A Difficult Question

Source: https://pixabay.com/illustrations/question-mark-question-response-1019820/

I was talking to someone while I was at Simulations Week and they asked me how many siblings I had. That was a very hard question to answer at the time. Did that include siblings in heaven? I almost wanted to reply that I had four siblings, because that was my usual answer. But now it was different, because of the birth and passing of Abby.

Luckily, families can be together forever. In fact, Families Can Be Together Forever is like Abigail's theme song. We sang it to her when she was born as shown here:

I had been asking God for quite a while for a sister. That is exactly what I got last February, just not in the way I thought. I expected a sister that would live on earth for a long time, but that wasn't quite the case. Abigail is even more special than I had imagined. An angel sibling is still a sibling.

So obviously, this question was not as difficult as I thought it was at the time. I have five siblings. Layne, Ben, Daniel, Corbin, Abigail, and any other siblings that may be waiting in heaven to come to live on the earth.

And I want to share my life with them through all eternity.

The Dream About the Well

Soure: https://pixabay.com/photos/journal-write-blank-pages-notes-2850091/

Happy Father's Day!

A couple of days ago I remembered a dream that I had in August 2017. I went searching for it in my journal today and found it. Here is what it said:

...I had a dream that we were at a pool and were having so much fun! But most of the time, I was underwater [and] not breathing! Mom and Dad were having so much fun that  Corbin climbed into a well [because he wasn't being watched]. He fell down and drowned. I felt so sad. Before I could tell Mom and Dad, I saw a magician. He looked very poor. He had a cape and claimed that he could do everything. I asked him if he could make my brother alive again. The magician agreed. He pointed his wand to the well. The well was at the pool, so the water went down and came back up on the sides and fell down again. There was no pail. When the magician pointed his wand at the well, Corbin stood up and climbed up the well. and I was amazed! Corbin was alive again!

The moral? All's well that ends well!

All joking aside. I understand now that this dream wasn't about Corbin, though it was at the time. Now it's about Abigail. She fell into a well, metaphorically speaking. My whole family was sad and wished that she could have stayed longer

But her Heavenly Father, the greatest magician of all, recieved her into his glory. Abigail is not dead, and when we see her in heaven someday, we will be amazed and happy.

And we will realize that death is only a part of life.

Source:https://pixabay.com/photos/wishing-well-well-old-wood-wooden-76869/

Abigail's 3-Month Birthday

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/babe-smile-newborn-small-child-boy-2972221/

Tommorow, Abigail will have been 3 months old. She would be chubby and nap a lot. She would be able to respond to sounds, and make them as well. She would begin to smile a lot and start learning how to roll around on her blanket. I would hold her every time I got the chance and look into her beautiful face.

Today I asked my family how they are going to celebrate Abigail's 3-month birthday (Daniel and Ben couldn't do it because they are at their grandparents house).

Here is the video:

https://youtu.be/U-N4p5tjXHo

And me? I'm going (try) to sketch a picture of Abigail and put it on one of my mirrors so that I can see it every day when I wake up.

Happy Birthday, Abigail!

Abigail Angelo est (Abigail is an Angel)

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/love-romance-nature-desktop-angel-3020862/

Deus est Bonus. Deus in caelo est. Dues angelos creat. Angeli sunt in caelo. Angeli Deum amant. Angeli cantant. Estne caelum bellum? Caelum est bellum.

What language are these words in and what the heck do they mean? Don't even try to ask Google Translate. I can asure you that it won't be acurate at all. In fact, it will be hilariously wrong.

So what do these words mean? I'll tell you eventually.

Abigail is an angel. No doubt about that. What exactly is an angel though? An angel is one of God's living creations that don't have a physical body.

This is the dictionary definition.

"a spiritual being believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger of God, conventionally represented in human form with wings and a long robe."

So Abigail must have been a messenger, right? I'm not sure about the wings and robe but the rest of it is pretty acurrate. There is more:

"a person of exemplary conduct or virtue."

Was Abigail virtuous? Is she virtuous? Does she have high morals? It's hard to tell since she didn't have long to live on this earth. She didn't do anything wrong, so she is not sinful. I don't want to say that she didn't do anything right because that would be far from true.

She brought love from heaven. She is a messenger of God and from God.

That first paragraph was in Latin. Here is the translation:

God is Good. He is in heaven. He creates angels. The angels are in heaven. They love God. The angels sing. Is heaven beautiful? It is beautiful.

Yes, heaven is beautiful. And so is Abigail.

Salt and Pepper

Sparky Mama, Binky, and Sparky

We got three chicks yesterday. We are getting 8 more soon to make 11. If you were one of my siblings the day we got them, you would see how protective I am of them. I still am that way a day later because I don't like it when someone picks up a chick by their wing or drops one from too high up.

This is because I've had chicks before.

The first chick that died in one of our homes was named Salt and Pepper. He was a gray ball of fluff with little black and white specks covering his body. He never did anything wrong and was the smallest out of all the chicks we had. Guess how he died? Pasty butt.

Pasty butt is when the chick's rear is covered in waste, preventing it from going to the bathroom. The waste builds up until the chick passes away. To prevent this, someone must wipe the baby chicken's rump clean of the waste with a warm, wet, paper towel.

Salt and Pepper never did anything wrong. But his owners didn't know there was a problem so, sadly, he had to go. It brings me comfort to know that Salt and Pepper is smiling down from the clouds, watching to see how carefully I take care of his kind.

He wasn't just a piece of meat and neither are any chicks. They are all creations of God that He loves very much. Abigail is one of his loved creations as well. She never did anything wrong, but she had to return to her Heavenly Father, just like Salt and Pepper.

And I think they are great friends.

Dedicated to all of the chicks who have passed away in our home.

Thoughts About Abigail

I have not written in a while because I wasn't sure what I would say after Abigail left. I have different feelings everyday, but I always find myself in deep thought whenever someone says her name.

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/baby-hand-infant-child-father-2416718/

Abigail's name means "gives joy" and is very, very accurate because of the angel she is. In Hebrew, it means "my father's joy" and though I'm not her father, she is my joy as well. In fact, she is her brother's joy. According to Wikipedia, Abigail is "an itelligent, beautiful, loyal woman" which I am sure she would have been if she had lived longer on this earth. It brings me peace to know that that is exactly how she is described in heaven right now.

You would almost think that Abigail would have been able to stay on this earth and that she would be completely fine. It would seem that the two cleft pallets would soon heal and there would only be two identical scars on either side of her face that would hardly be visible. Maybe her brain would finally fully develop and the placenta would be able to be carefully removed from it. She would grow up just like any other child except for her undersized feet and fingers.

But this was not to be. She would return home to her Heavenly Father in 22 and a half hours, letting every one of her siblings hold her before she had to do so. Abigail would leave her oldest brother in tears once he held her. He is now very thankful that someone had donated blankets and that he had one to cry into. He has promised that he would never wash the tears out.

If I had to use one word to describe Abigail, it would be love and--if you gave me another one--I would choose joy. Not just because that's what her name is, but because that is what she is. She is my hope, she is my heart, she is my joy.

And I am glad that she's mine.

Abigail's Gifts

Not everyone can say that they have baby sister in heaven. I can. And I love her so very much. I gave her two very special gifts. 

Above is a picture of my two stuffed animals. The one on the left is the one from my birth. I once lost it and my mom bought me another one (the one on the right). I eventually found the stuffed animal that I got from my birth. I always wondered what I would do with the second one. Now I know exactly what to do with it. I am going to give it to my sister. I know that even though she can't really play with it, I have something to remind me of her. I will never lose it again the first one again.

Above is a letter that I wrote to Abigail. I am going to keep the pencil somewhere safe. Here is the text if you can't see it:

Abigail,

You mean everything to me. You give me so much hope. I love you. I love you so so much! I know that even though you probably won't live long on this earth, you will live forever in my heart. I can't wait to see you in heaven someday.

Till we meet again,

Sam Lantz

I know that God loves Abby and I and that families can be together forever. These gifts will help me remember Abigail and keep me close to her. No one can take my hope away.

Hope, Not What I Thought it Meant

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/hands-open-candle-candlelight-1926414/

I used to hope that my sister would miraculously survive. Now I know that that is not what I should be hoping for. Now I hope that Abby will help our family become spiritually stronger. 

I did a short study on the word "hope".

In 2 Nephi 31:20 it says:

"...press forward, having a perfect brightness of hope..."

That scripture teaches me that if you lose everything, you can still have hope, and if you have hope, you have faith, and if you have faith,  you have God,  if you have God, you have everything you need.

Hope can also be defined as "a feeling of expectation and desire for something certain to happen."

I used a search engine that shows the origin of certain words. I looked up "hope" and this is what I found:

"Some suggest a connection with hop....on the notion of 'leaping in expectation' [Klein]."

"Late old English hopa 'confidence in the future,' especially 'God or Christ as a basis for hope,'..." 

There is also "Old Frisian and Middle Dutch hope, Danish haab, [and] Dutch hoop"

I also realized that "hope" sounded like "hoop" since the formal is eternal and can never be taken from you.

I also like the explanation hop for "leaping in expectation" listed above.

Words that are similar to hope are faith and trust (but not pixiedust!).

Here is a quote that I found:

The people of the Earth Kingdom are proud and strong. They can endure anything, as long as they have hope.

-Prince Zuko; Avatar, The Last Airbender 

Now I see that I was hoping for the wrong thing. I now know what the true meaning is. I know that Abigail and I will see each other again. I hope that she helps my family to be worthy enough for the Savior's return.

Born the Same Month as Her Brother

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/michelangelo-abstract-boy-child-71282/

My birthday is coming up tomorrow (Feb 8th), but I'm not quite as excited for that as I am for Abigail's birth. I used to think that it was coming in March, which was true until Mom decided to have an early one on the 25 of Feburary. "Is that OK?" she asked me. I was astonished. Why would that not be OK? Then it hit me. My mom was born the same month that her older brother was. My uncle's birthday is a day before my mom's. He is exactly 4 years and a day older than her. Now I saw why my mom asked me that question.

I am both excited and nervous for Abigail's birth. Being nervous can be a good thing sometimes. I once went to a Tween Author Boot Camp. I was very nervous. The last thing I expected to happen was that I would win. Those who didn't win were thrown into a pit (I just made that up but it was still pretty scary). I won first place in my age zone. That experience exceeded my expectations greatly. I'm glad I didn't have pride before I knew the results because I would have had less enthusiasm finding out that I won. I believe that being nervous for Abby's birth is a virtue. I know that she will bring love to our family. I know that she will do other great things for us that we just don't know about yet.

Source: https://pixabay.com/illustrations/puzzle-heart-love-two-hearts-1721592/

I can tell that my little sister's birth will be a very special one. I can feel her love and I know that she will never really die. I will always have room in my heart for her. Nothing can give me more peace than to know that she will always be here with me. I am proud to say that I have an angel as a sister. Abby is my angel friend now and forever.

BIRTH UPDATE:

Abigail's birth was very special. You could just feel the love reflecting off of Abby and onto everyone else. She is and was a very special baby and we love her just as much as she loves us.

A Spoonful of Sugar-Coating

January 7, 2020
I've mentioned how powerful and peaceful temple service has been during this time, helping me to grasp at eternity and to broaden my perspective to see Abigail's life in terms of forever, rather than the deeply felt loss of her life here on earth. Last week, we missed our temple date because Wednesday fell on New Years, and we just didn't make it out the weekend after.

This, combined with a rather unpleasant visit to the doctor's office on Friday, sent me into a dreary gulch emotionally that lasted beyond the weekend. Despite a long and cathartic conversation with my amazing midwife, I've struggled to shake this wave of grief. It's a grief renewed by some phrases and images conjured by a doctor who thought I needed to relive the diagnosis of ABS (Amniotic Band Syndrome) and the prognosis of certain death for my baby and potentially a very difficult labor for both of us.

He had communicated with the maternal fetal medicine doctor about her findings via ultrasound, and for some reason thought I needed a rehashing of the situation and his own worst-case scenario fears.

This was unwelcome and unhelpful.

Since November 8, I've gotten used to the phrase, "I don't want to sugarcoat things, so..."

It's not my favorite phrase. Like I've said, I'm the type of person who asks questions and wants to understand the full picture. I appreciate honesty in medical practitioners.

I also value my emotional health and sanity, and I understand that where you train your focus can often build your reality in incredible ways. I wish more medical practitioners understood that the mental and emotional state of a woman about to give birth is intimately married to her outcomes. A woman in panic will not have a peaceful birth. I can only imagine how a woman in grief will fare. As I fight for my emotional well-being in the face of discouraging worst-case scenarios, I could use a little help from the people tasked with supporting my physical well-being.

Mary Poppins famously sang about a spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down. I appreciated the way Dr. Feltovich struck this balance. She may have had fears and worst-case scenarios going through her head, but she wasn't bent on planting them in my imagination. She didn't sugar-coat things, but she didn't knock the spoonful of sugar from my trembling hands either.

My biggest complaint, and this comes out of my gulch, the one I'm still trying to fight my way out of, is that some obstetrics practitioners take their detachment to an extreme. I am weary of hearing about how they are going to prioritize my physical health at the expense of Abigail's, simply because her expected outcome is poor. I am tired of being told that, since she's going to die anyway, the goal is to get her out without too much damage to me, as if she weren't real or important.

That's my baby you're talking about.

I know that people generally don't know what to say. Heck, I don't know what to say either. That's why you see so few comments from me after other people's beautiful and supportive comments on my facebook posts or here on the blog.

My wish would be that everyone who has something to do with bringing Abigail into this world could be on the same page about something: she's a person. She's our person. We LOVE her. We are grieving her and celebrating her at the same time. The language we use to talk about her is not detached, and we don't want your language to be detached, either. We are all humans dealing with other humans, and Abigail is just as human and just as valuable as I am. We want her birth to be handled with human dignity, and not with fear-based urgency.

I am trying to learn from the many, many mothers and babies who have gone before Abigail and me. One thing I've heard repeated from these mothers is how they wish they had spent less time dreading or fearing or mourning the future outcome of their angels, and more time enjoying the life within them. I feel that the well-intentioned lack of sugar-coating is creating more obstacles than we need to the goal of celebrating and enjoying Abigail's life while she is here.

It is unlikely that I will die during Abigail's birth, but if I die, it was meant to be. Neither of us needs for our final days to be made up of fearful dialogue and depressing thoughts.

I'm watching on social media as my favorite people all make New Year's Resolutions. It's a joyful and optimistic time for most people.

It's a beginning.

Though I know that something difficult and devastating awaits my family in the first few months of 2020, I also want to focus on what I can bring to this new year. The message I feel coming strongly through the veil between heaven and earth is to trust God in everything.

The saying goes that the devil is in the details, but I love to say that God is in the details. I have witnessed many miracles throughout my life, from prayers for the starting or stopping of rain to priesthood blessings to overcome serious illness. I have cheated death a few times, with angelic aid. I have healed from past trauma and sin through the atoning grace of Jesus Christ. All life is a miracle that I witness every day, flowers, mountains, pets, and people.

On facebook, a friend shared this Carrie Ten Boom quote:

NEVER BE AFRAID TO TRUST AN UNKNOWN FUTURE TO A KNOWN GOD.

The future is always unknown. Prognosticators will try to predict it, and we will always have wars and rumors of wars to keep us busy and fearful. But, "...God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power and of love, and of a sound mind" (2 Timothy 1:7).

That doesn't mean that difficult things don't exist. They are here mixed in with the good, like the life-constricting amniotic bands mixed with the life-preserving amniotic fluid in my womb right now. Opposition in all things is what makes this world grow and each human heart beat against the anarchy of the blood. We push up through the soil or out of the chrysalis or egg shell, and are born, over and over again, until we become ready for that final birth, the one called death. And there we are promised to enter into Christ's rest.

As my husband gently reminds me on a regular basis, because I need the reminder, we ARE keeping Abigail. But if we were allowed to keep her here on earth, Abigail would have soon learned to love to dance as much as I do. Like my five-year-old said, she would have gone to ballet with me. This necklace is the one I wear to remind me that she does dance. Club foot or no, she is dancing now in my womb. And soon she will dance with all the heavenly hosts. I do believe that one day we will dance together.

That's hope. It is as real and powerful as fear. Today, I choose hope.

Feel free to hope along with me, and thank you for the prayers and emotional support you have given to me and my family. I will never forget it.

Abigail's Stocking

This blog is called Abigail's Stocking, even though we'll be sharing our journey throughout the seasons. During my long commute to campus at BYU, I had a lot of time to think. I grieved for the life I thought Abigail should have, and I grieved for my own lost moments with her, from talking to her about boys to teaching her to dance, to sending her off on a mission and crying at her wedding. My grief was intense, and I prayed in between the tears. I felt like this idea was given to me as a prompting from the Holy Spirit, and as a partial answer to my grief.

Abigail's Stocking.

Yes, we would make her a stocking. She was part of the family, after all. But what would we put inside it? We would have to make gifts in her honor, or we could make promises about how we would honor her life with ours.

Yes! This would be a way to help the whole family heal, and a way for us to remember her and our family goal of meeting up at that big reunion in heaven someday. It felt so right. The more I thought about it, the more I loved the idea. I shared it with my husband and he agreed it would be a good thing.

Tonight is the last Sunday before Christmas, and we chose tonight to write in the Christmas journal that lives in Abigail's stocking. We started our entries with, "Dear Abigail," and ended with our signature with love. Each person thought of something unique to give to Abigail. Some thought of doing service in her name, or mentioning her in their prayers every day. Some chose to promise to visit her grave every month this year. I promised her the gift of life, for as long as she keeps it, and I told her I am writing a song for her. Our youngest, who is three, told her that this year he would read her the book, The Diggingest Dog. Every gift came from the purity of our hearts, and each one was signed with love.

Already I have seen the blessing of this new tradition. We talked about how even though we can't see Abigail, or Heavenly Father or Mother, or Jesus, we know they are real. We can picture them as we pray and as we live our lives in honor of them. Abigail has a real physical body. We believe God the Father and Jesus Christ do, as well. And while Abigail will be separated from this broken body in the next few months, she will be resurrected with the rest of us, following in Christ's footsteps. Her body will be perfect and we will see her face at last. That will be my new favorite day.

Sharing and Healing

In our first post, just after we found out about Abigail's prognosis, I mentioned that we weren't telling everybody yet. I wanted to share the news in person with my pregnant sister, and at first we thought we weren't going to see her until after Christmas. We did share the news with local family on my husband's side, and with our ward, or church congregation, via our bishop. We told him he could tell anybody he felt inspired to tell, so I got a wonderful visit from the Relief Society presidency. Those four ladies just listened and shared with me, and that buoyed me up. I received a special gift from my Aunt Karen that I will always cherish. Two poems, one she wrote, and one that was written on her own baby's funeral program. And a figurine of a baby wrapped in angel's wings. I cried when I held it. And then I made this picture of it:

Our amazing neighbors, who are familiar with this type of loss, brought us the Christmas gift of a book, Tear Soup. This was a wonderful way to share with our kids about grief and loss. Like the parables of Jesus, it can be read at many different levels, with children understanding just what they need to and adults understanding a little more.

Goodreads

Mostly, we coped with our fears and sorrows in the temple. Our goal was to go once a week, and we've done that with the exception of finals week. The last day of class for me was December 12, 2019.

December 13th was my appointment with Maternal Fetal Medicine, where we found out about Abigail's ABS.

December 14th: Today we had just the family adventure I'd been craving! Thanks to friends and neighbors for the tree tag and helping us scout out good spots for trees. We only got stuck in the snow once and teamwork got us out of that fix. We passed someone on the road with a tree up top and asked him where he'd gotten it. That led us to the right area, but it still took a lot of walking to find the right tree. Ben is feeling under the weather and Corbin doesn't tolerate the cold very well yet, so I took those two back to the car to warm up and then we waited for our returning champions and prayed. Prayer works!! They came back with a beautiful tree!

Then we watched Frozen in the living room by a nice fire and sipped hot cocoa as we recovered from our adventure.

December 16th, I took my Neurobiology final early in the morning. I got an A- for the semester. I took a long nap and then finished sewing the stockings I had been making all month for the family:

December 17th, I made myself study for my Chemistry 105 final, but it was not nearly enough and I knew that.

December 18th, I took the final in six hours and passed Chemistry 105 with a C. Under the circumstances, I don't think I could have done better.

The plan was to tell my pregnant sister about Abigail on December 20th, in person. It didn't happen exactly that way. We weren't sure she was going to be able to make it for her planned trip to SLC Temple, so we ended up asking for a video call and telling her that way. There were lots of tears. I may have cried more telling her than I did telling anyone else. She asked the same thing I had asked when I first learned. "So is there no hope?" I think it's human nature when we receive bad news to hold onto any possible silver linings. It's very hard when those silver linings get thinner and thinner on the edges of the storm clouds, and yet the thinnest silver linings are also the brightest and sharpest in contrast.

Once she knew, I told the rest of my siblings and my grandma. Each conversation was both difficult and relieving, just to have the secret out. We told them we had bought a cemetery plot for Abigail that afternoon and that they were welcome to come to a graveside service for her, though we understood if they couldn't since it would have to be a last-minute invitation. We have no idea when she will arrive, so that makes planning a funeral difficult, but we wanted everyone in the family to know they were invited to this spot. It's right by a tree and the nearest grave is another baby who left too soon. Eventually, this area will fill up, but for now it is Abigail's little spot.

One of the beautiful things I've been able to do is to buy Abigail a dress. It may be the only thing she ever wears, but at least it's something. Gift giving is definitely one of my love languages, and it's hard for me to be having my first girl and not buying a hundred dresses for her. But if she could only wear one dress, this is the one I would choose for her.

When five-year-old Daniel saw it, he said it was for ballet and asked if Abigail would be going to ballet with me. I told him she probably wouldn't stay very long and that she had to get back to heaven. He said that he hoped she would stay a little while and go to ballet with me. I cried after he left the room. The ballet slipper necklace will be our mother-daughter matching thing. One necklace for her and one for me. I've already started wearing mine, and it makes me feel even more bonded to her. My daughter is real, she is alive, and she matters. Long after other people forget she ever existed, she will still be in my heart, as alive as ever.

My sister ended up talking with her husband and making the trip work! She and my mom came together for a visit. It was so nice that we had already shared the news about Abigail with both of them, so our visit didn't have to be entirely about that. The plan was to go to the Salt Lake City Temple, where my sister was sealed 13 years ago, before it closes next week for years of renovations. So on December 21, 2019, we went to the Salt Lake Temple, our two pregnant bellies making everybody nervous. We spent about 9 hours in the temple, doing multiple ordinances for the same few family names they had brought.

It was my first time in the Salt Lake Temple for anything since Shayna's wedding. And it was the first time I had done every ordinance from baptism to sealings in one day. The crowds were inspiring, but it meant long waits at times and we didn't finish sealings until nearly 8pm. I'm grateful for the chance to see a live endowment session and to spend so much time in the Lord's holy house when I need all the holiness I can get in my heart.

I'm also very thankful for my family.

My mother gave me a beautiful Christmas gift from her heart. She painted Abigail from a picture of me when I was a little girl. We won't know what her spirit's face looks like until heaven, but it's fun to imagine which features she might have...

My sister brought an important and practical gift, a breast pump. This will be the first time I won't be able to nurse my baby. The day I realized that, I cried so much. I will have all this love, and all this milk--just a representation of that love--with nowhere to go. I'm so grateful for this gift, which will make it possible for me to, possibly, share what I have with others. Maybe it won't all have to be lost.

Thanks to those who responded to Bill's facebook post today about Abigail. We still have a long road ahead of us in being Abigail's parents, but sharing it makes the road less lonely.

Abigail's First Christmas: Getting Ready

It has always been our habit to consider a baby's first Christmas as their first December 25th outside the womb. But the rules are all different with Abigail.

Her life is likely to be entirely within the womb, though we are praying for time with her after her birth, as well. What's true for us is true for everybody: we never know how long we have with our children. But when your child is given a terminal diagnosis, it feels more urgent. You feel there will never be enough time. For that reason, Bill and I are grateful to have received Abigail's diagnosis in the middle of the pregnancy. We had twenty-two blissful weeks of planning and dreaming and hoping for a healthy child, and now we have the rest of the pregnancy, however long it may be, to plan and dream and hope with a different understanding of Abigail's reality. I know there are families who welcome a baby with anencephaly into their hearts at the very moment of birth and, with shock, discover that the baby they have long loved and planned for will not be staying.

Because we know, we have been given the gift of cherished time. Rather than merely tolerating the last two trimesters of this pregnancy, Bill and I are watching and appreciating every moment. The times when Bill puts his hand on my belly and feels her move are deeper and sweeter. The way we talk about her is more reverent. The comfort we give each other is more fervent.

This December 25th will be Abigail Reileen's first Christmas. The name of this blog, Abigail's Stocking, is drawn from this idea. We will be putting up a stocking for Abigail and talking about the intangible gifts we can offer to our angel that will give her what she truly wants, a reunion in heaven with her whole family.

We haven't really started decorating for Christmas yet, as it's Thanksgiving Day. But last Saturday the local Relief Society put on a Super Saturday crafting event, and I signed up to make a bunch of little wooden-and-sticker ornaments, complete with Mod Podge. I arrived a little after ten in the morning and was the only one at my table at first. This was fine because I wasn't feeling particularly social. I came with the hope of making some special ornament for Abigail and some other cute decorations. It had been about two weeks from our diagnosis.

The first day I had been almost proud of myself for handling the news so well, but I was soon reminded forcefully of what I had long heard about grief: it comes in waves.

Over the previous two weeks, I had gone from peaceful acceptance to sobbing unacceptance to anger and self-pity and back to quiet acceptance. On Saturday morning, I felt okay. It was nice to be done with the previous week of school and two very challenging tests, one in Neurobiology and one in Chemistry. And now I was at an event just for women to get together and be creative. What could be better? I quietly began the process of choosing stickers to put onto my little wooden and paper ornaments and Mod Podging them on. There were red and green and gold and silver stickers. Some were pictures of Christmas trees and snowmen, and some were words like "together" and "tradition." I was having a nice time, and then another woman came to sit across from me and start her own Christmas project. We engaged in a little small talk, and one of the organizers came over and talked with us, too. But slowly, as I worked, I began to notice that I kept taking short gasps of air every so often. Sometimes these gasps of air accompanied some thought about Abigail. After all, I was writing out her name in red stickers across a decorative Christmas gift tag. But in general I have found that it is impossible NOT to think about Abigail. Everything seems to direct my thoughts to her.

Lesson in Neurobiology on movement? Abigail.
Little girl shopping with her mother in the supermarket? Abigail.
Facebook post by my friend or cousin, both of whom just brought home twin girls? Abigail.
Sitting on my bed and staring at the wall where I would have put the bassinet? Abigail.

There's no escaping the thought of her. And if I do by some chance get busy thinking about school or reading with my older kids, or some non-Abigail house project I need to get working on, the precious movements inside my womb will awaken me to Abigail once more.

So as I sat there, talking with new friends about Christmas traditions and whether we tell our kids there's a Santa or not, I couldn't do a thing about the random gasps of air. I knew it meant I was suppressing my breathing unconsciously, but I didn't know how to fix it. I tried mindfully breathing in and out. And I hurried up to finish the ornaments I was working on because now I couldn't wait to get out of the stifling indoors. I don't think anybody noticed my mini crisis, and that was good because talking about an anxiety attack does not actually help an anxiety attack. I went to the wall where there was a plug and plugged in the glue gun so I could string my ornaments with the pretty candy-cane-striped string provided in the kit. And I reminded myself to breathe.

It was a slow and painful death-by-anxiety-attack, and eventually I felt close to hyperventilating. I steadied my voice and asked my friend if I should leave the gun plugged in for her. She said yes. I stood up and returned to the table, carefully keeping my ornaments separated in their baggie since Mod Podge tends to stick horribly whenever it comes into contact with itself. And then I explained that I needed to go home. My new friend asked if I was okay. I told her briefly that we had received a terminal diagnosis for our baby and I was having a hard time, but that I just needed to get out into the fresh air. She offered to give me a ride home, but she wasn't even finished with her project yet and I really wanted to be alone, so I declined.

As soon as I was outside in the brisk November air, I could breathe. And as soon as I could breathe, I could cry. I cried all the way home, letting the tears dot my face. I know there's nothing wrong with crying but I prefer to do it out of sight. It was a melancholy day after that, but I got lots of hugs from my sweet husband and my other kids. And Abigail made sure to make her presence known. Sometimes the movements brought tears, but other times they brought a smile.

I'm glad I went out and made ornaments for the tree. I'm glad I have a cute little one with Abigail's name on it.

The more things with her name on it, the better, as far as my heart's concerned.

Waiting for Abigail is no easy feat. But we will fill this time with as many remembrances and special moments as we can.

In the afternoon, we called all five of our boys out to the front yard and asked for their help in planting a bulb garden for Abigail. There were crocuses and giant daffodils and giant tulips.

They loved doing it, and it was good for my heart. There will be Christmas and there will be spring. And Abigail will be there for all of it, either here next to my heart or in heaven surrounded by God, angels, and family. And whether in a Christmas ornament, a stocking, or a tulip, she will always be cherished and remembered.

Peace Like a River

For thus saith the LORD, Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river, and the glory of the Gentiles like a flowing stream: then shall ye suck, ye shall be borne upon her sides, and be dandled upon her knees. Isaiah 66:12

On Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, we grieved for Abigail. My heart broke. Bill's heart broke. We cried and we toyed with hope and then felt hopeless again.

On Wednesday, we went to the temple.

In the temple we do vicarious work for those who have already passed, and the veil is thin there. People have seen visions and felt the presence of loved ones long gone on. As we go through a ceremony of an ordinance for someone else who has left his or her body behind on earth, we also get to remember when we went through this ceremony for ourselves, and it's a beautiful reconnection with God. It's a time when we remember our promises to Him and His incredible promises to us. Bill had a family name, an ancestor whose ordinance work hadn't been done yet, and he brought a little piece of paper with that name to the temple to go through the ceremony on his behalf. I didn't bring a family name, but planned on getting one in the temple. On our way in, we met with a woman who asked me to take one of her ancestors' names for the ceremony.

This was our first time in the Payson temple. We moved up here in July, at the very beginning of my pregnancy and hadn't been able to get all our temple things together to go until now. I looked up at the beautiful building and took a deep breath. Temples have always been places where the Prince of Peace can reach me with His peace. We went inside, changed into white clothes, and met in the temple chapel where we waited with others who were about to perform the ordinance. We met Bill's parents there in that quiet, contemplative room. In the pews, there were book holders containing scriptures, and I picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon, opening it up randomly. It's one of my favorite ways to hear from God. I opened it to Moroni chapter 7 and read:

"Wherefore, my beloved brethren, have miracles ceased because Christ hath ascended into heaven, and hath sat down on the right hand of God, to claim of the Father his rights of mercy which he hath upon the children of men?
....and because he hath done this, my beloved brethren, have miracles ceased? Behold I say unto you, Nay, neither have angels ceased to minister unto the children of men." (verses 27 and 29)

I silently thanked God for these passages of scripture which spoke to my heart and told me it was not at all wrong for me to pray for a miracle.

If you have walked through a temple prior to its dedication to the Lord as His house, you have seen a Celestial Room. It usually has a high ceiling and chandelier, and is like the Holy of Holies of ancient temples, except that instead of there being one priest allowed inside with a rope tied to his leg, all who have come to covenant with God in the temple are admitted into it. The ceremony ended here and we sat on a couch and prayed and whispered reverently to each other. I was happy to see my parents-in-law there, and they spoke words of comfort to us. Abigail will be ours forever. She will not ever be truly gone. And she counts as one of our children. These true ideas had been difficult to get hold of. They kept slipping away from me as I was grieving before. But here, in this holiest place, I felt the truth and the comfort wash over me.

My soul experienced a vast transformation from the sorrow, anger, fear, and deep grief I had been feeling before. The grief was still there, but all fear and anxiety and anger disappeared. That night, I slept sweetly and awoke with words from the ceremony running through my mind. I repeated them in my mind over and over again, cherishing them and turning them into a prayer for Abigail. God's promises are sure. His love is real. His peace is unlike anything this world has to offer.

On the previous Monday, I had stopped by a store to pick up some clothes for Bill, and almost hit a whole flock of seagulls, Utah's state bird, sitting there on the asphalt.

Seagulls are the state bird of Utah for a very special reason. It hearkens back to the days of the Mormon pioneers who settled here and experienced the highs and lows of farm life right off the bat. A whole crop of wheat, still tender in the fields, was being devoured by a swarm of locusts. The pioneers went out with pans and bonnets and anything they had to beat back the swarm in a desperate attempt to save their fields from the devourers. And they prayed for a miracle. God sent an enormous migration of seagulls to devour the devourers and the pioneers were saved.

When I was a teenager, only fourteen years old, my mother made me a gorgeous pioneer dress with a full-circle skirt for dancing so I could be part of a pioneer play called Promised Valley. I didn't play a specific character, but I did get to sing and dance and act, and I will never forget taking off my bonnet and smashing at invisible "crickets" during the scene that reenacted this miracle. Seeing these seagulls at such a moment, when I was in the middle of my worst grief was a small miracle. And yet, I had so much trouble accepting it. It was as if they represented someone else's miracle, not mine. At that point, I was sure I would not be receiving a miracle. Who can argue with an ultrasound image like that? My baby was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it. No amount of healthy eating or daily walking would change what was. Neural tube defects are not something that resolves by itself in the womb before birth. 
It was just a flock of seagulls.

But I took a picture and kept it in my heart.

Sunday, that permission from the Lord to pray for and hope for miracles soothed my soul, and I came to see the seagull as a symbol not just for their miracle, but for all miracles.

Right next to the women's dressing room in the Payson temple is a giant painting of a pioneer woman holding a little girl while looking down at the sunflowers that have fallen from the little girl's hands. The expression on her face held me captive as I passed it, and I stood for several moments just connecting with her in her sense of loss. I knew that she was grateful for the child in her arms but that, all the same, she was experiencing grief. I knew that look because I had been wearing it for the past several days.

Loss looks the same on everybody, I guess.

And yet, there was a quiet strength in her visage, and I drew strength from that, too. Not only did this pioneer woman survive through everything that had happened to her, but she was only just beginning to create the foundations of a beautiful culture in a new land. She had more to give, even though her heart had been broken. There was just so much of the tragic and hopeful mixed in this painting, that I couldn't get it out of my head. The next morning, I was still thinking about it, and talked to my husband about how it had made me feel. Then I started singing a hymn: Blessed, Honored Pioneer. I didn't even know I knew so many of the words to that song. It is rarely sung except on July 24th, for Pioneer Day in Utah. I decided to look up the painting so I could see it again, and was awestruck when I saw the title: Blessed Honored Pioneer.

I cannot reproduce the picture here, but if you'd like to see it you can either visit the Payson Temple yourself or see it on the artist's website. Because it was commissioned for the temple, it is not sold in prints anywhere, so these are the only places you can see it.

Blessed Honored Pioneer

As if this weren't enough communication from heaven, there was more as the day progressed. On my way to class, I began to feel the anxiety creeping in again, and I determined to hold on a little longer to the peaceful spirit from the temple. I turned on the narrator on my Gospel Library app and listened to Moroni chapter 7 read aloud to me while I drove. It was comforting to hear those words again, and in the context of the chapter. It was a letter from Moroni's father, Mormon, to him. My scripture app automatically went to chapter 8 when chapter 7 was finished (it's a long drive) and I was startled to realize that the very next chapter was about infants who die without baptism, or the baptism of infants.

Verse 8: Listen to the words of Christ, your Redeemer, your Lord and your God. Behold, I came into the world not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance; the whole need no physician, but they that are sick; wherefore, little children are whole, for they are not capable of committing sin; wherefore the curse of Adam is taken from them in me, that it hath no power over them...

Little children are WHOLE!

For a mother with a baby that had just been diagnosed with a defect that left her without parts of her skull, brain, and face, these words could not have come with greater power. I was struck by the word "whole." It is comforting to know that my baby, whether she dies in the womb or lives a few hours or days, will be whole in Christ. When I meet her, on this side or the other side, I will see her that way, knowing she is whole eternally because of Christ.

I am thankful for the temple, for scriptures, the word of God, and the power of music and art in communicating to my heart. There is so much to be grateful for, though I still don't understand why this has happened and is happening. I know we are not alone. As my mother keeps reminding me, God loves me and God loves Abigail, and He has a beautiful plan. I just have to believe that there is beauty in this and that one day I will see it.