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Thank you for the beautiful words. My faith has been indefinitely shaken by my baby's death, but I find hope in your perspective. Peace to you.

My husband is a Catholic, we had a priest come to offer us words of comfort from the bible after our son died. I believe he felt that comforting presence, although I was so far into grief I couldn't feel it. Today, he is coming to peace, I think he's had that moment of clarity you speak of. I wish I had it, even for a brief moment. I have the hope I will get it, eventually.

When I lay on the operating table muttering frantic prayers into an oxygen mask while they bagged my son and tried to stop the bleeding that threatened to take me too, my relationship with the God I’d always known and taken comfort in cracked, crumbled and eventually simply fell away.

Do I really want to be a part of the Dead Babies Club? Can't I just do this myself, keep my feelings and perspective away from anyone or anything that I feel like I have to defend against?

I could be in the park right now. Sun, shining down. Me, dreaming up. Blue sky, above. Green grass, below. Is not this the purest connection to God? A clear head, feeling no differentiation between me and God and no distance from Source?

Sounds great.

Who are you kidding?

I hear You. It actually sounds boring.

I hear ya! Evan was supposed to be our magical child as well, pre-destined by over a year when someone reading my husband's tarot cards told him "your first child will be a son, he will make you proud" Followed by a spring Equinox egg painting wish ritual during which we painted the wish of a baby on our eggs, then went home and made Evan. When they told he had passed away at 42 weeks, I was shocked, but he is magic, he cant die yet. I felt lied to and abandoned by my God's.

Dakota's entire being was made up of faith and magic.

I first visioned this child as a young girl, showing up randomly in my dreams and meditation. She gave her father and I the same night time dream one night. We were both floored to discover we'd had the exact same dream, down to the details.

We went up to Paradise at Mount Rainier, and there in the snow, in all capital letters: DAKOTA. We drove up to Neah Bay, stopping at an overlook along the way, and there on a boulder, in all capital letters, spray-painted in blue: DAKOTA.

I am envious of your faith. I lost mine two years ago when I buried my son. Or maybe I never really had it to begin with.

Thank you for that verse, as I sit here at work nearly in tears. Beautiful. "A crown of beauty instead of ashes" What a gift.

My story is much the same. Knowing at 20 weeks that aside from a miracle, my son would not live. It was suggested to me that I abort too. In the end, as my son started to slip away still in me, I opted for an Emergency CSection. And even though he didn't have a chance, I never regretted that decision. I did everything I could and gave God every chance.

Jacob, where do you find the strength to carry on in life?"

"Life is often heavy only because we attempt to carry it," said Jacob. "But I do find a strength in the ashes."

"In the ashes?" asked Mr. Gold.

You put into words EXACTLY how I felt. My faith was tested and I was angry, but I was oh so fearful that He would take something else I loved away from me. So I kept silent. Four years later and I am closer to God. I pray that even though your faith has been tested by fire, you will be able to find your way closer than ever to God. (1 John 1:7)