Remembrance Walk

Saturday, May 8, 2010

"The Walk of Remembrance" was held at Thanksgiving Point gardens in honor of the little ones who have passed away. We gathered together at 9:15am, as the names of those babies were read out loud, including Ty Edward Kiefer. Inside, there was a slide show of baby pictures playing to gentle music. Ty's photo was the last one in the cycle. I was grateful they were able to add his photo, despite the late submission. From the photos, Ty looked like one of the oldest babies to have died. Many of the babies seemed to have died quickly after birth, due to congenital problems. The question has been asked many times, "What is worse? Knowing you will lose your baby almost right away, or having him for a few months before losing him?" This topic was brought up in our support group, when Dan mentioned how hard it was to know Ty for months, only to lose him. One mother, who's baby died in her arms after 57 minutes, commented, "I'd give anything to have my baby for that long." Just another reminder that life is all about perspective.

The garden is so beautiful and peaceful, as we leisurely walked around. We came to what we called, "The Secret Garden". These cute doors opened up to a smaller, enclosed garden with a fountain. We also had a good laugh. While I was examining one of the doors, Ryan sneaked back to the other side and quickly rapped on it. I don't know why, but it totally scared me! I jumped back and threw my arms around Jamie in fright! Speaking of Jamie, does her pose look familiar?

This is my friend, Jamie M. She first approached me after relief society, 10 days after the funeral. She was emotional as she tried to express the desire and impression she had to "take care of" me. I was touched by her words, but lacked the ability to say anything, so I threw my arms around her and embraced her. We didn't know each other, but we both felt the need to change that. Since then, we walked almost every week for 2-3 hours at a time, talking about everything. Our friendship progressed so quickly. I've never connected with someone outside of my family as fast as I have with Jamie. Ty's death had a profound impact on her in ways that allowed us to lean on one another and grow spiritually. In fact, Jamie was one of a couple friends who constantly sent me uplifting messages through scriptures and quotes, almost on a daily basis, which helped banish the hurtful thoughts. I truly believe she and I were very close friends in the spirit world. I have no doubt we promised to find each other and help one another during these hard times.

 

 

I didn't need to walk to remember Ty. I will never forget how he has changed my life and influenced so many others. But I walked to honor him, reflecting on the cherished memories that I cling to.

Grief Counseling

Friday, May 7, 2010

Last week, Dan and I attended our first support group for parents who have lost little ones. We were both interested to go but also anxious. My right leg was shaking up and down almost the entire time. I couldn't stop fidgeting.

The group began by going around in a circle and briefly introducing ourselves and sharing our story. Dan spoke for us, and it was really difficult to hear him voice our situation out loud to a room of strangers. "Our four-month-old son passed away from SIDS..." We felt the anguish compressing our hearts once again. And we cried. But I wanted to say more - to say, "That's not all there is to our son. There's so much more I can share with you!" To sum Ty up in one sentence was torturous to my ears. I wanted to talk about the spiritual experiences I had before conceiving Ty, and the ones that continue to come even in his death. I wanted to share what I have so quickly learned of the Atonement, and the healing that has taken places and continues to do so. But I didn't quite do that. Not everyone in the room was LDS, and I was afraid they wouldn't understand, or would doubt my words. Or that maybe it wasn't appropriate to share religious aspects in a setting like this. So I stayed quiet for a time.

It was difficult listening to the stories around the room. The group was opened up to discussion - to whatever anyone wanted to say. The first woman that spoke shared the bitterness and anger she feels towards everyone having babies. She's coming up on the one year mark of her baby's passing, and wants nothing to do with anyone else's babies. I couldn't connect at all to her feelings. Despite the pangs of sadness I feel, I am genuinely happy to celebrate the pregnancies and births of other mothers and babies. There were more tears from other couples who spoke of their recent losses. For the first twenty minutes, I wanted to get up and leave. There was so much negativity and despair in the room. And while it was completely justifiable, I questioned in my mind, "How is this supposed to help?" Dan and I both felt we were further along in the healing process than most of the other 13 people in the room. It was depressing being there.

However, half-way into the hour, a few people started talking about gospel principles in discreet terms. It was then that a positive spirit came into the room, and I felt I could share a little bit of what I was feeling. One thing Dan and I have been struggling with off and on is guilt. With SIDS, because there is no determined cause, parents are left to wonder what we could have done better to prevent it, or if we made a mistake. When I am alone, Satan puts awful thoughts in my head. In my heart, I know there was nothing I could do to stop Ty from returning Home. I know we were being prepared to say good-bye to him. I know before it happened, prayers were said on our behalf without these people even understanding why. But off and on, the thought comes into my head, "God knew you were going to fail. And that's why everything happened the way it did." They are the meanest thoughts and feelings I have ever felt. And it has broken my heart into pieces - to think I failed my son. That he could be here with me if I hadn't messed up. Dan, too, made the mistake of reading about SIDS, and all it does is cause us to doubt.

Most of the time, especially as of late, I have been able to take a step back and tell myself, "Stop. This is exactly what Satan wants me to think. Because it will destroy me. It will destroy my faith, my testimony, the peace I have felt..." And then I remember Ty's funeral, and the powerful spirit that swallowed me and everyone in that room with peace and understanding. I am strengthened to ward off the attacks, standing tall and sure of myself, my beliefs, and my testimony, once again. It happens to Dan, too, so we talk about it and remind ourselves of what we know to be true in our hearts.

In the group, we also shared that it will be impossible not to think of Ty whenever we see our nieces and nephews - especially little Kylana, who is only two weeks older than Ty. At every milestone that we're happy to celebrate, we can't help but think, "Ty would be doing this, too." When she walks, when she talks, when she can run around playing with her mom and dad, we will know we should be able to enjoy those moments, also. We love our family and do not begrudge them this happiness. We just miss our Ty. And that's OK.

So, it was refreshing to share our feelings with people who do know how we feel, and to remind ourselves that we're not insane for feeling this way. After the group, I hugged every mother, feeling an instant connection to their pain and their hope that this will pass and we'll all feel whole again - minus a part of our hearts that will always belong to our little ones.

One of the most comforting things I heard came from the woman who made the molds of Ty's hands and feet. She was at the hospital the entire time we were there and shared this information with us: The police officer who had came into our home and took over CPR from me was especially emotional at the hospital. I remember him. Because when no more could be done, he approached me with tears in his eyes and offered his condolences, giving me a strong hug. I will never forget his kindness, and appreciate that my son's death was not "just another day at work". It was real and it was personal. He was overheard saying that as a police officer, it is his duty to scrutinize, especially in cases of SIDS. Not to say that it is ever the parents' fault, but in other cases he has been to, there are usually other factors going on, such as a filthy house or other things. But this officer said when he entered our home, he knew "this house was made for that baby. There is nothing to investigate here." Many of the hospital staff also commented about how well taken care of Ty was - how healthy and clean (and chubby!) he was. Nobody judged us.

It shouldn't matter what other people think. But at the time, you can't help but fear the thoughts of others, especially when you are working through those guilty emotions yourself. So, it made Dan and I really happy to hear these things.

On Sunday, Dan received confirmation that has put much, if not all, of our guilt to rest. He was told that he was prepared for the trials and challenges that would face him in mortality - one of which would be the death of his son at an early age. And he agreed to do this.

Which makes me think: If Dan agreed to it, I must have agreed to it, too. What a strengthening power that is to imagine saying, "Yes, I will valiantly overcome this trial for our good." We believed we could do it then. I know we can continue to do it now.

Blah . . .

Monday, April 19, 2010

I've been struggling the last few days... I have found myself crying at least a little, if not a torrential amount, on a daily basis. My "grief bucket" is filling up faster than normal and I don't understand it and I don't like it. I feel like I'm weakening... and under attack. A heaviness is building inside me and I'm trying to let it out, but I'm afraid of the relentless emotions.
Last night, I prayed and was feeling frustrated about one particular thing I have been asking of the Lord. I felt I should pull out my scriptures - the bible in particular. So, half-heartedly, I flipped them open and they fell on John 15. My eyes were drawn to verses 9-14. I could hear Christ's voice in my head as I read the words about love and friendship.

9) As the father has loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love.
10) If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father's commandments, and abide in his love.
11) These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.
12) This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.
13) Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
14) Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.

While still feeling my disappointment in the lack of answer that I wanted, I could feel a sense of love emanating from the scriptures. I knew in that moment that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were saying, "We're still here. And we love you." While it did not cure me of this "blah" state I've been feeling off and on throughout these past few days, there was still a sense of comfort given to me - to know They are still aware of my pain and needs. I guess that will have to be enough for now.

Counting

Friday, April 16, 2010

I went to visit Ty in the cemetery today. I spoke out loud today the following thoughts, hoping that maybe Ty could hear me:

Ty,
For someone who hates math, you sure have made me do a lot of counting! I counted dates and numbers for the entire 13 months we tried to get pregnant with you. And the counting only continued...
Hours until I could find the right time to tell your dad I was pregnant.
Weeks until we could hear your heart-beat. 10, to be exact.
16 weeks to find out we would raise a son.
20 weeks to be sure you were indeed still a boy, and you were growing just fine - minus a little worry about echogenic bowel in the ultrasound. But it was nothing. You were perfect from the start.
39 weeks, 3 days when we held you in our arms.
2 hours of sleep here and there throughout the nights...for a while.
8 weeks when you gave us a true, undeniable smile.
2 months, 6 days when your dad gave you a name and a blessing.
10 weeks when you rolled over 3 times in five minutes from tummy to back.
3 months when you laughed so long and loud that we never stopped craving the sound!
4 months when you finally rolled from back to tummy! You tried so hard for weeks and finally succeeded. We were so proud of you.
4 months, 1 week, we started you on rice cereal.
4 months, 17 days, your dad and I each had a lasting, special moment with you that evening.
4 months, 18 days when you returned to our Heavenly Father and Jesus.

And I'm still counting. But the counting that once began with your earthly creation now marks our days apart.
1 month, 6 days that we have missed you. Every day.

If I could, were the knowledge made known to me, I would anxiously count the days to the Millennium, when your dad and I will raise you again - when we will hold you in our arms and love you just as we did the day you were born. Since I can't follow a countdown, instead, we will just keep counting forward, one day at a time.

Spring Tears

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

I had a very short conversation with someone yesterday about the weather... You know how those go: Just something to say while you walk for a few moments in the same direction. It was another cold day, threatening to rain off and on all day. We chatted about how cold it was, while anticipating the warmth that everybody is looking forward to in the next few days. I said, "I can handle a couple days of bad weather, as long as I get a few days of sunshine afterwards." And then I realized how much my mentality about Utah's Spring weather mimics my own attitude towards my personal grieving.
I can't handle feeling sad all the time. I just can't do it, nor do I want to do it. But I do let myself cry every so often. I'll make it a few days at a time where I can go about my day filled with a sense of peace and normalcy. Not that I don't frequently think about Ty, or have small pangs of missing him and wishing he was here throughout the day. I don't know if a day will ever go by when I don't think those things. But I feel OK.

However, gradually the emotions do gather in what I like to think of as my "grief bucket". And eventually it fills to the brim, and I know it's about to spill over, like those buckets at a water-park that tip over and rain on top of screaming children, who anxiously anticipate the fall. And my heart tears to pieces and physically hurts. And I want to curl into a ball and make the whole world go away while I'm immersed in the pain. And I remember why I don't like to tap into these emotions. Because it hurts too much.

But then it's gone. My bucket is empty. And I feel prepared to go about my day as usual - maybe even feeling a little bit better.

It's all part of a process... but like this fluctuating spring weather, I can handle feeling sad - just as long as I know that it will only be a short while, and then I'll still be able to get up and smile, and feel happy, and go about my day knowing the Atonement is working through me once again. And that Ty surely smiles when I'm smiling, and feels relieved and pleased when I remember the Plan of Salvation- and when I rely on the Lord, and family, and friends who have been sent to help me along the way.

Baby Ty, I miss you. I'm so happy I was blessed to be your mother. I will keep working hard so I can be with you again. I love you, little Bubs.

Sources of Comfort

Thursday, April 1, 2010

I truly believe certain people have been sent to Dan and me to lift us up, as well as pass on messages that we've needed to hear. One such message came from a new friend of mine in our ward. Her name is Jamie M. About a week after the funeral, she invited me to go walking along the Provo trail with her. We walked and talked for a couple hours, just getting to know each other, but inevitably talking about Ty and the whole experience. I admitted to her that sometimes I wasn't sure how I was doing so well - that I wondered why I wasn't locked up in my room, crying all day. I was even feeling a little guilty for not grieving so openly, and thought that perhaps I was suppressing my feelings as a coping method.

That evening, Jamie left a note on my door with some thoughts that she felt she really needed to share with me:

"...Never doubt where that peace comes from. Heavenly Father knows our struggles. If you cast your burdens on the Lord, He will make you whole. I have a strong testimony of the Lord's willingness to aid us in our troubles. The atonement applies to these situations, too. Remember Christ felt every sorrow and experienced every pain so that He would know how to help us."

(Mosiah 24:13-14)
"And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage. And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage, and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.

After I read Jamie's note, I felt very impressed that I was to know this, and felt a surge of peace come back over me to put my doubt aside. I was reminded that it's OK not to feel sad all the time; that it's OK to feel happy and peaceful much of the time. Sometimes, I do still think I am holding back some of my emotions. But often times, my ability to get up and smile every day is indeed genuine and comes from unseen sources. (Oddly enough, those scriptures were repeated in sacrament meeting and Sunday school this past Sunday - not to mention the three articles on trials in the March Ensign...)

Dan and I have gone to the temple over the past two Fridays since the funeral. The first time, we participated in sealings. Never has that meant more to me than it did that day. It was a very impactful experience - as was the Celestial room afterwards (note to self: see written journal for details. Anybody else, you're welcome to ask me about it.) It was just another source of comfort regarding our future family.

I anxiously await this quickly approaching Easter. When I've thought of the atonement in the past, my first thought was always sin and the blessing of repentance. But now I more thoroughly understand other aspects of it: that the Savior does know how I am feeling, and shares in my pain and lifts my burdens. I am grateful for the good people that have been sent to me to help me understand and remember that message.

Life One Day at a Time

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

We can see the top of the table again... the vases and flowers that once entirely covered it have slowly withered and been thrown away, the vases washed and stored... I noticed it the other day. At first, it made me sad because it reminded me that life is still going on, despite how sudden my own world had stopped. But then I thought, "that's how life is supposed to be". Just because we hit an obstacle doesn't mean we stay at a standstill. We step over it or walk around it.

I'm actually quite proud of Dan and I. We've worked hard to pick ourselves up (with the strengthening hands offered by Heavenly Father, family, and friends) and have kept moving forward. Dan went to school one week later. His friends have swarmed around him to help him catch up, and support him when he's feeling down at school. His writing professor even told Dan he didn't have to worry about his 20-30 page brief until a month after finals! That takes a huge amount of pressure off Dan. Also, the flexibility of his job has allowed him to take time off until May, when he's completely done with finals.

As for myself, I also went back to work a week after the funeral, and joined a local rugby club that was previously trying to recruit me. I had declined because of Ty. But now... well, nobody believes in the power of recreation more than I do. On Saturday, I participated in my first rugby game in at least a couple years. I guess it's like riding a bike because I jumped back into it without too much reserve. I even scored within the first forty-five seconds of playing! With work and rugby, my time is filled from 2pm-7pm - except I don't work on Monday, and I don't have practice on Fridays.

Sometimes, I feel like if I keep moving fast enough, I can run from the bad memories or sadness that is trailing after me. It's when I'm sitting still that they creep up on me - and then I let out the sobs that have been stored up for a few days. And at times, it still hurts like it was that first agonizing day all over again. But it passes...and the peace returns... and I stand up and keep moving... at least until I step in their snares again. It's an endless cycle that I'm told may plague me the rest of my life. But as long as the Savior's arms around me is part of that cycle, I can do it. Dan and I can keep doing it together.

Dan read a statistic that said 80% of couples who's first born dies of SIDS end up in divorce. We can't ever imagine allowing that to happen. How could anyone endure losing a child and a spouse? Dan and I would feel like we were failing our son, and our future family. We will never let that happen.

Peace Garden

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Karl J is one of the most amazing Recreation Therapists I've ever met, as well as one of the most genuine, loving people I know. Just like last year, this spring I was asked to cover for his Recreation Therapy (RT) groups at the residential treatment center (RTC) he works at. The week before Ty passed away, I worked two hours on Tuesday through Friday and met about 35 teenage boys. I brought Ty to work with me on Friday since we were just playing outside. I was surprised how quickly I connected with these boys, and how much they loved playing with Ty. I heard when Ty passed away, many of the boys struggled with grieving for me and wanted to help. Last week, I was brought an envelope of money from the RTC - with a significant portion of money given up by these boys from their weekly activity money. The therapists, administration, and mentors also contributed. I was so touched, I didn't even know how to respond.

Then Karl called and asked Dan and I to attend a memorial in Ty's honor, partly to give the boys some closure and to discuss the grieving process. We met in the dining hall and Karl gave a nice talk on losing loved ones and how to cope. Then one of the therapists read a wonderful book called, "Tear Soup", which makes metaphors and parallels to grieving. After that, we went outside to take part in the "Peace Garden".

Karl explained that he was holding onto a potted Weeping Willow Tree. The reason this area will be landscaped into a beautiful "Peace Garden" is because this tree will grow into a full-blown weeping willow tree that will offer shade and a quiet place for people to go when they are feeling sad or in need of comfort. Each of us, including my mom, dad, and Pawnee (my sister)  and her kids who were in attendance, took turns shoveling a little bit of sand around the pot.


After each of us took part, Karl invited any of the boys, mentors, and therapists to also share in the experience. I couldn't help but cry as I watched many of these boys, one by one, shovel a bit of dirt into the hole, then come over and offer me a heart-felt hug and perhaps a matching tear. As the pile of dirt diminished, Karl let go of the tree and said, "Look how well this tree stands on its own when it is supported".
I was given a few blue and white helium balloons to hold onto. Then everyone circled around my family and I, as well as the tree. On the count of three, everyone yelled, "LIFE!" Then we were all silent for a minute, while everyone in my family placed a hand on the balloon strings. When we were ready, we let go and released the balloons into the sky. As Karl explained, we were not letting go of Ty; rather, we were lifting up our hopes and dreams.


It's strange to be on the receiving end of something like this. I'm so used to being a part of the facilitating. But it was also very nice and touching beyond words. I'm learning to humble myself and allow others to help me, even though my first instinct is that I can do it myself. But just because I can - or at least think I can - doesn't mean I have to. I'm so grateful for all the people in our lives. We have never felt so much love and support. Thank you...

Emotionally Hiding Out

Friday, March 19, 2010

Dan and I had a good talk last night that has me still thinking... I was starting to feel a small push of anger yesterday, despite my belief that its pursuit after me was still underway - that there was still time. But the widened distance between me and that emotion is diminishing, and it scares me.

Dan has been feeling more down the last few days, especially with returning to school. And he's not one to hide how he's feeling. And I found myself...mad. Just a little bit, but it was there. When Dan confronted me on it, I think I described it best when I said, "I have a hard time being sad when you're sad because we've been 'taking shifts'. And when you're having prolonged sadness, I don't know what to do with my emotions." I think I feel mad because when he's sad, it reminds me that -despite all the fun distraction I've had with my family, with my new hair-cut, scalp treatment, pedicure...I'm sad, too. And I don't want to feel it. If I can suppress it, maybe it's not really there.

Dan wants us to consider counseling. My first thoughts were, "You need it. Not me." Because I don't want to go there. They'll make me talk and then I'll have to go down that path of emotions I don't want to go. They'll make me feel again - feel the anguish that we all ready felt last week and that I had tucked away behind the peace I felt from God. And I don't think I can take it.

But as someone who's done therapy with teenagers, I should know better. I do know better. And I know I will probably go to counseling. Because despite this "numbness" feeling safe... I think I'm going to crash.

 

One Week Later

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

It has been one week since Ty passed away. Dan and I are sleeping better -feeling safer and at home in my father's condo. The images of that awful morning are slowly lessening in distinction, so that we don't feel that instantaneous sickness in our stomachs when it inevitably comes to mind. We've had to say good-bye to much of our family, which gets harder with each good-bye. But my mom and Pawnee are still visiting, and Thomas is driving back up with his kids for the weekend. We're looking forward to seeing our nieces and nephew, who really want to visit Ty's resting place.

We are completely at peace with where Ty is right now, and the promises that are to come for our family. But we miss our little Bubs constantly. Everywhere we look, we are reminded of him. Little babies remind us of his birth and toddlers remind us of what was to come. Spring is arriving, and I remember how much I looked forward to letting him play in our backyard or go to a park. I wanted to see his reaction when he touched grass for the first time, or when he would notice bugs or insects landing on his skin. Mostly, we miss his dimpled smile and the laughter that always touched his eyes as he'd widen them in surprise and pleasure. We miss holding him and feeling how heavy he was getting; the plumpness of his thighs and the expansion of his belly; we miss giving him baths and blowing on his naked tummy, and commenting on his beautiful skin tone.

Dan and I seem to take shifts on feeling especially sad. This has helped us take turns comforting the other. Despite our anguish, truly this has pulled us even closer together as a couple. Hand in hand we are dealing with this. Sometimes, you hear how tragedy can destroy a husband and wife. Dan and I don't know how we would survive if we were to lose a child, as well as a spouse, emotionally. For us, it has made us stronger. But we also recognize the need to feel sad. Being strong doesn't mean not feeling the pain - it's the courage to be faithful.

I have yet to be angry at God. I have felt frustration . . . but I am so at peace with God and where my son is, that at times I wonder when I'm going to fall - like I should be preparing for an inevitable meltdown. After all, isn't "anger" one of the five stage of grief? But I've never really been an angry person... perhaps it will not apply to me.

We have heard so many people comment on how powerful Ty's funeral was: testimonies were strengthened and families pulled closer together. Individuals promised to better themselves, or were otherwise inspired to change their lives. It's amazing how many lives Ty was able to touch, both in life and through his passing.

I am so proud to be his mother. And Dan could never be more proud to be his father.
We love you, Ty.

Just What We Needed (The funeral)

Saturday, March 13, 2010

It has been a long day today. But I cannot go to sleep until I have recorded the details of today's funeral for little Ty. Because it was perfect.

When Dan and I arrived at the chapel, we were greeted by the entire BYU mens rugby team. We stepped through the doors and were so touched by the simple gesture of them being there for us. They had a rugby game in an hour and a half - but there they were, dressed in their athletic warm-ups to show their support for us. Dan and I sobbed as their low voices filled the entire church with "Ye Elders of Israel" and "Army of Helaman". Then each of them hugged us as they left, leaving us with the knowledge that they would be dedicating their game to our son, Ty Edward Kiefer. Dan will always be proud to have been part of such an amazing group of men.

Dan and I walked hand-in-hand to the viewing room, knowing we would need to hold onto each other when we entered. We barely made it through the doors as our hearts broke at the sight of our son in his little white casket. But the room was so beautiful. The room was warmly lit, with a table full of framed pictures and scattered flower petals, and other memories of Ty - such as the tiny casts made of his hands and feet. There was an abundance of flower arrangements all throughout the room, and chairs covered in silky linens. To the side, there was the precious DVD montage playing instrumental primary songs while the pictures and video of Ty cycled through. An off-white curtain was draped on the wall behind the casket, reminding me of gentle clouds. And baby Ty looked beautiful - just like he was sleeping. The day before, his grandmothers and aunts dressed him all in white and wrapped him in a little blanket. Today, Dan and I added a blue stuffed bear for Ty to hold in one arm, with his green binky in the other hand. We kissed him and held his hand, saying our good-byes and promises that we will work hard to be with him again.

We were able to speak to and hug so many loving friends and family that came to the viewing. I laughed and cried and smiled, unsure where my emotions would lead me from one minute to the next. And then there was the funeral service itself. When we entered the chapel, there were close to 400 people that stood up out of respect, while the organ played, "Consider the Lily of the Fields". As I walked behind Dan who carried Ty' closed casket, pain tore at my stomach and I let out fresh sobs. I was torn between feeling so much pain for my baby, and so much love and support from the mass of people over-flowing the room.

No one can deny the spirit that was in that room. Dan and I both shared in Ty's Eulogy. I focused on receiving comfort, and shared the poem I know I was inspired to find to know that Ty was happy and did not want me to be sad. And that I knew there were spirits and angels buoying me up to give me strength to stand. Dan spoke about how Ty changed our life - Dan's in particular, in teaching him how to be a father. He shared a letter he wrote to Ty, saying that Ty is our motivator to reach the Celestial Kingdom. He concluded by singing a Samoan hymn with Ryan and a former mission companion - a song about trying harder when the road gets tough.

My dad spoke about parents that will get to raise their child after the resurrection - that even though the child's spirit is mature, that the mother will be able to hold her child again in the physical stage he was in when he died. Dan's mission president also spoke on this topic - something that brings me so much hope. President Mendenhall is a powerful speaker, combining humor with gospel truth. It's no wonder to me that Dan loves and respects that man! The "Rock" siblings and spouses sang, "Where Can I Turn for Peace" (a favorite hymn of mine that has brought me much comfort in the past). The service concluded with testimonies from the Kiefer/Rock family members. It was an hour and forty minutes full of the greatest spirit that filled Dan and I with so much peace. It was the closure we needed to put much of our grief to rest.

It was rainy and cold at the burial sight. Dan's older brother, Jake, dedicated the grave. Dan and I, and Ty's grandparents laid white roses on his casket. And then Ty's body was laid to rest in the ground.

The cultural hall, like every other part of the service, was beautifully decorated. There was a nice display of ham, potatoes, and sweet spinach salad. And they used real dishes (as opposed to paper plates) at the tables. This room was also filled with flowers, and Ty's pictures were displayed everywhere, with the DVD montage playing again. Everyone was amazed at the hard work that my relief society had produced to make today's funeral an absolutely peaceful and memorable event. I feel so much love and gratitude in my heart for their Christ-like service.

It's amazing how grief can be exchanged for pure happiness. Dan and I have been so happy all day. At the end of the evening, 21 of us went to Olive Garden for dinner. No one would have believed we had just attended a baby's funeral. We were laughing and joking as we enjoyed our dinner. Since we were spread out around a long, rectangular table, we even played 3 rounds of "telephone" just to feel connected to each other. It was so fun! I love our families so much - especially that we all get along so well. Dan and I feel THIS is how Ty would want us to be: happy and enjoying each other's company.

I know rough times await me. There may be days when I'm not able to feel as positive as I do right now. But now I have recorded the things I want to remember - the things that I will need to read again to strengthen and motivate myself.

Thank you to everyone for your prayers and love. Please know it has made such a difference for Dan and I. We love you.

A Precious Moment

Friday, March 12, 2010

Dan and I are overwhelmed by the generosity and love that has poured into our lives, filling the hole inside of us. Both grief and peace have been cycling through our days. Sometimes the pain hurts so bad we can't stand it. And other times, I am filled with such peace that it almost brings on guilt for feeling so OK in those moments.

Both of our families have flown or driven in to be here with us. We couldn't be more grateful. Jen, Rusty, and their baby Kylana arrived yesterday. I've always felt a connection with baby Lana because she is only two weeks older than Ty, so we all knew they were never very far from each other when leaving Heaven to Earth.

When I held Lana in my arms, I closed my eyes and sobbed. Her little body, with her arms wrapped around my neck, felt SO much like Ty - like a little koala bear clinging to Mama. I embraced her snuggly body against my chest. She was smiling with such innocence, unaware of the emotions she stirred inside me. I laughed through my tears when she sucked on my jaw, my eyes still closed as I imagined the last evening that I breast-fed Ty. I felt, for just a moment, that I was with him again.

When Dan was ready, he also held onto her. I cannot bear to see him cry. It is so hard for me to see someone I love so much in so much pain. But he, too, felt like he was able to hold Ty one more time. That's all we wanted - all we kept saying, "If I can hold him just one more time". What a sweet, special gift Lana could be to us yesterday.

And then I was so happy. My spirit was lifted so high that I was smiling and laughing for hours. It is a gift and memory I will cherish as it continues to carry me through this difficult time.

"The Mother's Dream"

Thursday, March 11, 2010

As I held my baby in the hospital, a poem from years ago came to my mind, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. At my father's condo, I ransacked my storage boxes trying to find the booklet I had put together in ninth grade. I knew I had to find it. And then I read these words; words I had not read in ten years:

"The Mother's Dream"

by William Barres

I'd a dream to-night

As I fell asleep,

Oh! the touching sight

Makes me still to weep;

Of my little lad,

Gone to leave me sad,

Aye, the child I had,

But was not to keep.

As in heaven high,

I my child did seek,

There, in train, came by

Children fair and meek,

Each in lily white,

With a lamp alight;

Each was clear to sight,

But they did not speak.

Then, a little sad,

Came my child in turn,

But the lamp he had,

Oh! it did not burn;

He, to clear my doubt,

Said, half turned about,

'Your tears put it out;

Mother, never mourn,'

I knew these words were from my little Ty. He wants me to know that if I am sad, he cannot truly be happy. My grief is his grief. But he is ok. And he wants me to know that, so we all can be happy. I cannot tell you how much comfort this poem has brought me. I have no doubt it was meant for me to find, to remember, to understand. My baby is safe. And he is happy and waiting for us.

Meet Ty

Before I continue with my journal entries, I want you to meet my son:

TY EDWARD KIEFER

Born October 20th, 2009

6 lbs 11 0z, 19 inches long

4 Weeks Old

Proud, happy parents out on our first date

5 Weeks Photo-Shoot by  my amazing Sis-in-law, Carrie Kiefer






Blessing Day, December 26th 2009 ~ 2 months old

My younger sister Jen (who is only 22 months younger than I am and who did just about everything with me growing up) is holding her daughter Kylana Fidler. Lana is only two weeks older than Ty! Loved sharing motherhood-- among so many other things --with my sister.

My cutie-boy at 3 Months Old

4 months, just two weeks before Ty passed away

Our little "Mr. Bubs" as we loved to call him.

He had the sweetest, most heart-warming laugh in the world, especially when his daddy tickled him.

March 8, 2010. My final post about Ty while he was alive:

We loved every minute with our boy!

PART I: Introduction

I gave up trying to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the terrifying images from yesterday’s haunting morning would surface to my mind. Instead of dwelling on the sickening fear and disbelief, I pulled open my laptop and began to write:

 March 10, 2010

Twenty-four hours ago in one more hour, at 8:40am, I walked into the nursery to check on my baby, Ty. I didn't see him because he was under his blanket. And when I tore it off, I found my baby. He had died in his sleep. In that moment, despite the sickest of fears in my stomach, I was able to give CPR to him. A calmness came over me, that I could think logically and be able to adjust Ty's body so the breaths would go in, and that the compressions I gave were how they should be. I was able to do this while Dan was on the phone with the police. By the time he gave the information, an officer was inside our home in thirty seconds. He took over, allowing my hysteria to set in.

I won't go into the details of the immense fear and panic that took over Dan and me—or the unbearable grief when the circle of nurses and doctors stopped using their medical equipment on our son at the hospital. I already wrote that down in a separate, personal account—hoping I could get the images and sound of our shrieking voices out of my head. But I can't. Every time I close my eyes, that morning replays over and over unmercifully in my mind. And that is not how I want to remember my son. Our son. Our perfect little gift from Heavenly Father that changed our lives and so many others in the short time he was here with us. We know Ty was too good for this world—that his soul is perfect, and that he lives, waiting to reunite with us. He will always be our son, and we will always be a family. Were it not for the truthfulness of this gospel, I could not bear it.

At the hospital, we were allowed to hold our son for the next hour and a half. He looked so beautiful and peaceful, even in death. He was wrapped in a white blanket, and as I held his body against my chest, I kissed the tiny bridge between his eyes—just like I always did before putting him to sleep.

Sleep my little angel, who I know will be watching over us and waiting for his mother and father to live righteous lives on this earth and be with him again. He is our motivator. Because we know we will be with him again after this mortal life if we live good lives.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. Yesterday was the hardest day of our lives. And we hope today will be the second hardest day, and tomorrow the third... that it will get easier each passing day. Since yesterday morning, I can feel the Spirit wrapping around us and comforting us. And in those moments, I am calm and feel so at peace, knowing Ty was welcomed home by his Grandpa Kiefer—who was able to send him on his way to earth, and receive him back with open arms. He was not alone. He was not afraid.

My mortal, physical self can't help but relinquish to the grief and anguish that is ours to bear. And it's ok to hurt. To be confused and broken inside. As long as Heavenly Father continues to persevere with his comforting spirit, we will be ok.

It's going to hurt for a long, long time. No parents should go through this—no matter how old their child is. But we will heal. I have faith in that. Dan and I have the most amazing family and friends, who literally swarmed around us all day and night—even if it took planes or cars to get here.

We love you and thank you,
Erica and Dan

Through this letter, I announced to our family and friends that our four-and-a-half-month old son, our only child, had passed away. However, just as important, I shared a piece of my testimony—a testimony that I would rely on and allow to substantially grow as my husband and I traveled through the gauntlet of grief, escaping miraculously with healing wounds.

It would not be the last personal account that I wrote for others to see. Unable to honestly express myself in person, I continued to write on my blog. The entries that follow are taken directly from my online journal, capturing every heartbreak of losing my son, but most importantly, recording my spiritual growth as I came to understand that a loving Heavenly Father would not let us suffer alone.