Throughout my life, I've questioned the existence of God. By the time I was eighteen, I had decided that - if there was a God; He/She/It was not my favorite entity. After Sarah's death, I was confronted by many people who told me to "Turn to God", "God has a reason" or "This is all part of God's plan".

What I wanted to say was -- "If God has some great plan, why in the hell do I have to be a part of it?" I was angry. I was hurt and I was still searching for an answer. I asked myself - Why would God intentionally take the life of an innocent child - mine or anyone else's? Why would this wonderful God allow war, rape and cancer? Was I being singled out for punishment?

After reviewing every aspect of my life, I decided that I may not be a saint but there are "worse" people out there who have healthy children. I started to look for other "logical" reasons for my daughter's death. She had Down's Syndrome - was this God's way of saving her and her parents a lot of pain? I couldn't accept this either because handicaps can be dealt with, even overcome, but death is permanent. The last place I wanted to turn to was to God.

About a year after losing Sarah, my anger had subsided. I had come to the conclusion that God probably did not kill Sarah just to torture me. God simply did not choose to intervene on my behalf with a miracle? Several months later, two small events changed my entire perspective of losing Sarah. One was a class discussion of mysticism; the other was a book entitled " A Course in Miracles". Before encountering these two subjects, I believed having Sarah was the worst event in my life. I had focused on her death - never her life.

I now realize that Sarah's brief life was much more important to me than her death. she was my personal miracle - a brief, almost mystic experience that changed my life forever. In her lifetime, I experienced the joy of carrying a human being, a baby. I happily anticipated being a Mother. I felt a kind of love I had never known. I'm now thankful for the opportunity to share with Sarah, no matter how short the time. In an ideal world, I would want to have a beautiful toddler who got into mischief and would grow into a loving, responsible and happy adult; however, I will always cherish the memories - the wonder of those first kicks, the look on her father's face when she kicked strongly enough for him to feel it, too. The warmth of my baby shower and the red and blue sleeper I bought to bring the baby home in. I will also be eternally grateful for the few moments I held her in my arms.

From Sarah's life and death, I have grown as a person. I have a deeper understanding of the grief of others. I have a greater appreciation for life and how delicate it is. I have a better understanding of Down's Syndrome. I take chances to be happy that I might not have taken before. And, perhaps more important, I love with all of my heart because the joy of loving and being loved is worth the risk.

When you can remember your child with a bittersweet smile, then you are on the way to resolving your grief. Never will you forget the pain. There will always be birthdays, milestones and other children "that age" to remind you of what could have been. But - by allowing yourelf the time of grieve, you will, hopefully, find a reason to keep on living, learning and loving.

Sincerely,
Jennifer Goins-Caufman

On to Grieving the Death of a Baby