Grief and Grace

By Angela Fields

For the Deseret News 2006

While many people spent December 1999 preparing for Y2K, my family prepared for a much more personal event, the birth of our sixth child. Even though we hadn't had any scientific confirmation, we knew he was a boy. He had announced to his father that his name was Noah. We were anxious to bring him into the world, especially since I had just miscarried. My pregnancy was uneventful, although Noah wasn't quite as active as my other children. Then one day Noah did a giant somersault, putting him in the breech position. Because he stayed in this position, we decided to have an ultrasound.

On Dec. 13, my husband, Gary, and I went to the doctor's office eager for a report of a healthy little boy. As the ultrasound progressed, and the technician became less talkative, we began to worry. I was rolled onto my side to get a better picture of Noah's heart. After many pictures and a lot of silence, the technician announced that she needed to show the pictures to the doctor and I would have to see him before I could go. Soon after I heard the doctor's cold words, "trisomy 13 ... defects from head to toe ... worst being the heart ... defects incompatible with life." My Noah was going to die. As we drove home through the falling snow, I was in a daze. How was I going to tell the kids? How was I going to live through this?

We spent the next few days enduring more tests and more doctor visits. Their final conclusion was that it was a miracle that my pregnancy had lasted this long and that the only guarantee I had of holding Noah alive was by having an immediate C-section. I considered this but felt at peace with letting nature take its course. We would wait until Noah decided to come.

After many tears, we tried to go about preparing for Christmas. We felt the love of our neighbors and family as they offered their support and prayers. But I still found it quite difficult. So many songs about a baby in a manger. One day while I was in a bookstore, I passed by pictures of Mary holding baby Jesus. I had to leave the store to hide my tears. It just wasn't fair, I said to myself. Mary was able to hold her sweet baby boy, and I would be left with empty arms. As I sat there crying, a thought came to me that changed my perspective. Yes, Mary did hold Jesus and raise Jesus. But, when he was grown, she had to watch as he was crucified. Her precious boy was also taken from her. And why? So that one day I will be able to hold Noah again. He will be mine because of the precious gift of our Savior. Again I cried, but this time they were tears of gratitude. My best gifts that year were Noah's life within me and the knowledge that my Savior loved me enough to die for me and Noah.

On Jan. 1, 2000, Noah Steven Chanku-washte was born at home, held by his family for one brief hour, and then died in his father's arms. His little body did have quite a few imperfections, but he was perfect to us. He will forever be our millennial baby.

I will always remember Christmas 1999 as the year I felt the most despair and yet the most peace. Christmas is a time of giving, and so many people gave so much love to our family that year. Christmases are still difficult as we remember our loss, but each year as I remind myself of the greatest gift, I feel more hope than despair.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son." (St. John 3:16).