Church was hard on Sunday. The minute we walked into the foyer, my eyes were greeted with at least seven or eight fathers and mothers holding their young babies. Bouncing them, cuddling them, feeding them cheerios. Thank goodness Jack still likes cheerios.

Yesterday wasn’t easy either. If I’m smiling and seem like I’m okay, please know that it’s not true. I ache so deeply on the inside for Amelia’s little life.

The hardest times are late at night when Tyler and I are laying in bed. With darkness and silence all around, I can feel Amelia’s spirit and body so close to me. Tyler and I will snuggle as close as we can, our legs intertwined and noses touching. I can feel his light, steady breathing as he falls asleep holding me. I wish it were that easy for me to drift into a deep slumber, but the past few nights have plagued me with the nightmares of losing a child. I sob quietly, and tears soak my pillow. Tyler will often wake up and soothe me, whispering how much he loves me as he gently strokes my head. He truly loves me, that man. He loves me so passionately and deeply, and I know it hurts him to see my pain.

But the reality is that it hurts me too, knowing he doesn’t get to experience the joy of carrying this child within him. He’s left in the dark. He can’t yet feel all of the little punches and kicks and wiggles she’s trying so desperately to share with him. He doesn’t get to be connected, body to body, to her kind spirit. So I weep not only for little Amelia, but for my dear husband. It just doesn’t seem fair to me.

“It 
is imperative that we recognize that whatever has happened to us has happened to others. They have coped and so must we. We are not alone. 
Heavenly Father’s help is near.” – President Thomas S. Monson, July 2004

If you’ve got a ten or fifteen minutes, this recent BYU Devotional address was kindly sent to me by my old boss. (Bless you, Paula!) It’s definitely worth a read and really puts a new perspective on dealing with the mountains of challenges we face in this life.