Few things impact our lives as much as loss does, especially the loss of a child. I was talking to my nephew, Steve at my mother’s New Years Eve party, and the conversation turned to his little daughter, Laila, who passed away on November 22, 2010 at the age of 18 days of complications from Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, and as we talked, I could see deep into his heart.

Steve, normally a happy, smiling person is now struggling with feelings so raw that it is exhausting. He feels the need to be strong for his family, and all too often, I think many people take his strength for granted. Sometimes the smallest things in our lives are the things than have the ability to bring us to our knees, and for Steve that is Laila. From the day she arrived she stole his heart. It was so obvious in the way they looked at each other, that she would be “Daddy’s Little Girl” and Steve, well he would have a new home…wrapped around her tiny little finger. Steve and Jenny have 3 sons, but this child was the long awaited daughter, and while they would have felt the same loss over any of their children, this hit very hard. Laila was sweet and beautiful with olive skin and dark hair, just like her mommy, in fact I believe she would have looked just like Jenny as she grew up.

To say the least, Steve was smitten. He is such a good daddy, very involved in the lives of his children, and Laila would have been so blessed to be a part of this family. It just breaks my heart to see the pain of loss that is etched on Steve’s face now, and to know that there are those who simply don’t understand his feelings. This is a deeply loving man, who is such a big blessing to his family. He is also a very strong man, and I think that sometimes people don’t think that he could have the deeply loving emotions that he carries inside toward those of us that are fortunate enough to be a close part of his life.

Steve loves with all he has, and he has a big heart, so there is a lot of love to give. And really he asks for so little back. He works hard to support his family and doesn’t want Jenny to work, but rather wants her to be able to stay at home and raise the children. He is a deeply spiritual man as well, and loves his Lord and Savior. He makes sure his family is in church every week, and while many would not see this as unusual, the truth is that Steve wasn’t raised in church, but committed his life to the Lord after he met Jenny. But truly, the defining aspect of Steve’s life is being a husband and father. He lives for it, and when something like the loss of a child enters his life it just tears him up. My heart just aches for this loving man with a father’s heart and empty arms. I love you Steve, and I wish I could ease your pain somehow, but as with Jenny, I can only pray for peace in your father’s heart and comfort for your empty arms.

Every year my mother’s family has a Family Christmas Party. This year was our turn to host the party, and my aunts and uncles asked us to do an update of the Byer Family Phonebook we had given them as a gift 13 years ago when we hosted the party. As I was working on the updates, which included names, addresses, phone numbers, birthdays for all the family members, and anniversary dates, I had time to reflect on the legacy that my grandparents left behind. George Byer married Harriet “Hattie” Pattan on December 24, 1927 in Valentine, Nebraska. They had 9 children, 7 daughters and 2 sons. From that beginning to now, there are more than 90 families, and approximately 300 people that have their roots in that marriage, and we are growing every year. That in itself is quite a legacy, and the one my grandparents would have been most proud of. I remember my grandpa saying to my grandma on their 50th wedding anniversary, “Mommy, look what we started, and there’s not a throw away in the bunch.” And that was 33 years ago. I wonder what he would have thought now. My goodness, we have grown. It is amazing what has come of what those two very special people started 83 years ago.

That was just the legacy my grandparents left us in numbers, but their true legacy was in the lessons they taught their children, who then passed them on to their children, and so on. My mother has told me many stories about growing up during the Depression and the years that followed. Times were tough then, but my grandmother always seemed to make enough food for the family and anyone who might come knocking at the door to partake of her well known generosity and down home good cooking. There were almost always extra mouths at the table, and sometimes extra people sleeping on the floor. Times were not only tough then, but very different from our present day. These days, we wouldn’t dare open our home in such a way, as it just isn’t safe, but back then, there was something called honor, and even if a man had to take a handout, most would help out around the place to pay for it, and wouldn’t think of slapping his host in the face by stealing from them or hurting their family. Yes, things were different, very different from the kind of unsafe world of today.

My grandfather was a gentle quiet man, who dearly loved children, and they loved him. He always seemed to have several of his kids climbing all over him (and later grandkids and great grandkids), wanting to brush his hair, and as little girls do, even paint his nails. He took this all in stride and never brushed them off, even though I’m quite certain he took quite a teasing from the guys at work. He would later say when asked that the guys all knew he had kids at home and they just accepted it as “the way it was” and didn’t think anything of it. I always loved to go over to their house, because grandpa always seemed delighted to see us. He would open the door with a hearty, “Come on in kid.” It wasn’t that we got to do anything so special when we were there, it’s just that he and my grandma had a way of making fun out of nothing special at all. They didn’t have amazing toys or video games, they just always had things for us to do. And, you just knew you were loved.

So often in today’s world, people lead such busy lives that they have little time to see their kids, much less spend any quality time with them, and we are all guilty of being too busy for our kids, but the greatest gift my grandparents gave their children and grandchildren was the gift of themselves and quality time as a family. They have both been gone for decades now, but their legacy will live on in their descendants for many years to come.

 As I was leaving church last Sunday, I caught sight of my niece, who had lost her baby daughter a little over a month ago, and as she smiled and waved, I could see behind her smile the deep sadness that lies in her heart. Then she turned to get into their pickup and I thought of how she must be feeling, the pain that is always with her now, the loss that she will always feel, the mother’s heart and empty arms. It is an ache that will stay with her for a long time.

I have never lost a child, so I couldn’t really understand how awful that must feel, I just know that my heart aches for my niece, who I love very much. I wish there was a way that I could ease her pain, but there just isn’t, and when I try, I feel like I make things worse for her by stirring up the thoughts and memories again. Memories of a life too soon over and the promise that life held gone. Yes, we know she is in Heaven with her Lord and Savior, and that she has seen the Father, and been held in his arms, she has seen her grandparents that have gone before her, and her little cousin, also a baby daughter whose life was too soon over, but for those left behind it is hard to take joy in those things, because we want them here with us, selfishly perhaps, but none the less that’s how we feel.

I don’t think there can possibly be a more painful experience than losing a child, no matter what the circumstances, or how old they are, because parents shouldn’t bury their children. It is just not the proper order of things. Our children should live a long life, filled with joyful experiences and happy moments, and when it doesn’t work out that way, our whole universe feels like it is out of sync.

This isn’t a story with a happy ending, or an encouraging moral, it is just a story of reality at one of its most painful moments, the loss of a child, the moment that you can see the impact of that loss, the mother’s heart and empty arms. I love you Jenny and I wish I could take your pain away, but since I can’t, I can only pray for peace in your mother’s heart, and comfort for your empty arms.

Today I took my mom to a birthday party for her sister’s great granddaughter. Why were we there? Well it wasn’t because they are such a close family that they all attend each and every birthday party for their siblings children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. It was because the daughter of my mother’s great aunt, who is ninety, came into town and wanted to see some of the family. So why do we have the neverending desire to reconnect with family? Is it the need to save the memories of our past in our mind so we can pass them on to our children, or is it the possibility that we may never see some of these people again. My mother wanted to go to this event to see her great aunt, who she thought would be there, because she feels that at ninety, she may not see her again, and she was disappointed that her aunt did not come, rather her cousin was here for her class reunion and wanted to spend a little time with her cousins. While my mother was disappointed at not seeing her aunt, she did enjoy visiting with her cousin. I’m sure that my mother really would have been happy going to almost any event, since she doesn’t get out much, and she does feel the passage of time more acutely than I do at 20 years her junior. While I very much enjoy searching records from the past to locate lost ancestors, I don’t necessarily feel the urgency to reconnect personally as much as she does. Maybe I will in the future, I don’t know. In the interim, I will continue to take her to the gatherings with her family whenever they come about, and help her to gleen what she needs from each event, so she and I can live our lives without the regret of neglecting the responsibilities we have to each other and to family, distant and not so distant.