listen when I'm having trouble. I've got people here to metaphorically and physically put my head on their shoulders. And I've got a Heavenly Father who is there to listen. I've learned that even though I'm on the long run of life, I'm never quite alone.

And during this time, I've become a better person. Before, I've always had a hard time doing things daily that I know I should. I've tried throughout my life to pray daily and read from the scriptures.  It wasn't until recently that I've been able to do it. I'm becoming my better self little by little. And as I become my better self, I know I'm preparing myself to see my Abigail once again in heaven. And I look forward to that day more than anything.


I was reading today my father's thoughts on his step/adoptive father and it made me miss my Abigail so much and I'm grateful that I'm not expected to be a perfect person to do so, but I just need to try my best and my Father in Heaven will take care of the rest through His Only Begotten Son.