Most of you know that Annie was a surprise from the beginning,
so our journey began with the stunning news we received last August that I was
expecting a baby. Nothing short of a
miracle, and yet, all I could do was cry.
Hadley was just a baby herself, and between her and my four older
children, I felt stretched to the full extent of my mothering abilities. I could not understand why Heavenly Father
would see fit to send another baby to our family when I was barely keeping up
with the five I had. As time passed, I
found a place of acceptance and even gratitude for this expected baby. I decided that this little one must be meant
for our family. I started calling her
our “bonus” baby and began to think of her that way- an extra blessing that we
didn’t even know we needed. In November,
we watched the ultrasound technician examine and measure each part of her tiny
body and were so happy to hear the good news: “It’s a girl and she looks
perfect!” We left the doctor’s office
that day filled with gratitude for our many blessings. However, upon reading the ultrasound, the
radiologist mentioned a tiny bright spot in her right ventricle. We were told that this was not uncommon and
was not cause for real concern. Just to
be sure, my doctor recommended that we go to Primary Children’s Medical Center
for an echocardiogram.
There are many moments on this journey that I will never
forget. That first appointment at
Primary Children’s is one of them. We
were devastated by the news that our unborn baby had a cluster of heart
defects. The official diagnosis was tetralogy
of fallot with absent pulmonary valve.
The doctor explained each defect very carefully and what could and would
need to happen to save her life after she was born. She then asked if we had any questions. I could think of none. I was so unprepared to hear what she had to
say and knew so little about even a healthy heart that I had no idea of what to
ask or have clarified. I went home that
day and began my education in heart defects.
I was terrified to read the statistics on Annie’s condition. Tetralogy of fallot, by itself, has quite an
optimistic prognosis. Tetralogy of
fallot with absent valve does not. I
could never have imagined how much damage could be done to a developing human
body in the absence of one tiny heart valve.
The rest of my pregnancy was filled with worry, anxiety and countless
visits to the doctor. However, I came to
really know that Annie was not an accident at all. I knew that Heavenly Father had hand-picked
this little girl just for us. Her
mission was specific to those of us that would come to know and love her. Every desire of my heart became to help her
fulfill her mission. I did not want to
waste any time feeling sorry for myself and instead wanted to open my heart to
receive and appreciate every blessing that would come to us along with and even
because of her broken heart. I wanted to
share her life story, whatever it might be, with those that wanted to be a part
of it. I started her blog with this
desire in mind. Most here have followed
the story of her life through this blog, and I do not want to spend my time
today retelling the experiences that I have already shared there. I will say that Annie was born, and the
roller coaster ride of my life began. I
have never experienced such a wide range of pure emotion and feeling like I did
during the four months of Annie’s life.
You name it, and I probably felt it:
Fear and faith; peace and agony; unspeakable joy and heartbreaking sorrow;
never more loved and never more alone. I
have never felt closer to the Spirit than I did during most of her short time
with us. However, as the weeks turned
into months and one by one, the doctors lost all hope that she would survive, I
struggled more and more to feel and keep the Spirit with me. The last month of
Annie’s life was the darkest of mine. I
have never known suffering like I did during those four-and-a-half weeks.
We went to the temple in early July desperately seeking an
answer. We needed to know if Annie was
to live or die so that we could make the important decisions that the doctors
were asking us to make. In the celestial
room that day, my prayer could not have been more sincere. I prayed and prayed and felt nothing in
regard to my question. We were sitting
against the wall in the center of the room, the large chandelier right in front
of us. In the mirrors on either side of
the room, you could see the chandelier repeat again and again all the way into
forever. Heavenly Father did not answer
the question that I hoped He would that day.
Instead he assured me that from His vantage point He could see the whole
plan and all was working according to it.
I looked at the chandelier above us and felt Him tell me that while I
can only see one chandelier, He can see the whole row; that this experience
with Annie, even my entire mortal existence is but a tiny piece of
eternity. I left the temple frustrated
that day. This was not the answer I
wanted or needed. This could not help me
make the critical decisions that I needed to make right then for Annie. Things did not get better after that day in
the temple. The pressure and stress only
increased. My ability to feel any kind
of lasting peace was gone. The journey
became increasingly difficult and even unbearable as the days and weeks
continued. I was in constant agony,
trying to reconcile the belief that our hopes would be realized and we would
bring Annie home with the reality that my baby was indeed dying. I could not understand why Heavenly Father
would fill my heart with so much hope only to leave me comfortless. I knew He was there, but I could not push
aside the fear enough to really feel Him for more than a moment at a time. Every time I received direction from Him
through prayer and priesthood blessings, the answer was the same: stay the
course and all will be well. It just
didn’t make any sense because she was getting progressively worse every single
day. I could not see how all would ever
be well. During this time, President
Christofferson came to the hospital and gave me a blessing. The only specific thing I remember from that
blessing was that he told me that the Holy Ghost would comfort me and wrap me
as if in a blanket. I needed and wanted
that blessing, I prayed for that blessing to be realized day after day, and yet
lasting comfort was nowhere to be found.
The night before Annie died, we again went to the
temple. The doctors were telling us that
the end was near and if we did not make the decision to remove support, we
might not be there to hold and love her when she died. We knew we could not make this choice to end
her life without His approval and again needed an answer desperately. That night I told Heavenly Father that I
could not endure the agony for more than one more week; to watch her suffering
go on and on was more than I could bear.
I begged him to take her soon, if it was His will for her to return to
Him. I made the decision that if she did
not improve that week, we would let her go.
I prayed to know if this was the right decision. I told Him that I would likely choose the
following Sunday to say goodbye to her, as Sundays in the hospital are quiet
and peaceful. I also expressed that
while we hoped with all of our hearts that He would take her in His time, we
desperately wanted to be with her if the end came. I felt the spirit confirm that He approved of
these things and left that night feeling comforted that we had a plan and that,
whether Annie got better or not, her suffering would soon be alleviated.
At 5:30 the next morning, my cell phone rang. I answered it with my heart in my throat,
because the hospital only calls at 5:30 am if things have taken a serious turn
for the worse. Sure enough, the doctor
on the other end of the line told me that Annie was declining. The levels of carbon dioxide in her body were
higher than they had ever been, her kidneys were not functioning as they needed
to, and she was again struggling to get the air that she needed from the
ventilator. When we arrived at the
hospital, they told us that the line they were using to replace the fluid that
she was constantly losing from her chest tubes had broken and they no longer
had enough access to meet her needs. We
talked with the doctors and knew that there was no option to continue this
fight for Annie’s life. Our children
joined us at the hospital that afternoon, and at around three o’clock,
together, we removed all of the lines, monitoring devices and finally the
respiratory therapist removed the breathing tube from her tiny bruised and
swollen body. Annie lived for less than
ten minutes and took less than ten breaths on her own. She was peaceful and somehow, for the first
time in such a long time, so was I. I
literally felt the Holy Ghost envelop our entire family and, in that moment, I
finally knew that all was well. I
thought of the promise I had been given that He would wrap me as if in a
blanket and knew that, at last, that promise had been realized. The spirit
filled Annie’s room and my heart with peace.
That peace has not left me since she died. I expected to feel intense sorrow and
heartbreak if Annie died. I have been
surprised that more often, I have felt love, peace and even joy for her freedom
from suffering. I believe that Annie’s
passing was a tender mercy from the Lord.
He knew the desires of my heart if she were to die, and granted each
one, even letting her pass on a Sunday.
I have realized that the answer I received in the temple a month ago
about perspective, the answer I was not seeking and was frustrated to receive,
IS the answer after all. This life is
but a moment and Annie is not gone from us forever. God will keep every single promise given to
Annie, to me and to Cameron. Some He has
kept already, and some will wait for the next life and the resurrection. He will keep them ALL in His own time.
Last winter, I read an article written by Elaine S. Dalton
in which she related the true story of a young girl named Agnes. Agnes was a pioneer, and at nine years of
age, she crossed the plains with the Willie Handcart Company in 1856. Agnes later recounted her own journey as
follows:
Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes
and see everything in panoramic precision before me – the ceaseless walking,
walking, ever to remain in my memory.
Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the
cart, only to be gently pushed away.
Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry. Then realizing they were all passing me by, I
would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.
She continues:
Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons
reached us, and it certainly was a relief.
The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to
walk. When the wagons started out, a
number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons,
in hopes of being asked to ride. At
least that is what my hope was. One by
one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I
that I should get a ride. After what
seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver…called to me,
“Say, sissy would you like a ride?” I
answered in my very best manner, “Yes sir.”
At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make
me run with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, for what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was
that he was the meanest man that ever lived…Just at what seemed the breaking
point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he
wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I
surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when
taken into the wagon.”
My journey with Annie has been very different from Agnes’
journey across the plains, but it is not hard for me to relate to her
story. In the beginning of her journey,
even walking was difficult. She described throwing herself by the side of the
road and crying, only to get up and keep going.
I am sure she wished, at times, that she did not have to make the
journey. At the start of my journey with
Annie, I too, cried and wished that I would not be required to make this
journey. I cried about simply being
pregnant, and cried even more when we learned about Annie’s heart. Like Agnes, I knew I had no choice but to get
up and keep going. I know we both grew
stronger as the journey progressed; muscles that had previously been dormant
were stretched and exercised daily.
Growth was happening every single day.
And yet, the trail grew increasingly difficult for both of us. I would guess that she, like I, had days so
dark that she wondered if she would ever see the sun again. The journey for each of us became almost
unbearable. Agnes described running along the side of the wagon, holding to the
driver’s hand, desperate for relief. She
said that she felt she could run no farther and yet he required her to run for
what seemed like miles. There were so
many days with Annie where I felt sure I could run no farther. Many times, I told my Heavenly Father in
prayer that I could not endure even one more day and yet the days stretched on
and on. Towards the end I felt my hand
continually outstretched, seeking God’s.
I knew that He was with me, but I could not always feel Him there. I was desperate for relief and ached for the
Comforter to be with me. Agnes
questioned the motives of the wagon driver and there were days when I wondered
what a loving Heavenly Father was seeking to accomplish by allowing such
extreme suffering. Agnes said that in
the end, the wagon driver stopped, scooped her up, wrapped her in a blanket and
laid her in the bottom of the wagon where she could rest. It was then that she knew that what she
thought was cruelty on his part was actually mercy- an act that saved her very
life. In the last moments of Annie’s
life and after she had passed, I too felt as though I was lifted from my
suffering, wrapped in the comfort of the Holy Ghost and carried in the arms of
my Savior. In every way: physically,
emotionally and spiritually I finally found rest in Him. And finally, I was
able to trust that these experiences, even the great suffering that we and Annie endured,
will be for our eternal good.
I have been blessed to know that Annie accomplished all that
she needed to on this earth. I feel deep
gratitude to have the honor of being her mother. I know that she will stand as a beacon for
our family, guiding us home to her; I count the time I had with her as one of
the greatest blessings I will ever receive.
She taught me more in her short life than I could have learned in a
lifetime otherwise. I learned that a
hospital can be sacred in many of the same ways that the temple is sacred. I learned the goodness of humanity- that the
world is full of really good people; people that care about the suffering of
others and are moved to help lift another’s burden; I learned what it feels
like to have the Savior so close that His presence is almost palpable; I
learned, as David A. Bednar once said, that “the tender mercies of the Lord are
real and they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence;” I learned that a
loving Heavenly Father does not leave us alone in our trials, and if we can’t
feel Him, we just need to hold on- in time, He will lift us from our suffering
and we will feel the sun again; I learned a new appreciation for the gift our
Savior gave to each of us when He was resurrected and made sure the promise
that not only will Annie live again, but with a perfect heart- a beautiful gift
that I will never take for granted.
I wish to close my talk with the words of Elder Joseph B.
Wirthlin. Speaking of this gift, of the
death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, he said:
I think of
how dark that Friday was when Christ was lifted up on the cross. On that terrible Friday the earth shook and
grew dark. It was a Friday filled with
devastating, consuming sorrow that gnawed at the souls of those who loved and
honored the Son of God. I think that of
all the days since the beginning of this world’s history, that Friday was the
darkest.
But the doom
of that day did not endure. The despair
did not linger because on Sunday, the resurrected Lord burst the bonds of
death. He ascended from the grave and appeared gloriously triumphant as the
Savior of all mankind. And in an instant
the eyes that had been filled with ever-flowing tears dried. The lips that had
whispered prayers of distress and grief now filled the air with wondrous
praise, for Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, stood before them as
the firstfruits of the Resurrection, the proof that death is merely the
beginning of a new and wondrous existence.
Each of us
will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered
and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will
experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again.
We will all have our Fridays. But I testify to you in the name of the One who
conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will
come. No matter our desperation, no
matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will
come.
We will all
rise from the grave. Because of the life and eternal sacrifice of the Savior of
the world, we will be reunited with those we have cherished. On that day we
will know the love of our Heavenly Father. On that day we will rejoice that the
Messiah overcame all that we could live forever. Death is not the end of existence. No matter how dark our Friday, Sunday will
come.
I add my own
testimony to Elder Wirthlin’s that Sunday will come. For Annie, for me and for each one of us, Sunday
will come.
