July 22, 2009--The Funeral

July 22, 2009 was the day that the hospital held a funeral for all babies who had passed away earlier in the year...and that day included our sweet Angelina.

I don't know how the hospital organizes it exactly, but we elected to go this route. The hospital holds a memorial service for babies who have died between certain periods of time and then holds a memorial and burial service three times a year. So perhaps they do this once in the spring, once in summer and once in the fall/winter time.

A lot of time had obviously passed between when Angelina was born (April 1) and when the burial was (July 22). Immediately following our loss, I truly was upheld in the Lord's hands. I truly, truly was. I was at peace, I knew where our baby girl was and I knew what it meant for our family. I knew she was ours and that she was in the Lord's hands now and that we will see her after this life. Looking back, I feel as if I was "the strong one" throughout the entire process for those around us. Not in the sense that Taylor was a mess and needed me--in the sense that so many people wanted to see us and talk to us and know what happened and we would tell our story over and over. Well when the initial news seemed to calm down, and once all the healing had taken place physically, we began to wonder when the funeral was.

I called and asked, no one knew for another week. Well when I finally found out when the funeral would take place, a new wave of emotions came upon me. It felt as if I had blocked some emotions from coming through because I was "being the strong one"...and then all of a sudden, I was experiencing a whole new set of emotions I had never dealt with...I guess it was as if to say reality set in. The funeral was very hard on me, more importantly, leading up to the funeral was hard on me. It was hard to know what to expect and how being at the grave site would actually affect me.

I don't remember how many babies were in the casket. There were several families there, I wondered what they were thinking and how they handled what they were going through.

I have learned that I am not a public crier. When in public, I really try to choke back tears. I don't really like that because I think it is very therapeutic to cry and allow emotions to surface. At the start of the service I couldn't hold it in though--the hospital said some words and then we broke off to the side and did our own thing. My dad spoke and then Taylor spoke and dedicated the grave site. It was beautiful and I am very grateful for their willingness and worthiness to do what they did.

We met a couple at the service who experienced a similar thing and were also of our beliefs. Taylor's Aunt and Uncle knew and recognized them...turns out they actually knew us and babysat us many years prior. I just thought it was neat to meet and we have kept in touch since.

July 22 was a sacred day in our family. While we physically laid our baby girl to rest, I am grateful to know she is watching over us and waiting for us. It is comforting and peaceful to know we have a guardian angel watching over us. It is comforting to know that the Lord trusted us to provide a way for our baby girl to enter the world but that she was too precious to live on earth. We love our Heavenly Father and our baby girl and everything that comes with it.

Brave, really?

I've been having a few of the same thoughts lately, forgive me if they don't all come out making sense.

In starting this blog, I have received many comments via blog, facebook and email about how brave I am to share our story. I've sincerely appreciated all those comments, but have never felt "brave." To me, sharing the story is essentially what you would find on our medical records. Sharing my testimony with our story simply goes hand in hand. Literally--I do not know how I would have gotten through our experience without our beliefs.

But brave?

I don't feel brave. I don't feel so brave when a dear friend of mine recently had a baby and I can't bring myself to go see her or her baby because I am not sure how it will affect me. I don't feel brave when I was recently at a baby shower and wanted to break down in tears when I saw the tiny newborn clothes because all I could think about was that I should be holding a newborn. Or when I am at a store and see people with two, three, four, etc kids and think that I have two but physically can see only one. Or even seeing car seats because I wish I was carrying one. Or when Isaac pretends to take care of his "Elmo" doll I can't help but think what a great big brother he would be (will be). Or at church when it's testimony meeting and all I want to bear my testimony about is how this experience has drawn me closer to my Savior but since I said that the month before and everyone already knows our story, I probably shouldn't get up. Or in Relief Society when our lesson is about families and the question is asked, "how has it changed your perspective knowing that your family is eternal?" -- because really, I could get up and talk the whole time on that subject but instead I am sitting on the back row fighting back tears because again--the whole Relief Society already knows my story and I fear I sound like a broken record.

I guess my point is--I am always thinking about Angelina and some days I struggle more than others. Someone once asked me how I was doing but feared that I was 'in a good place' (i.e. not thinking about Angelina) so they were scared by bringing it up it might "set me off" (i.e. the tear-works). But truth be told, I am always thinking about Angelina. Angelina has changed my life for the better. I remember one night, Taylor and I were watching TV and I don't remember if it was a commercial or a show but this little girl--who knows, maybe 4 or 5 years old--comes on the screen and it was almost breath taking because there was silence for a second and I said, "she looks like she could be our daughter." Instantly, Taylor said he was thinking the same thing.

I know the Lord blesses us and strengthens us in many ways and for that I am grateful. I don't write these things for way of looking for sympathy, it is just my candid, what I go through, what I think type of things that occur to me while experiencing this loss. These thoughts are just real. Am I upset, angry? Not at all. Just miss my baby girl.