Losing Jamie, Finding Myself.

Thirty eight years ago, Easter Sunday, April 18, 1976, my day started just as pretty much every other Sunday.  We awoke, Ken went off to meetings and I got our three small children ready for church.  I loved to dress my beautiful children for this special Easter occasion.  I had obtained beautiful outfits for the kids and was excited to take them to church because I knew the compliments would come for my darling kids.   I was so proud of these little ones put in my care.  Today, I only remember one outfit that was worn that Sunday.  It was Jamie's sweet yellow pin dot coat and dress.  The day went as planned and I was gratified at the recognition of the beauty of my children. 

We came home and I set about preparing dinner when Jamie, who was sitting on the kitchen floor, still in her little yellow dress, began to cough.  What followed was my worst nightmare in reality.  I tried my best to save my little perfect girl but it wasn't to be so.  Ken tried, Alex Hunt tried, the EMTs tried, the doctors tried but it was not to be.  To this day I hate to hear an ambulance siren.  I can still hear myself begging aloud, "No, not now.  It can't be now!  Please don't take her now!"  again and again as we road in the front of the ambulance.  At the hospital I became calm.  Something inside my said, "Whatever happens, it will be all right!"  I remember my rock solid father turning to a questioning child.  He didn't understand but for some reason I did at that moment.  I remember telling my dad it would be okay.  About 30 family members and friends gathered together in a side room at the hospital and offered up prayer in behalf of Jamie and us.  That is when the peace came that allowed me to tell my distraught father that things would be all right.

When Dr. Martin came to tell us she was gone it became a different story.  I couldn't believe my ears but it became so very real as I held the lifeless body of my beautiful baby girl.  I wasn't allowed to hold her for nearly long enough and was soon taken away from her.  How could this be happening to me.  Ken had just given a talk on the resurrection at church.  We were doing what we were supposed to.  We had our family and were trying to do the right things.  How could this be happening?  Ten days earlier, we had found that our other two children were deaf.  Now, we were getting hit with what I can only describe as the ultimate challenge for a parent.  Suddenly, I cared about nothing, not Ken or the kids, not God or earth or heaven.  I was enveloped by pain like I had never felt before or since.  I did not want to live if this was what living brought.  I wanted to go HOME and be free from hurt and pain.  I felt I could do nothing nor did I want to do anything.  I held Jamie's stuffed animal and her picture and rocked and cried.

I think of my children and my dear husband.  He had no idea what to do.  He was trying to carry the burden of everyone's pain and Heather and Jason had no idea why their sweet little sister who they loved so much did not come home.  We were doing the best that two people that had their world turned upside down could do.  I remember Ken's mom saying to him, "You have strong shoulders."  She meant well but he wasn't feeling so strong.  He too had just lost the little one we had waited and prayed for so long.  His pain was just as great as mine yet he was not allowed to acknowledge it.  I was no help to him.

We had tried for a long time to have another baby.  We had been the beneficiaries of a miracle before we even knew I was pregnant.  I became very ill.  My glands were all swollen.  It was thought that perhaps I had some systemic cancer.  I was given much medicine for the pain and had several x-rays to try to find what was happening in my body.  During one of these x-rays, it was discovered that I was pregnant.  It turned out that I had chicken pox and shingles on my sciatic nerve.  I had a blessing a few weeks later and I literally felt that little child I carried flip inside me.  At that point, I knew at that Jamie would be born healthy.  She was early but she was healthy and I spent every minute I could with her.  I took her everywhere with me.  I took naps with her.  I loved her in every way I could.  I was sick for the first few months of her little life.  I had surgery to correct a problem that was making me so sick when she was just 6 months old.  That gave me more time to stay home and be with her.  I have never regretted the time I spent with this little girl.

Why was the Lord doing this to me?  Why was he doing this now? Hadn't I done everything He asked of me.  Ken used to tease me about how the worst thing I had done in my life was steal an apple from the BYU orchard.  I had tried so hard to do all that He wanted from me.  Why me? Why now? Why like this?  It was just too hard for me to comprehend.  What should I tell my children who were so hard to tell.  They were deaf!  It is hard enough for a hearing child to comprehend but for deaf children, it must have been impossible.  It was many years before I felt that they somewhat understood what had happened.  It took about the same number of years for me to actually believe that I had not killed my own daughter.  They found no reason for her death and all I could think was that it must have been something I had done.  My days literally were blurs of people coming and going, food coming in, other people caring for my children and cleaning my home. 

We looked for a dress to put Jamie in for the last time but I didn't want a short dress.  I had my heart set on a long white dress for my babies last gift.  We couldn't find one anywhere.  Two ladies from our old ward, Alice Broadbent and Etta Holdsworth stayed up all night making just the right dress for my little one.  We hadn't lived there for several years but they knew what I wanted and came to my rescue.  It was one of those tiny bits of sanity that touched my life in a way that no other bit could.  Ralph Wing, our friend and the local funeral director had just lost his 17 year old son to cancer.  He talked with me about how much harder it must be for us, knowing we would not have all those years with Jamie.  I thought about how much harder it would be for him to have known his son that long and then lost him. Two weeks after the funeral, my neighbors, Alex and Susan Hunt put me on one of their horses.  For a few short minutes, I felt almost normal and then the realization washed over me again.

I was angry, I was hurt and I was so very confused.  I asked a friend who had lost her husband and two children in a plane crash how she did it.  Her reply was, "You can only hurt so much!"  I was beginning to understand.  The pain can only go so deep then it either kills you or you start to fight back.  I still had two beautiful children who had needs that were overwhelming.  There was not a lot of time to sit and feel sorry for myself.  However abnormal I felt, I had to move forward.  What if Dr. Martin had not shut of the machine?  How could I possibly have taken care of two deaf children and a child with no normal function?  Ken and I went to the church office building and were sent to see Elder Sterling Sill.  He had no answers but said to us, "When you get on the other side, you will have to get in the line behind me to ask those questions."  He and his wife had been unable to have children of their own.  He too had many questions. 

Why, why, why!  Not many years ago, the answer finally became apparent to me.  I had been the recipient of a gift of which I was not aware.  I truly believe that God, knowing me as only He could, understood that I could not go through three separate episodes of mourning as great as this.  He allowed things to happen in such a way that I only had to withstand that awful challenge once.  It was not until we had Micah that I understood that the mourning for what I perceived as lost to my deaf children was almost as great as the mourning for our little daughter on the other side.  It was in reality, one of the Lord's tender mercies to me.  Now the question was "Why did it take me so long to figure this out?"  It all lies in one word, maturity.  Maturity of understanding, maturity of vision, maturity of patiently waiting on the Lord.  It can and does come only with time and growth in understanding of the Lord and oneself.

Time has lessened the hurt.  Each time I go to the cemetery, I still cry.  It is not so much a cry of pain any more as it is a cry for what has been missed.  What would she look like?  Would she have a husband, a family?  Would she be like this sister or that one?  How would she fit in this little family who all have their own families.  Would she be a stay at home mom or would she also make her mark in other ways?  What would her hopes and dreams be?  Then I remember.  The Lord is in charge!  She is the only one I do not have to worry about.  She has her place secured in God's kingdom and all shall be made right.  My heart can be assured.  At some future, beautiful day, all shall be made right!