Our fourth child was born in 2001. Shortly after his birth, we felt that there was another little spirit waiting to join our family. However, the months turned into years, and we still weren't expecting. Finally after almost three years of trying, I saw those two pink lines on a pregnancy test!It seemed so long since I had held a little one. I was so grateful for that little life.

A few weeks after the positive pregnancy test, I began to have some light bleeding. I used two more pregnancy tests. Was I really pregnant? They both came back strongly positive. The bleeding increased to that of a menstrual cycle. Having experienced significant bleeding in my last pregnancy, I was worried, but not panicked. I called the doctor and had him schedule an ultrasound.

I went in for an ultrasound about four days later, and there was basically nothing on the screen. Nothing. I then went to the doctor's office, and they did a pregnancy test, which came up negative. The doctor said either I was never really pregnant and just saw an evaporation line (which was not the case; I had three STRONG positives), or something had gone wrong with the baby very early in the pregnancy. The doctor then made some comment implying that I had enough kids anyway.

I walked out of the office dejected and empty. Here I had lost a precious little one, and yet the doctor acted like the pregnancy never even existed. I knew the pregnancy tests hadn't lied. The baby may not have developed very far, but it had begun its development.

I felt so sad and alone. The next month was one of the darkest times in my life. I prayed and I tried, but I just felt empty and betrayed. Nobody seemed to know what I was going through. I felt so very, very alone. I remember a well-meaning comment from a visiting teacher: "Well, maybe it is a blessing. Now you'll have more time for your other children." I learned quickly how painful comments like, "I'm sure it is for the best," or "It was God's will," can be for someone who is grieving.

I spent some time online at a miscarriage website. That is where I found most of my support and strength. I spent so many days dealing with grief. Sometime I felt sad, sometimes angry. And most of the time I felt scared. I pled with Heavenly Father to help me to have a baby.

About three months after the miscarriage, I was expecting again. I moved to a new doctor. I was religious about keeping appointments and completing tests, in hopes that somehow it would will this baby to live.

That baby did live, and one evening as I was thinking about the experience of the miscarriage and then my healthy pregnancy, I had a strong impression that I was now carrying the same spirit meant for the pregnancy that had miscarried. I had not lost my little child; my introduction to him had just been postponed a few months. When he finally arrived, we named our new little son Seth, after the son that the Lord gave Eve to replace Abel. Seth means "appointed one," because Seth was appointed to take the place of Abel for his parents. We thought the name very appropriate for our little son born after miscarriage.

After Seth we quickly had our little Noah, without any complications. However, both my husband and I felt that our family was not complete. We were delighted last July to find out that once again we were expecting. This pregnancy, however, only lasted eight weeks. I cried when I found the blood. I wept for a couple of days. Being early, the symptoms of miscarriage were mild, and, due to my last miscarriage experience, I did not even go to the doctor.

About a week after this second miscarriage, I was shopping with my sister and ran into a friend she knew from high school. In the cart she was pushing a severely handicapped baby. We talked with her for a while about both the difficulties and the blessings of caring for him. As I left the store, I had a very strong spiritual impression that, had our little one been born in the body that I had miscarried, he would have been in a similar situation. I also had an impression that he could not carry out his mission in this life in that state.

That experience was profoundly comforting to me. If I were to have a handicapped child, I would feel more than blessed to have a chance to raise him or her. But if Heavenly Father was using this miscarriage so that our baby would have the kind of body he or she needs in this life, I could live with that. I had renewed hope.

Five months later, once again we were expecting. The pregnancy seemed to be going along fine. Then last week I had a profound pain in my back (I believe it was due to a kidney stone). Just in case, we scheduled an ultrasound.

I went in to the ultrasound appointment, and the technician's first question was whether our dates could be off. As this baby was much anticipated, I was quite sure that the dating of the pregnancy was correct. I should have been about 11 weeks along, but the baby stopped growing at 7 weeks. I left the office with the sad news that our little baby had quit developing several weeks early.

I have spent the last four days in profound grief. I could hardly get out of bed on Saturday and Sunday. I could not bring myself to schedule a D&C. Something just didn't seem right to me about doing it. I started to have some spotting the same day as the ultrasound. Waiting the weekend, not knowing when I might miscarry, was agony for me. Hardly anyone knew we were expecting, so I felt almost completely without support. I was still in the throes of morning sickness, which I thought was completely unfair if there was no baby to go with it. Every morning I would wake up hoping that it was a dream, but then realize once again that it was reality.

Mixed with the despair there have been some blessings, though. When I came home from the doctor's office, I randomly opened the scriptures for comfort. I turned to Moroni 7:27-28, which states, "Wherefore, my beloved brethren, have miracles ceased because Christ hath ascended into heaven, and hath sat down on the right hand of God, to claim of the Father his rights of mercy which he hath upon the children of men? For he hath answered the ends of the law, and he claimeth all those who have faith in him; and they who have faith in him will cleave unto every good thing; wherefore he advocateth the cause of the children of men; and he dwelleth eternally in the heavens."

At the time I was too devastated to feel the strength of those words, but as the days are passing, the promise contained in them has become more deeply engraved in my heart. I truly believe that miracles have not ceased. I also believe that Christ does advocate my cause before the Father. If we are to have another child, we will. In His time.

Had this baby been a son, we were going to name him Joseph. In my grief as I prayed for answers, I felt prompted to look up the meaning of that name. Joseph means "God shall add" or "God will increase." I should add that when our last little son was born, we felt an impression that he was to be Noah, and we should save the name Joseph for our next child. I am understanding more now, as the promise that "God shall add" to our family is becoming a great comfort as the pain slowly ebbs away.

This evening, after waiting several days, I began to bleed profusely. Heavenly Father was kind to me, though. Unlike what the doctor told me to expect, the cramping has been fairly mild. I bled profusely, leaving me weak and shaky. But the pain was minimal. Amongst the blood I looked down on the towels to find a tiny sack holding a half inch fetus. As painful as that was to see, I am grateful for the closure that it has given me, that I would not have gotten had I gone in for a D&C. I cradled that little body in my hand for a moment, and used the time to say goodbye for a little while to my baby. I believe that that little seven week old body was not strong enough to house the spirit of my little one to come. Farewell, my sweet baby. I look forward to the day that I can carry a vessel to term that is strong and healthy enough to be your tabernacle for this life and lives to come.

There will be painful days ahead. I will still ache for this little unborn child. But as I look at my now three-year-old Seth, he gives me great comfort. Eventually promises were kept, and he made it to our home, and was followed by a sweet younger brother. I have no doubt that it can happen again. Miracles have not ceased. Christ is still our advocate in the heavens, and whether it be in this life or in lives to come, all will be made right. That promise makes today's pain bearable.

Tomorrow, as soon as the bleeding has subsided, I am going to the nursery to choose a rose bush. I will then bury that tiny sac holding that little fetus beneath its roots. That rose will be my reminder of a miracle to come.

Deborah in UT

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