"Please don't let it be another one of those," I say to myself as I pull out the folding chair. At least we have padded ones at home. I remember trying to get to Seminary early so that I could grab the ones with the red cushion. There were only a handful of them compared to the hordes of off-white hard plastic chairs every Church building seems to have an endless supply of. Thank heavens I don't have to make her sit in one of those.
It's a bit ironic that this is all going to take place in a folding chair. In this blessing I am supposed to use the Holy Ghost, to call upon the powers of heaven for the benefit of my wife. I wonder if Moses or Jesus would have used a folding chair. The laying on of hands to pronounce a blessing is big stuff. I know I need to use it more. Boyd K. Packer, one of the 12 apostles, has been clear that the men of the Church are failing to exercise the power of the priesthood, despite counting several million in our worldwide ranks.
The office chair Rachel normally sits in has more padding...kind of. Half of the foam from the seat is gone, right where your butt goes. It gets less and less comfortable every time I sit in it now, so I usually grab the padded black chair anyway. "Why did I offer to give her a blessing when I have no idea what I'm going to say?" I think to myself as I place the chair in the center of the room.
I remember when Bryan laid his hands on me to give me the Melchizedek Priesthood. I remember just a few weeks ago, after I had lost my job, Eli laying his hands on me to give me a blessing.
I remember the time I was asked to give a blessing to a dying man.
The seconds that precede a blessing are nerve-racking in most instances. As my hands moved towards the top of his head, I knew that I was to commend his Spirit to the next world. I fought the words that came into my head, pleading for inspiration on how to convey that Robert would be gone by morning...if not sooner. I talked about those who were waiting for him. HECK! The spirits waiting for him were right there in the room with us as I gave the blessing. I knew there was a chance Robert wouldn't make it. I really should have asked for advice before I headed to the hospital. I was afraid his wife would never talk to me again after I all but pronounced his death sentence. I wished I had been able to say that something amazing was going to happen or that I could tell him to "take up his bed and walk", but the words were not my own.
Here I am, back again, in the same situation. But this time, I am the husband, and this is my wife.
What am I going to say now? "Don't worry, your dead baby is all for the greater good." How about: "No biggie, I know you promised G_d another kid and all, but it's going to have to wait." The weight of the moment quietly bore down on my heart. I didn't even know what to do about the miscarriage myself. Emotionally, spiritually, practically...I had barely spoken to Rachel about it because I didn't know if it was "too soon". Do I hug her? Are we happy or sad? I mean, we didn't really want more kids to begin with. Is it wrong of me that I'm glad Rachel wont be a b*&%$ to me anymore? I know that sounds self-serving; but you didn't live with her for those 3 months. This wasn't like any of the other 4 pregnancies. Maybe that's it. Just maybe this was in the cards...
No, that sounds to trite...too contrived. We don't even believe in predestination. Maybe something was wrong with the baby and her body was efficient enough to terminate the fetus because it knew. She knew that something was wrong. It wasn't like the other pregnancies.
...More silence.
I wait.
I learned many years ago that the key to avoid speaking from yourself and saying something stupid was to wait. Wait until the words come...until the Holy Ghost speaks. I know that it sounds hokey. I know that it sounds far fetched and a it's a pill a little too hard to swallow. I wouldn't believe it either, if I didn't have to do it.
The words come, and it will be all right. The timing was wrong. It's not time for Rachel to have another baby. She has things that need to be finished. Work needs to be completed. The sacrifice was appreciated and there is no less love on account of things not working out. A few more lines of council were given and then...I opened my eyes and removed my hands.
...I stood back...waiting...watching her eyes. Did it work? Did she get her questions answered? Am I sleeping on the couch? Does she hate me that the baby really is gone and that she'll have to go through another pregnancy later? I wait and watch for a sign that all is well.
She looks into my eyes and tells me that it was nice to get her questions answered. She heard everything she needed. She thanks me and we go back to work.
That's what we do here at the Kelly house at night. We work. For months the work had come to a screeching halt. Instead of the sound of punched keys being heard long into the night, there was silence. Many books were read and movies watched...but the work...the work was missing. It had stopped. Everything had stopped. There was only anger, bitterness, and resentment. And now they are gone. Just like that. It is nice to finally have some answers, to frame some sort of perspective around the last 3 hard months of our life.
We don't spend too much more time thinking or talking about it. I pick up the folding chair, move it back behind my desk, put the music on, and sit down to work.
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