Empty arms

Someone gave me a book called "Gone Too Soon." It's a book from an LDS perspective about losing babies. It explains some of the natural grieving process and described the need for a mother to hold something after losing her baby. Some mothers want to adopt a baby, a pet, or hold onto blankets. I've felt all of the above in the last three weeks. Tonight we met at my mom's for dinner. It felt like I should be on the couch with my baby in my arms while we talked and laughed. I could picture us passing her around to hold and feed because there is nothing like holding a new baby. That newborn period goes by so quickly, and soon those babies are getting into drawers or running off to the playroom to play with their cousins. I just terribly miss holding her in my arms, feeling her arms and hands, looking at her yellow hair.

We got photos back from the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep photographer. I am thankful that he came and took pictures, even though it was the morning after the worst night of my life. The night Brooklyn was born, I hardly slept at all. The nurses gave me an Ambien, but I was sleeping for 20- 30 minutes at a time. I kept waking up and staring at this picture on the wall in the maternity recovery room. It was a large canvas closeup of a baby's hand. I was just so upset that I wasn't waking up to feed or soothe my newborn baby girl. My eyes were so swollen and I hadn't been out of the bed. The photos show how raw and real our loss was to us at the time. It still is. She looks so much like me in all the pictures.

I have felt her presence around me. This summer at BYU Education week, I took a class from Brent Top about the premortal life and one about the spirit world. He explained using teachings from the prophets that we were raised from spirit infancy to maturity in the home of Heavenly Father and Mother. When we are on earth, our spirits look like our bodies, but when we die, our spirits look like our adult form. When I have sensed Brooklyn, it is her adult form. She is beautiful, noble, and regal. But she is still mine. I miss having that experience with her as a baby. I loved watching Caroline and Jack as newborns. They were both so alert and wanted to take in everything around them. They both wanted to lift their heads and look around while we were still in the hospital. I loved watching their eyesight improve as they learned to recognize my face, watching those first smiles emerge, their fingers hold tight to mine. I am desperate for those moments with Brooklyn.

Nearly every day since we had to bury our precious baby I've had someone bring by a card, a meal, a gift. I have seen reminders of her every where. An hour hasn't gone by that I haven't thought of her. Tonight I was sad driving home from my mom's because I felt like a little carseat should be riding behind me in the van through the dark night as we went home. When we pulled up to the house, I could see a package on the front door step. Someone left me a small white statue of a mother holding her baby. It was left anonymously. I appreciate so much that people are still thinking about me and understanding my loss.

When we learned we were having a girl, my grandma wanted me to send her some pictures of quilts that I liked. She has made quilts for all the great-grandchildren. I looked on Pinterest and came across a quilt with strawberries on it. I just fell in love with it and could envision it on the wall in Brooklyn's bedroom while she was in her crib, then later on over her "big girl bed" as she got older. I imagined tucking her in underneath this strawberry quilt made by her Gigi. It isn't a typical baby themed quilt, but I wanted this quilt to last a while for her room. Last night my grandma told me that when I first told her it was the quilt I wanted, she didn't really understand why I wanted something that wasn't really a baby quilt. She started doing some research on strawberry folklore, what strawberries symbolized. She found the old Norweigian belief that when children die, their spirits hide in strawberries so that Frigga, Oden's wife, will gather them up and take them to heaven. In Christianity, strawberries symbolize righteousness and spiritual merit. Looking back, I definitely did not know those things about strawberries, but it is one of the things that foreshadowed Brooklyn's fate for me before she was born. As I think about those things I experienced while I was pregnant with her, I will include them in these journal posts. It seems morbid and sad, but like my grandmother said, perhaps God was preparing us a bit for what would happen to Brooklyn.

It certainly isn't a rare occurrence for families to lose their babies, but there is something about this trial that burns like white hot fire. It is a part of life to lose people to death. It certainly sends people through the refiner's fire. But I have found something sanctifying in my grief. I feel it has brought me closer to God. It has completely shifted my thinking about what is important, where I find my entertainment, how I want to raise my children, how I treat those around me. My spirit feels full, even though I am experiencing such a great loss. I think in the same way that I provided Brooklyn with her body, she is providing me with the experience to become a greater person, a better mother and wife. It is difficult to explain, but I have heard and read how other women have experienced the same thing. This grief brings you to the lowest point, but also some of the greatest blessings. It can be hard to see. I certainly don't feel that way all the time. But I see how good people are and how the Lord is using those people to bless and comfort me. I think and hope I will be able to do that for others in the future.