An excerpt, in memory of my daughter, born and died December 17, 1996:
And so it was, that we learned how to prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best. We picked out a name: Kate Afton, after my great-grandmother, Katherine, and the serene mountain valley in Wyoming where Brandon’s parents had recently moved, and where we found perspective, peace, and wonder on our summer visit.
As I sat with my Primary class during singing time, the words of a song the children were learning, and I knew well, caught me off-guard. My voice caught and my vision blurred.
When He comes Again, by Mirla Greenwood Thayne, had always been a beautiful song to me, but hearing it now, it meant something much more profound. It was no longer a song of a child wondering what season Jesus Christ would return in, or if he would be ready. It was a song of hope; hope that we would be with Kate again, that she had a purpose to fulfill here, and our Savior would receive her with open arms.
Overwhelmed, I couldn’t sing, but listened to the children’s voices pick up the words. After singing time, the primary president approached me, and asked if I was all right.
I explained with a tight voice, “We are losing this baby.”
I spent my nights silently fighting the cry that forced its way from my heart, to my lungs, to my eyes, finally to leave my body in muffled gasps and tears that streamed. I envisioned the baby, the little girl, the young woman I would not make memories with as I had done with my other children. Only prayer would help me find sleep.
Heavenly Father, please help everything be all right. Please help Kate feel our love for her. Please help us be strong, and turn to each other, and our Savior.
The Primary song would return, and I would finally drift off. Will herald angels sing…