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When I was pregnant with my daughter on Mother’s Day 1990, my sister, Dorothy, sent me a Mother’s Day card that read, “To the Mother to Be.”

It was a sweet reminder of what was to come in just a few short months, though I knew I was already a mother to the baby growing inside of me.

After she was born, I looked forward to the next Mother’s Day as I anticipated the time we would dedicate her to God.

The church we attended did not baptize babies but reserved a part of the service each Mother’s Day to give parents a public opportunity to commit themselves to raising their children to honor and love God. The congregation commits to help the parents in this goal.

My husband and I stood at the front of the church holding a wiggly 9-month-old baby who decided to try out a new sound she discovered that could be made when her tongue clicked against the top of her mouth. She swung her legs in time while nodding her head up and down. We were just thankful our baby daughter, Hannah, was in a good mood at such a time and laughed about her antics as we remembered them thereafter.

The same scenario played its way out two years later when we dedicated our son, Christopher. In contrast with his sister, Christopher was quiet and subdued during his dedication, and we were thankful for that thumb that seemed to keep him occupied throughout the service until we took him back to the nursery.

I hold these times in my heart as blessed days to remember with our children. There is something warm, innocent and humbling to bring our children, gifts from God, back to Him as you commit yourself to raising them to honor God.

In 1993, we discovered I was pregnant, due late in April 1994. I smiled to think that by Mother’s Day the next year we would add yet another little Vestal to our young family.

Sorrow struck soon after. I miscarried our little baby at about 71/2 weeks.

We lost two other babies after this. One was another miscarriage at 16 1/2 weeks, and the other was an ectopic pregnancy. We never conceived again.

When a child dies, whether in the womb or after it is born, all the dreams the parent has for that child die as well.

In September of 1993 I wrote to the first baby we lost, “We will never hold your baby body, or smell your baby smell. We will never feed you or watch you walk the first time. We will never tie your baby shoes or kiss your little hurts. We will always wonder what you are like. You will never be forgotten.”

To the third baby we lost, I wrote, “I’ll hold you in heaven. Until then, I’ll hold you in my heart.”

We honored our three little ones who died with the only names we had picked out for each of them so far: Grace, Malea Hope and Taylor.

Mother’s Day, a day that should be a celebration between mother and child, became painful. My heart was conflicted between the joy I felt as I looked upon Hannah and Christopher and the heartache from the ones we lost. This period changed our lives and perspectives permanently.

Part of what became so hard was sitting through the Mother’s Day service as other parents brought their babies to dedicate them unto the Lord. We were happy for those families, yet it was like opening an old wound each time we were reminded of our loss.

We found ourselves skipping the church service if we knew there was going to be a baby dedication. It was our way of dealing with the deep pain as we worked through our grief.

We no longer avoid baby dedications. God healed the unbearable in His time and in His way. Now during these services we find ourselves considering the joy our family will experience when we are all in heaven together one day. I praise God I am the mother of five on this Mother’s Day.

“To all who mourn in Israel, He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.” Isaiah 61:3

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.