In My Arms
The joys of being a mom can be dimmed by heartache and the wounding loss of a baby before he is ever held in your arms. My daughter-in-law, Krista, shared this story with me—
My husband and I were overjoyed when we discovered we were pregnant with our third child. After almost a year long struggle with infertility that was riddled with disappointments and tears we thought we had received an answer to our prayers and our struggle was over. I began planning for this little life inside of me. I was sure I was going to have a boy and I already was dreaming of holding his chubby little hand in mine.
At 10 weeks we found out that our baby had died. The shock seemed amplified by the fact that just the week before we had heard such a strong healthy heartbeat. I felt so confused, just a few short months ago we felt that our prayers had been answered and we were done with our struggle. My strength had been exhausted.
In the days following the devastating news I was blessed with many tender mercies. I could see the Lord’s hand in my life, reassuring me that I wasn’t alone and although I had to go through this experience there was hope and healing. There were mornings when I wasn’t sure if I could get up and face the everyday challenges— when my world seemed to have frozen in that moment when I lost my baby. On those mornings, without fail I was greeted by two grinning faces that would jump into bed with me and snuggle their warm bodies against mine and chase away the dark that had encroached around me during the long night. I found great comfort in looking at the world through their eyes and I focused on the amazing good they see all around them. We spent our days building towering sky scrapers from blocks, racing cars around the world, having magnificent tea parties, and losing ourselves in magical fairytales from books.
The weeks passed and the ache in my heart receded a little, like the tide going out, but then it would inevitably return and crash into me with full force. In those moments with the waves of sorrow crashing against me my faith was often shaken. At the end of a particularly difficult day my heart felt heavy and I was discouraged. I felt that maybe my small baby didn’t matter to anyone but me, that maybe those few short weeks of happy anticipation were all that I would get with him. As I tucked my two year old daughter into bed that night she said “You had a baby in your tummy” I nodded expecting her to recite the explanation we had given her as to why I wasn’t pregnant anymore. Instead she looked and me and focused intently then said “He died in Jesus’s arms.” I stood there stunned for a few moments and then the truth of what she had said sank into me. My baby mattered to the Savior and so did I. I wouldn’t ever hold my baby in my arms in this life but my Savior, like so many other things he did for me that I couldn’t do for myself, had held my baby and loved him.
Another tender mercy from the Lord, my daughter comforted me that night with her innocent words. While I may kiss their scrapped knees and chase away their nightmares, they do the same for my heart. I am anchored in the present as I hold their little hands and they fill my future with hope. They are my greatest blessing.
What a beautiful example of the healing power of love, both of giving love and receiving it. Being a mother offers opportunities for both. I hope we can all find and act on those moments when the tender mercies and love of the Savior are offered us to help heal broken hearts and find joy in the beauty around us.
