Finding Faith Through Adversity

I'm a big fan of reading, especially things that pertain to my current life situation. When I first found out I was pregnant, I got my "What To Expect When You're Expecting" book, I read articles online, other books about pregnancy, etc: I wanted to be "in the know." After I lost Hunter, I started reading about loss, particularly losing a child. One thing I noticed was that the loss of a child had the power to either break some one's faith, or strengthen it. I'd like to think I fall into the latter category. I've always had a deep faith in my Savior, in my Heavenly Father and always knew they were there. I wasn't always the best at talking to them, or attending church. I've definitely made mistakes in my life. I don't fit the cookie cutter mold of what a Mormon wife and mother would be. I have tattoos, I use the occasional curse word, I don't go to church on a regular basis, and I like a good cup of coffee. But regardless of whatever sin I've committed, my faith in the Divine remained intact and I knew I was loved unconditionally. When I was laying on that hospital bed in the ER, hearing that I was going to be giving birth to my son at only 20 weeks, and of course knowing what that meant because I read all I could get my hands on about pregnancy, I prayed. I prayed harder than I thought I would ever be capable of praying. It was probably the most sincere, heartfelt, prayer I've ever uttered. It echoed through my body and shook my soul: "Please, Lord, please don't take my baby. There has to be something you can do. I cannot live through this." I was wracked with guilt. I felt I was being punished. My husband and I weren't married at the time we became pregnant, and for a brief moment I forgot that my Heavenly Father isn't a vindictive being. I then proceeded to deliver my son a few hours later. But then, miraculously, he lived for an hour and forty minutes. Against all odds, against everything the doctor's told me would happen, his little heart beat for longer than any of us could have imagined. I was told he probably wouldn't even survive delivery, and if he did, he'd only live for minutes afterwards. My son was placed on my chest right after he was born, I got to see his little arms and legs move, and he even grabbed my finger. I think that was the answer to my prayer. There is Divine purpose in everything, and that hour and forty minutes wasn't for my son, it was for me as his mother and his father and our families. I had the privilege of seeing my son live. I think I was given that because Heavenly Father knew that the road we were embarking on would not be easy. It would be bumpy, rough, at times dangerous, and it would be exhausting. There is no prayer ever left unanswered. Sometimes, or it may seem even most of the time, we don't get the answer we want. But an answer always come, in some form or another. That's not to say I don't have my moments where I'm angry with God, where I feel that I didn't deserve this, my husband didn't deserve this, and neither did our families. There have been times where I've been alone, driving in the car, aimlessly roaming the roads trying to escape whatever emotion it is I'm feeling and I've yelled and screamed "Why? Why us? Why didn't I get to raise my son and so many others have that opportunity?" and the feeling I get afterwards is always the same. Comfort. It's as if I can hear the words in my head, "I know what you're feeling. I too know the pain the loss of a child brings. I weep when you weep, my heart aches when your heart aches. But someday you will understand. Someday you will have Hunter again." This can truly apply to any trial or hardship we come across in our lives. We all have our own "cross" to bear in this life and we all at times question "Why? Why us?". But this truth will always remain, we will not be required to carry that burden alone. As I reflect on everything we've suffered with losing our Hunter, there is a part of me, deep down, that feels I was prepared for this. Somewhere along the way, before I even came to this Earth, I was prepared. I knew this would be a major trial in my life and I knew why it had to be this way and I chose to be Hunter's mommy. And someday, I will have that knowledge and understanding again. I'm not alone in this trial, I am being carried. So let the bad days come, and they will continue for the rest of my life, hopefully  more sporadically than they appear now. I'll allow myself to grieve, to feel every emotion I feel, and I will not beat myself up for it. I am entitled to these feelings, just as I'm entitled to be called a mother. What could be more divine and more beautiful than a tear shed by a mother over the grave of her son? Didn't Mary weep when Christ was crucified? The fact that we have faith in the outcome of death and life after this one does not erase the emotions we feel when we lose someone we love. And you know what? It's completely okay. When Christ was summoned by Lazarus' sisters, he wept with them before he raised Lazarus from the grave. He knew that Lazarus would live again, yet he was so touched by their emotions, He himself could not help but weep. I know that the tears I shed are for myself, because my son doesn't know what pain or heartbreak is. He's surrounded by love and light always. And I will see him again.