Gone Too Soon

Yesterday was Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.

I can't pretend to know what a loss like that must feel like. I imagine it's an empty, questioning place. A place I hope I never have to visit.

To all the mothers out there that have experienced that void and had to grieve the loss of a child's future, I want to say I admire you. I admire your courage. Because you are strong. And very brave.

I don't think I could be that strong. In fact, I think that is why I stay so guarded when I get pregnant. Naturally, the excitement is there. But I keep my distance from the embryo growing inside me. I don't let myself get attached. I can't. Because of the "what ifs". It's a precarious position to be in because the emotional connection is instinctual, but those "what ifs" keep my defenses up until time and security eventually open my heart completely.

Like I said, I don't know what a loss like that feels like, nor do I know how I would handle that trial if I had to. But this week has had me reflecting a lot on a tiny life I did know and love, and lost.

She was not an infant, but her life was still in its infancy.

Her name was Kylie. My first niece. She was a doll of a baby if ever there was one. Deep brown eyes, hair to match with naturally perfect ringlets, chubby chipmunk cheeks for storing her leftovers for later, facial expressions to tickle your heart, a laugh to melt it, and a smile to mold it back together. We called her "Smiley Kylie". And she was beautiful.

I was thirteen. The perfect age for being an aunt. Lots of energy and nothing around to divide my attention from giving it solely to my nieces and nephews. I loved playing with Kylie. Her laugh was infectious and it would keep me coming back for more. I treasure the memories I have of her. But sadly, I have only a handful.

Two months shy of her 2nd birthday Kylie died in a tragic accident. She drowned in her family's bathtub. And just like that - she was gone. The playful, vivacious, hilarious, beautiful little girl was taken from us. As were the dreams of her future. The picture of our futures with her.

It was a terrible, awful, miserable time.

I was only 13 but I still remember the sound of those frightening wails I finally emitted a week later when the reality hit. It was not the tearful sobbing of a child, but the deep, painful, moaning wails of a woman. The same ones I would be again surprised by while collapsed in my mother's closet, surrounded by her familiar clothes, a week after her passing. It's an indescribable sound. Born from an indescribable pain.

And though the tragedy of Kylie's death was devastating, I cannot imagine what my family would be without that experience.

My mom gave us each a framed quote soon after we lost Kylie:

Our Family

is a circle of strength

and love. With every birth

and every union the circle grows.

Every joy shared adds more love.

Every crisis faced together

makes the circle

stronger.

I believe, absolutely, that we are a stronger family because of that crisis.

From it came an undeniable testimony that our family is eternal. That we will see Kylie again. That through Christ's atonement we are given the opportunity and gift to prepare ourselves on this earth to be worthy of being with her. That we have huge responsibilities in this regard. That our temple sealings are not a trivial matter. They are paramount to our eternal happiness.

I am so grateful for this testimony. That I know my mother and Kylie are together. That it is something I can share, unquestionably, with my children. The gospel of Jesus Christ is not only truth. It is a resource. It holds the answers to our deepest questions and can fill our yearnings and desires. What a blessing it is to have this knowledge.

Without it, I would surely be lost. But with it, I am safely found.

Two lives gone too soon, but reunited at last - Kylie and her Grammy 1994