Three Years

Tori's birthday is today. She would be three years old. A recent lesson in Sunday School reminded me of how much I learned from her. The lessons I learned actually started long before she was born, but I want to record them somewhere, and what better place than a blog? I'm being a little sarcastic, of course. Some of my feelings are very personal, and not everyone will agree with me. But I do want this recorded, and even shared.

September 8, 2003: My cousin Shara gave birth to her first child, McKenna, at 23 weeks. McKenna lived for about half an hour, then died. I heard about it the following day, if I remember correctly. Jeff and I had been married five months, and were not even thinking of kids, but this news devastated me. For the first time in my life, I felt real empathy - meaning, I actually felt part of her pain. Jeff thought I was overreacting and being dumb, but I seriously felt just a bit of what it meant to lose a child.

During that time in my scripture study (remember when that was regular?), I read a lot about charity and the love that Christ has for us. I was deeply impressed that even though Christ did not actually feel every pain for himself (no one will ever convince me that He experienced labor), His love for us is so perfect and complete that He really feels our pain.

People have always said things like, "When you go through difficult times, you can know that the Savior went through even worse times, and He made it, so you'll get through it too." That never made me feel better. Yes, He certainly suffered much more, but saying this, to me, is like saying, "You're tired? You don't know what tired is, let me tell you how tired I am..." It's like completely negating the very real pain that we feel. Knowing how tired you are doesn't make me any less tired. And knowing that the Savior went through so much more, doesn't make my burden less. And besides, He is a God. He was capable of going through much more. What helps is knowing that He feels my pain and that He loves me and that He is willing and able to help me carry that burden and deal with the pain and move forward.

So the experience that Shara had was my first experience with real charity - the love that Christ has for us and the love that He wants us to have for each other. For the first time, my love for someone helped me to feel her pain, and I understood what she felt. I read something at the time that I hung up on my desk at work: "If you love, you will suffer. And if you do not suffer, you never really loved at all." Isn't that true?

Now, I should also mention that feeling her pain impacted me deeply. It was awful. So awful, in fact, that I think I sometimes block people and their pain out now. I don't want to hurt like that. I have, however, had other experiences when I have allowed myself to really feel. The experiences of my friend Julie, who married at 38, only to find out that she couldn't have children, when this was the ONLY thing she had wanted her entire life, affected me deeply. I cried when her second attempt at IVF failed, and rejoiced when they received news that they had been approved to adopt a beautiful girl from China.

September 8, 2004: A happy side note, one year to the day after McKenna's birth, Shara gave birth to a healthy, full-term baby boy, Spencer. It was a very bittersweet experience for their family. She did tell me that it was "more sweet than bitter, though."

Fast forward to September 23, 2006: Michael is 15 months old, and I am 18 weeks pregnant with Tori. I was serving as Second Counselor in our ward's Primary presidency. I woke that Sunday morning to find that I was bleeding. We went to the emergency room, and found that my placenta had torn. We didn't know the extent of the tear, but the doctor told me I needed to be on bed rest for a week to allow it to heal.

About 10 days later, at my follow-up appointment, we found out we were having a girl. I had already felt that very strongly. I was told that one-third of my placenta had detached from the uterus, but that it was healing nicely. If I took it easy, they said, the chances were good that this baby would make it to full term.

The following Sunday, I was set apart as the Primary president. In the blessing that the bishop gave me, he promised me that my pregnancy would be successful. I remember thinking, "If this pregnancy lasts long enough that this baby will be mine forever, it will be successful." I believe the Lord was giving me persepective for what would come.

October 20, 2006: Tori was born at 5:24 am. I was 22 weeks along. She never breathed outside of me, and I'm not sure exactly when she died. The days and weeks that followed were the most difficult of my life so far.

I remember reading the scriptures and other Church books to find answers about what this meant for my eternal family. Would we have her again? I'd heard experiences of other people who had miscarried, and then when they later successfully delivered a child, they felt very strongly that it was the same spirit that had previously attempted to join their family. But I had seen and held and named that little girl. I had felt her movements inside of me, and the idea that her spirit would come again in another body didn't make sense to me. Her body had been perfect - mine is the body that failed. There was nothing wrong with her development.

I found a statement by Brigham Young, quoted in "Mormon Doctrine," where he stated his belief that when the mother feels movement and life in her child, that's when the spirit enters the body. That, along with another quote by someone (Heber J. Grant???) that said it was his opinion that stillborn children will rise in the resurrection and be given to their families to raise, as well as the strong feelings I'd had when the bishop promised me that my pregnancy would be successful, led me to believe that we would have Tori again in the next life. I know it isn't Church doctrine, but there have been no revelations to the Church which would establish any doctrine on the subject. So I am confined to my personal feelings and personal revelation about what will happen.

I have heard people argue (quite vehemently) that unless a baby takes a breath outside of the womb, her spirit hasn't entered her body, and will have to come again. I just can't understand how McKenna, born at 23 weeks and living for half an hour, would be resurrected - but the baby who is full-term and dies just before being born, wouldn't be. It just doesn't make sense to me.

And after having experienced my own loss similar to Shara's, I can honestly say that the pain I felt back in 2003 was indeed the same pain I felt when Tori died. Not to the same extent, but I truly did feel it. I know that Christ's love for us is so perfect and complete that He feels our pains and sorrows just as deeply as we do. It's not that He suffered everything that anyone on earth has ever suffered. It's that He loves us so much, that He suffers with us. That's why we can look to Him for solace. He truly knows how we feel and how to best help us, and if we let Him, He will carry part of the load for us.

September/October 2007: We learned that we would be having another girl, due almost exactly one year after Tori had been due. I was terrified during my entire pregnancy with Faith. I checked for bleeding every time I went to the bathroom. I was so paranoid that every pain from stretching ligaments worried me. When I found out we were having a girl, I was honestly a little disappointed. One, I didn't want this baby to replace Tori in my heart. And two, somehow in my mind, if this baby was a boy, it would justify my belief that it couldn't be the same spirit coming again.

February 10, 2008: Faith was born in a most traumatic and dramatic way, at 11:19 pm. One look at her, and I had no doubt whatsoever that this was not the same spirit. She was absolutely a different child. Part of that was probably just the way she looked. Tori had been a mirror image of Michael, and Faith looked nothing like them. But mostly, there was a different feeling. It was like Tori was there with me, welcoming her little sister to earth.

There have been other times when I have had the impression that Tori is visiting our family. I like to think of her as sort of a guardian angel for Michael and Faith (and Lauren, soon). Jeff and I visit her grave sometimes, and I am so grateful to know that the beautiful little body we buried will one day rise again. She is buried on top of my grandmother, and I sometimes have images in my mind of the resurrection, of my grandmother carrying her to me.

It's funny how you can miss someone that you never even knew.

Happy birthday, Tori!