He Lost His Baby Too

I love this poem. It couldn't be put more perfect. I feel so sorry for Clayton, not only did he have to start working right away but he has to endure the horrible, stupid, assinine things people say. I think people know better then to say stupid things to me, I'm not afraid to put them in their place. But because he's a "man" they think it's ok to say "well it's way better that she died she probably would have had major problems" or "that's Darwinism at it's best" or "she will find another body that suits her better" or "you guys can try again" or "is Michelle still sad (after 3 weeks)" I could go on and on. And these are only the ones he tells me about, I think he has stopped telling me about them all.

Anyone who knows Clayton... really knows him. Knows he is the kindest, sweetest, most caring person to children. Even with all the miscarriages I wasn't aware how much it affected him until he started talking to me. All these children I have lost aren't just mine they are his too (technically half his, half mine) 23 and 23 makes a perfect 46 human being.

Why is it that men get no sympathy? Why is it that very few people ask "how's Clayton?" He is hurting just as much as me and he has to put on this act like "it's no big deal loosing your child over and over again and with December having her soooo close it just hurts that much more.

In my "community of other MOO's their babies are born as eartly as 25 weeks, they have the large umbilical hernia and even with them being that premature most of them pull through and have normal healthy lives. I am led to believe that each of us has a "time" just as the scriptures say "to each time there is a season." It just hurts so bad when loved ones die. But that's exactly how it's suppose to be. Hurting deeply means we loved deeply and how sad would the world be if we didn't love eachother deeply? I keep replaying Joseph and Emma Smith in my brain and through our trials I have learned to love and respect them even more.