Infusion #2 and Clara's Burial

Sunday night, I sat myself on the gray felt couch of the RMH lobby. The occasional Door Dash drop off and the distant chatter from the kitchen didn’t deter me from crying. The next morning was Hyrum’s second infusion. The day before had been Clara’s burial. I’d had no time to breathe in between.

More than anything, I just don’t want to lose him again. Last time he “checked out” for a whole month- losing speech, diet, walking, sitting… everything. We just started to get him back, and I don’t want that all over again.

After I cried the needed tears, my brain found an even more cheerful thought: the aftermath of Hyrum's first infusion was only a partial, temporary loss. I still got to see him. Visit him. Lie next to him in bed. I still got to stroke his hair and give him a foot massage and see him shake his head. “Mm-Mm” for no, chin tuck for yes. If that partial loss was so devastating, how will I possibly handle his death?

One long moment of sober consideration, and my mind flashed back to this weekend. I had dreaded it. Burial felt like a symbol of only our loss, one that excludes the closeness and peace we also feel regarding Clara's early arrival. How could I possibly stand near her casket and bear up all the ache of missing her, while also needing to convince my small children that she even exists? How could I look into the eyes of my grieving family, sitting in those lush graveside chairs, and do anything other than sob? I felt sure that I would crumble alongside this token of her loss.

I did not.

I achieved my personal goal and initiated more conversations about my recent experiences. I watched Michael hold Clara for the first time and felt all the familiar pride about what an amazing father he is. I spent time with Clara’s spirit. I chose holy feelings over a family party and then a family party over some gloomy ones. I stood up by Clara’s grave and taught my family who she was and how we saw God in her story. I got up early, caught a plane, and late that night I cried alone.

And it occurred to me… I thought that this weekend would be terrible. It was not. I had been lifted, carried, sustained by so many prayers and by the covenants I bear. I was hugged and loved and fed by gracious people, and my relationships shone brighter because of it. At the end of it all, I was more whole, somehow, not less.

So I guess.. If Christ and my sweet people can do all that for me this weekend, I can believe that He will do it again when it’s time for “the big loss”. Soooo... Raise your hand if you thought a miscarriage would somehow end up bringing peace to our cancerous wounds? Yeah, me neither. But somehow, it did.

(Photos by my dear friend @monamariaphotography)