The last two months have been more eventful that we would have wished.
March was, well, as the sports enthusiasts put it so well, "madness." Our little Eliot, who, for various reasons hasn't yet received the chicken pox vaccination, was exposed to chicken pox in our church's nursery mid-March. No big deal, right? Maybe just a little inconvenience, some time at home and away from other people. None of that would have been too bad except for the fact that I had planned to fly out and spend a week with my sister and her newborn baby Madelyn. I was so bummed and put off canceling the flight as long as I could, and when I finally did, I got off the phone and cried. If you don't know this about me already, I adore newborns. I think there is nothing sweeter and more sacred than holding those tiny, fresh-from-heaven little angels. And Mary is my closest sister in age -- just 15 months younger than me, the one I shared a room with growing up, the one who knows the good, the bad, and the ugly about me (and still loves me!), and I wanted so badly to be there to help her through one of the first of her sleep-deprived, overwhelming weeks of motherhood. I was really disappointed to have to cancel my big plans of wowing her with my freezer meals skills, scrubbing her house for her, helping her get on top of laundry again, and of course, hours and hours of "sacrificing" by holding sweet Maddy so Mary could get some rest.
Well, turns out I ended up going to Utah anyway, just in April instead of March as planned. Only my primary reason this time wasn't as light-hearted as the original plan. Yes, I got to see Madelyn and Mary, which was sweet and one of the best parts of my trip. But this time my purpose for traveling was to help one of my dearest friends through the loss of her infant son, Isaac, who was born six weeks early, with a condition called Anencephaly, a fatal condition in which his brain and skull didn't form completely, allowing him to live, though miraculously, for only a little over an hour.
Please don't misunderstand me; I am not putting this out there as "my" trial, because it isn't. It's Misty's and her family's. I've just been a friend on the sidelines, helplessly watching it all happen, my heart breaking at the thought of what my dear friend has been asked to endure, on top of her life that has already known unimaginable pain. I went and supported and hugged and cried. I "met" Isaac (who is
beautiful, by the way) through the gorgeous photographs Misty was able to have taken of him. Through it all I have to admit that I wasn't much help. What words of comfort could I give? I certainly couldn't empathize. I couldn't pretend to imagine how my sweet friend must be feeling, because I have no idea. I knew that as much as I tried to help and provide company and love, at the end of the day I would go home to my "normal" life and not have to live with the agonizing pain of having lost a child. That will be and is Misty's burden to bear. I don't know why this happened to such a whole-hearted, devoted, compassionate mother. I don't know how this works into God's plan and how He can allow such things to happen. What I do know for certain is that March was madness and April has just been sad and hard.
But. What I also know for sure is that, as much as I don't understand Him sometimes, there IS a God in heaven. He understands this all perfectly. He knows why Misty has to experience this ultimate sacrifice of giving up her son. Because He knows exactly how that feels. And because of His Son's sacrifice, and I know this for certain, Misty
will have her baby again. Her very appropriately named son, Isaac, will continue to live, he will be made whole, and she will see him and embrace him and be granted the opportunity to mother him in the life to come. That is my comfort and my solace. It was a bittersweet experience to attend Isaac's funeral the day after Easter. From now on I will probably celebrate Easter a little differently, maybe with a little more tenderness and reverence for what that holiday really means. It will mean a little more to me from now on when I consider that I
do "know that my Redeemer lives ... what comfort that sweet sentence gives."
Of Grant, who finishes his SECOND year of law school this week! At the risk of understating or even sounding trite and cheesy, Grant really has worked so hard. This year has been a busy one; Grant's had to juggle school, work, family, student organizations, callings at church, but he wouldn't be Grant if he didn't do it all with a smile. I know I'm biased, but I think he's pretty amazing. We are ALL looking forward to a relaxing, fun summer. Forty-hour work weeks sound like heaven about now! It will be nice to be with family and friends in Utah and to get some sunshine and down time. Whew, just one more year to go ... you can do it, love!
