Where Was He?

Two months after Ayla’s death, in the soft glow of Ayla’s green butterfly lamp I kneel down to pray. I feel the weight of my shortcomings crash down on my soul, I used to see angels, as clear as I see the sleeper beside my pillow. Now it’s quiet. I try, I really try to be grateful; for a safe bed, for a job that lets me come back, for a family who is my rock, for friends who check in, for every breath I take. 

But tonight I don’t feel grateful. I checked the boxes. I did everything right. I kept my end. I don’t smell the hint of formula on my shoulder, I don’t feel the tiny baby hairs against my chin, I don’t hear tiny grunts and snores. It’s silent. 

“Why did I have to watch my daughter suffer and die and not be able to help? I felt so helpless, couldn’t you just take me instead!?” I call out between sobs out loud to the heavens, willing Him to hear me. “Where are you?” Desperate now I whisper. 

All at once the warmth envelops me. Tears stream freely down my cheeks but I don’t feel I’m alone anymore. 

 “I watched my Son suffer and die for you. I understand” it’s not meant as a rebuke, or a way to diminish my feelings. It’s stared softly, gently, and peacefully, into my mind. 

I’m flooded by the moments He was there.

 The bishops wife, my friend, not knowing I needed it, dropping by. 

My break at work changed so it was just my coworker and I. Her asking if I’m okay, and me sharing that I wasn’t. 

The stake president telling me it’s okay to leave, not knowing that I had tried and couldn’t let go without permission. 

The birth that felt like death’s door knocking, only to push her out perfectly healthy, 

My fussy baby refusing to sleep in her own room, knowing that we only had four months together and allowing me to spend it with her. 

The heavens being opened because of the darkness around me. 

My friend sharing her spiritual experiences with me, allowing me to connect like I had never before. 

My grandma coming to get Ayla, only after I accepted it. 

He was there through every moment. He didn’t just watch, He touched people to touch me. He knew the ending, but gave me choices on how to get there. He knew that years later I would look back and need to remember it all so that I could write. 

That nearly fourteen years later I would still recall it with clarity. He was waiting for the perfect moment to give me the closure I needed to move on. 

He has always been there, and always will be.