Six

6 Years.

It's been six years since I held my 24 week baby girl, and became a mother.

Six years since June 17. Father's Day, and the day Ammon became a Father.


Six years since we were visiting family in San Diego for the weekend, and I woke up with cramps and a lot of pain (aka contractions).  And after calling the doctor, and being told to take Tylenol, relax, and go back to sleep, they kept coming.  Every few minutes they came.  Looking back, of course they were contractions, but I was barely even showing- the thought of contractions never passed any of our minds.

After a night of worry and pain, we eventually headed to the hospital to get checked out.  They checked me, threw me on a gurney, and explained I was dilated to a 9. All before my parents even parked the car.  The doctors did everything they could to try to keep her in me, with every second counting.  They gave me a steroid shot, tipped my bed so gravity would help our cause, but despite it all, the alarms rang.  Doctors swarmed the little room.  I feel like I remember very little, but then every detail at the same time.  I remember my dad in the corner with tears on his cheeks.  I remember Ammon holding a leg, my mom the other (TMI?), and being so scared, worried, embarrassed, and excited to see my baby all in the same instant. I remember the silence after she was born. Six doctors surrounding her, and seeing the timer of how many seconds she had been out, and then watching the hive of doctors take her away. Not knowing whether or not she was even alive, and no one being able to tell me. Then I remember the silence.  Doctors left with her.  Ammon left with her.  My mom and dad left the room.  Even the nurses left the room.  I was completely alone, not having seen my daughter, or even knowing if she was alive.

I could go on and on about the next six days.  The NICU visits.  The family fasts, family prayers, and early morning temple visits. The dozens of emails that were sent across the country by my sister living in Boston, who updated everyone, and pleaded for their specific prayers for her niece.  The lunches to Rubios where everyone happily ate fish tacos loaded with cabbage, while I was grossed out at the thought of them, as I had cabbage shoved down my shirt hoping to stop the jersey cow milk production going on (TMI again? Sorry)  The nurses and doctors that took such great care of Cael, and the dreaded updates they gave us, and ultimately, the meeting we had about whether or not we should keep her on life support.

The memory that is the strongest is also the most sacred.  The memory of Ammon and I coming together in the San Diego Temple, and pleading with Heavenly Father for an answer.  To know do we keep her here, or has she accomplished all she has needed to here, and do we let her go home to Him?   I will be first to admit that I do not receive answers to prayers easily.  I second guess my thoughts, and never know if where what I am feeling comes from.  That day, I knew for sure.  Without question.  Cael didn't need to be here.  She received her body, and had more important work to do, from the other side.  We needed to let her go and be with our Heavenly Father.  We also knew, this was not the end. We will see her again. How blessed we are to know exactly where she is, and that she is not gone from  us.

When Cael was born, I was one summer term away from graduating from BYU.  I didn't know if I should take some time off, or jump in and try to finish classes to graduate.  I decided it was better to be busy, than to have too much time to sit and be sad, so a week after summer term started, I was back in the classroom.  I had one professor who told me he thought I wasn't emotionally ready to be back at school, and I sat there and thought how I really wish I could really respond to him and his ignorant opinion.  A big part was probably to prove him wrong, but I finished school, and graduated in August. So glad I did!

I remember a professor telling me it takes a year to get to the point where you are not sad every single day.  She said a year, because you need to go through every holiday and special occasion without her. It's true.  The moment you find out you are pregnant, you imagine your life with this child.  What she will wear her first Halloween, her sitting on Santa's lap as a 5 month old, her first Easter dress. . . you have it all planned.  And each time a holiday passes, and she is not there, it hits you again that your arms are empty.

And here we are. Six years later.  Talking about our daughter every chance we get, and imagining what she would be like if she was here. We miss her everyday, but when we think about her, we are not sad.  We are excited to see her again.  We talk about what she is doing and love the thought that she is the last one that hugged Scout and Porter before they came to us.  I love knowing that Cael is there with our other children.  Helping them get ready for their turn to join our family. I love hearing Scout tell her teachers and friends that she "has a brother and a sister.  But her sister is in heaven." Six years later, and I still cringe when people ask how many children I have.  The debate of whether or not to explain how many children I really have is worth it, depending on who they are.  I love telling people her story (as you can probably tell by this epic-long post).  I love thinking of her, and I love knowing that I have a little girl waiting for me to be the best I can be so that I can be with her again.

I am sure that people look at our family, and just think we are one of a million young families here in Utah.  I wish they knew the truth.  I wish they knew hard we have worked to get our children here.  Of the months and months it takes for us to get pregnant, and then the stress of cerclage surgeries, and the worry through the 9 months that what happened with Cael could happen again.  I wish they could see that we wish there was another baby to hold in our family, but after months and months, and months of trying and dr appointments, it just hasn't happened yet.

I don't know why everything happens the way it does. I am glad that I don't have to know though, that it isn't up to me.  I hope that one day we will have a van full of kids that look a little like me, and a little like Ammon, but until that day, I want to cherish every moment together with the two nuggets we have here now.  Even with every tantrum, scout and Porter screaming argument, pee-pants accident, and defiant 2 year old moments our days are filled with, I remember Cael, and am reminded how lucky I am to be a mom.

This year on Cael's birthday we were in San Diego.  My sweet sister showed up at my parent's house with a cake, and bowls full of frosting for the kids to decorate Cael's cake.  

The best part of the day was when everyone was gathered around the cake outside on the patio, and my sister lit the candle.  The wind blew out the candle, and Scout said, "Cael blew out her candle.  She blew it out from heaven!"  She was convinced! I don't know, maybe I'm convinced too.

Later that day my whole family (minus Ammon, and my brother's family in Fullerton) went to the cemetery. Cael is buried 10 minutes from my parents house, in the most perfect spot.   We don't get to go too often, but it is always the priority with every trip to San Diego.  As we were all standing around her headstone, my dad just started talking.  Just talking about our week with Cael.  We all just said different things we remember about her, and it was the perfect way to honor and remember Cael on her birthday.

Anyways.  So sorry for the long and sappy post, I feel like I do this every year.   I didn't mean to write this much; I thought I'd put on a few pictures, and call it good, but I just kept typing.  And typing and typing.  I guess I want people to know her story.  As we move all around, we meet new people, and new people look at this blog (or maybe they don't), but I want everyone who sees this to know.  We have three children.  It may look like only two, but there are three Malufaus we can claim.  How blessed we are to have the gospel in our lives.  To know that the end of this life is not the end. And that because of the temple ordinances, we will be with Cael again.