Olivia Mae

I've been stewing over how to write this post for awhile. It's subject is so tender to a lot of people, and yet I simply can't not say something about it. Someday when I'm old and gray I'll look back on my life through this blog and remember the things that shaped me, and this is definitely one of them.

My little niece, Olivia Mae passed away on July 22nd. She was born on the 20th of July. Two days of ups and downs and stress and joy were all we got with her and then she left us. I don't think the details of her birth and life are important to this post, but I wanted to just write a little about what she has taught me about grief and mourning.

The sadness that came to me, an aunt who never got to even meet her, was completely overwhelming. I couldn't stop crying when I got the news. I cried like I haven't cried in a long, long time. Sobbed, really. For her and for my sister and her husband and for all my family and for the world. Death is just so terribly sad. And it is so hard to understand, even knowing what I know about the plan of redemption. As a member of the church it is a grief that has the reassurance of faith and testimony laced into it, but still I mourn the separation, and for my sister and her husband who have to continue living their lives in a world that is unaware of their suffering.

I got the chance to go to Georgia for just about a day and a half to be there for the graveside service. It was a good experience to gather as a family and just be sad together. The spirit was very sweet and very strong the entire time I was there. The graveside service was so appropriate and peaceful. I was taught as I watched different members of the family mourn in their different ways. For some it helped to talk about it all. Others wrote and read poems about death. Others just cried a lot. Others were more reserved about things, but seemed to take comfort in being close to the family. I came away with a much better understanding of the covenant I've made to mourn with those that mourn. And more of a sense of the rightness of mourning. Before anyone can be comforted, they just need to be able to mourn. Sometimes for a long time.

I want to include this poem by President Hinckley. It has come to my mind again and again as I've been in the thick of all this. It's actually been set to music by Janice Kapp Perry. Let the record reflect that I would be pleased with this song being a part of my own funeral someday. I love that it teaches doctrine, acknowledges mourning, and speaks comfort.

What Is This Thing That Men Call Death?

What is this thing that men call death?

This quiet passing in the night?

‘Tis not the end but genesis

Of better worlds and greater light

O God, touch Thou my aching heart

And calm my troubled, haunting fears

Let hope and faith, transcendent, pure

Give strength and peace beyond my tears.

There is no death, but only change

With recompense for vict’ry won

The gift of Him who loved all men

The Son of God, the Holy One.