Heartache and hope

Sunday evening Doug and I knelt to say a prayer together, and he prayed very fervently for our friends Clint and Emily and more importantly for their family, whom we have never met. Despite not knowing Clint's sister and her husband, they had hardly left my mind in the previous 24 hours.  Saturday evening, Emily (who also happens to serve in YW with me) called and asked if I could teach the lesson the next day in YW.  They were leaving as soon as possible for Idaho because of a death in the family.  A couple of hours later, I stopped by to see if there was anything I could do to help them get on the road or take care of while they were gone.  Though obviously tired and emotionally drained, they were as friendly and hospitable as ever (they're hard not to love) and told me the rest of the story.

Their nephew, who had just turned two, was playing in the driveway when his father, who was unaware that the boy was outside, unknowingly hit the small boy with his truck as he backed it up to hook up his trailer.  As one can imagine, the child's father is absolutely distraught and torn apart by guilt, though no one blames him except himself.  The entire family is currently deep in grief that it will take a long time to recover from.

I cried for the family despite the lack of connection, because that is a kind of grief that strikes at every parent's heart so quickly.  They are an eternal family, sealed and faithful, and so I don't doubt that they will have that little boy forever, but for now they have to let him go.  I think there are very few times in life where we come close to truly understanding the kind of empathy and compassion that Christ has for us, but I think the loss of a child is one of those times.  I think the story of Lazarus' death is one of the most beautiful in all of the New Testament.  When Mary and Martha came to Christ crying over the loss of their brother, I think it is significant that Christ himself, who understood the plan of salvation better than any of us, who certainly knew better than anyone else that Lazarus death was no tragedy (even knew that He could immediately raise him from the dead) cried with Mary and Martha.  Because they were in pain.  He hurt for them because he knew that their pain was real and he understood it.

As parents, I think we are blessed with a bit of that Christ-like compassion for other parents who lose their children.  When we are so wrapped up in the joy of our little ones, it is not a far stretch to imagine the kind of pain a mother or father must feel to be separated so suddenly and severely from their child.  When you have children of your own, you don't have to see the pain on a mother's face to know what kind of pain must be in her heart when she holds a tiny little precious body one last time and says goodbye.  Every parent who loves their child can imagine what a tremendous loss they would feel if they had to let go.

It was somewhat coincidental that Sunday afternoon, one of the counselors in Relief Society asked if I could teach in a few weeks.  She gave me the Chapter and page number, and when I got home to look it up, the subject was, "Words of Hope and Consolation at the Time of Death".  The prophet we are studying this year is Joseph Smith, Jr., making the subject much more poignant: in addition to losing three brothers and a father before his own death, only five of his eleven children lived to adulthood.  The other six died in infancy or childhood from various diseases or accidents.  At the funeral of a 2 year old boy he is quoted as saying: ". . .why is it that infants, innocent children, are taken away from us, especially those that seem to be the most intelligent and interesting.  The strongest reasons that present themselves to my mind are these:  This world is a very wicked world. . .The Lord takes many away, even in infancy, that they may escape the envy of man and the sorrows and evils of this present world; they were too pure, too lovely, to live on earth;  therefore, if rightly considered, instead of mourning we have reason to rejoice as they are delivered from evil, and we shall soon have them again. . . The only difference between the old and young dying is, one lives longer in heaven and eternal light and glory than the other, and is free a little sooner from this miserable, wicked world.  Notwithstanding all this glory, we for a moment lost sight of it, and mourn the loss, but we do not mourn as those without hope."

As Clint told me the story, he said, "He was just one those sunny, easy kids.  Just a delightful child."  I didn't want to interrupt him, but I thought to myself,  "They always are.  That's why they don't last."  I love the phrase, "too pure, too lovely".  I know several people who have had and been asked to part with these beautiful souls, and those who have faired the best are those who have come to understand the best just what kind of compassion and empathy the Savior has for them.  Those that are the happiest, the most at peace in their lives, are the ones that have relied on his love and found reason to rejoice even in their loss.  I pray that this family will be one of those who finds the way to hope through their heartache.