My Son, My Miracle, Page 4

I mourned Jared's death the day he was born . . . .

Painting by:  Derek Hegsted

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Be Still My Soul


Be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side.
With patience bear thy cross of grief and pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide.
In every change he faithful will remain.
Be still my soul, thy best thy heavenly friend,
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.


Be still my soul, thy God doth undertake,
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake.
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still my soul, the waves and winds still know,
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.


--Katharina von Schlege

I mourned Jared's death the day he was born. At the close of my surgery, I was transferred to a small room just outside of the nurses' station where I could  more easily be kept apprised of Jared's status. I refused pain medication because I wanted to be as coherent as possible when major decisions had to made.

The hospital staff graciously continued to administer spinal anesthesia for the next few hours but there was nothing that could lesson the pain of my broken spirit. Nothing could dull or lighten the heaviness that totally enveloped me tightening its grip with each passing moment.

I refused to see my cherished son on the day he was born. I knew he was going to die. I believed that it would be easier for me to convince myself he never existed if I never saw or held his vulnerable little body. But deep down within I knew I could never rid myself of the memories of him touching me, from within the womb, lying so close to my heart. In my empty arms I felt the quiet hold between a mother and a child. Having experienced two previous miscarriages, I already knew the emptiness and longing for the children the heart and mind could never dismiss.

We had no family in Michigan to call on so our Bishop arrived bringing with him all the comfort he could muster up. I felt badly for him because it is virtually impossible to comfort the mother of a dying child. Once, while in the hospital, I heard the unquenchable wales of a mother whose baby had just passed away. It sounded like multiple women were being tortured to their life's end. I had never heard anything so soul piercing and hope to never hear that sound again. It is forever embedded in my memory.

After our Bishop left, the floodgates opened and I cried and cried and cried. I cried when I didn't know I was crying. When I though I had finally stopped crying, the tears continued to flow. I had no control. For hours the tears continued to pour down my cheeks until my eyes were nearly swollen shut.

To be continued . . .