"A Part of Me is Missing"

A young mother that I have cared for over several years, recently lost her baby. The circumstances were the kind that would never repeat for her. Yet, she is left with that overpowering agony of feeling that a part of her is missing, dead, forever out of reach. I write this for her, and other mothers who know exactly what that feels like.

Twenty-nine years ago, I gave birth to my first baby. During my pregnancy, I lived in a pure bubble of enchantment. Neil and I married, and our Marshall was conceived immediately. Between the bliss of being newly married, and the miracle of carrying a baby, nothing could puncture the joy I felt.

I was wrong. Six weeks before he was due, my little boy arrived after a 1 1/2 hour labor. That bubble didn't just break, it shattered into splinters so small, I wondered if I could ever gather up enough pieces to experience that lost joy once again.

Marshall lived two months in Children's NICU. His compete story can be found on my Noble Child website. He died there, while I was holding him and Neil was holding me. And I was left with the overpowering sensation of a part of me being ripped from my very spirit.

The grief was strange by common standards. As a Latter-Day Saint, I have a deep testimony that my family has the promise of being together in the eternities. That death does not change the connecting bonds between family members. That I will hold and raise my little boy to adulthood at another time. That nothing is lost to the Lord, even though some things are postponed. I'll still experience his first steps, his first words, his life as a child and the joys of Marshall as an adult. But it will have to wait. It has waited 29 years. It will have to wait a little longer.

So, my grief wasn't at the Lord. I knew too much to turn from Him. Quite simply, if I allowed my grief to destroy my faith, I stood to lose the very things I was grieving! No, I wasn't angry at the Lord.

In my grief, I didn't turn from my husband. We hadn't even been married a year when we experienced the birth and death of a child. Statistically, that was the worst situation to be in. The number of marriages that happily & healthily survive the death of a child is dismally low - we were told only 5%. Again, our eternal perspective, knowledge, commitment, and faith saw us through that dark forecast.

But even with my faith in the Lord and his Gospel, and my love and closeness to my husband working for me, I still felt ripped apart. I knew that some vital part of me, of my spirit, had been wrenched from me and the wound was unbearable.

I longed to have another baby. To hold that precious life in my arms. Yes, I had some deep anxiety. I had been told by the doctors involved, that all of my babies would be early, and all would die and I should not have any more. But Neil and I were willing to do whatever it took. Even if it meant another death, but please, oh, please, not another death!

Every month that passed without the beginning of a new life was excruciating. I grieved. I sunk low in spiritual and emotional agony. Then I'd pick myself up and hope for a different result the next month. The cycle kept repeating. And that painful gap within me never closed.

Then the following November, something profound happened. We were gathered at the Logan's for Thanksgiving dinner. Everybody was seated, prayer was about to be said, when I felt deep within and all through me, a return of that lost part. For an instant, the gap was filled, and with perfect clarity, I knew that my son was standing beside me. It was fleeting, and yet, it was so intense, so revelatory, that a new understanding swept through me. That missing part, it never was me - it was him!

What I had thought was a ripping of my own soul, was simply the physical separation of my son's spirit from my own. As he grew in me, I had become so familiar with him, with who he really was, but it was so gradual, so sweetly natural, that I hadn't realized what I had felt was my little Marshall's spirit. The birth was so traumatic, and the never ending bombardment of daily care and concern for his life, had left me numb until his death and that horrible loss came over me.

Now, at that Thanksgiving table, with him standing, unseen, behind me, comforting me, assuring me that I was complete, and he was still my son. It healed everything. And over the years, the effect of that moment was priceless. I found I could recognize within me each individual spirit as I carried my other nine children. I understood the deep connection between mother and child better. I saw evidence of it everywhere, for instance, my baby could be asleep in the car, and ANYBODY could get out of the car and run into the store, and the baby would stay asleep. But if I got out, within moments, my baby would wake and cry.

When Chani was born, healthy and perfect, I held her in my arms and was filled with an intense peace. Every night, all throughout her babyhood, I would hold her and gratitude filled me to have her in my arms, healing me from the joys I had missed with Marshall. The comfort is magnified when arms are filled with new life. It is spoken of so often, almost looked down upon by those who do not understand, but is is true. Another baby, born or adopted, a grandchild, a niece or nephew, any new, precious life that you can open your heart to and embrace with all the protective love you can muster, will heal your heart.

Years later, I learned and used brain language to heal the remaining anger over the circumstances of Marshall's death. The result was an incredible inner peace. But nothing gave me the insight and testimony of that quiet moment during our Thanksgiving prayer when my son showed me that I was whole still, and that nothing is lost unto the Lord, and that I needed to allow myself to be filled with spiritual comfort and eternal joy so I could remain his mother.

For all of you who have had a child die, your loss is real. The sensation of being torn apart, of missing a chunk of your spirit, is also very real. But you are whole, you are complete, a part of you did not die. She is your little daughter forever, he is your son for eternity. She lives and is uniquely herself. He is alive and actively doing wonderful things while waiting for his family to join him. For a short while the two of you grew together. For eternity, you will remain family. Recognize this miracle and your own healing will be sweeter. I love you and grieve with you. And I promise that it will get easier.