I was 33.5 weeks pregnant with our little Emory Pearl Payne when I went into the office Thursday January 19th, 2017. Up to that point all my visits had been quick and easy, because that is how my entire pregnancy had been. To that point there were no complications, no cause for concern, everything about the pregnancy indicated, two weeks prior, that both Emory and I were in prime condition. So as I approached this appointment I had not a care in the world. It didn't even phase me that I was attending the appointment alone, since Brian was away on a ship, fulfilling on the job training orders with the Navy.
Soon I was in the exam room, after having my weight and blood pressure noted. I thought it was a little strange that I weighed in about 5-6 lbs less than I had at the previous appointment, but I didn't think about it too much, because nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. The doctor came to check my measurements and we were trying to listen to little Emory's heart. It seemed like she was being stubborn and moving to hide, as both the doctor and I felt like she was kicking. After and few unsuccessful minutes of trying to find Emory's heartbeat the doctor suggested we have an ultrasound done, because it would be easier to find her that way.
As I waited in the exam room for an ultrasound room to become available I received the first of many tender mercies. One of my afternoon appointments emailed to let me know they needed to reschedule freeing up my day quite a bit.
Walking to the ultrasound room the nurse and I talked about me being there alone, and Brian being out on a ship. She asked if I wanted her to sit in with me, so I wouldn't be alone during the ultrasound. This was the second tender mercy I received.
Laying there on the table, watching the screen as the ultrasound technician moved the picture to get a better view of little Emory, it didn't take long for me to recognize her little body, her beautiful head and face, her spine and ribs, her little arms and legs. The one thing that was painfully obvious was that there was no heartbeat behind that perfect little ribcage. It was in that moment I knew, without any words needed, that our little angel wasn't here anymore.
In that moment, I was so grateful for tender mercy number 3. That is to say, when Brian left for his time on the ship he set out a plan for me to be able to reach him in the event of an emergency. While neither of us thought there would ever be a need for it, I had the email address of the Chaplain on board who regularly checked his email and would be able to get Brian on the phone to me in an hour or less.
So right there, as the technician was taking pictures and making notes I broke the rules, I used my phone to send out a quick message to the Chaplain that I needed Brian to call me as soon as possible. I knew I couldn't face anyone else until Brian knew what happened. He needed to be the first to know.
The doctor came in, she sat with me, she cried with me, and we discussed next steps. I needed to be induced, we could wait until Brian returned, the office can suggest funeral homes. Honestly, most of that conversation is a blur, as my only thought at that point was how would I be able to tell Brian this terrible news over the phone? Luckily, my doctor was very understanding, and knew that I was not in the frame of mind to think about those things at that moment, and she kindly scheduled an appointment for me to meet her in her office the next Tuesday. Then she left me alone in the room, telling me to take my time before leaving.
So I did, I laid there an cried for what seemed like an eternity, but really was more like 15-30 minutes I guess. I got up, redressed, and then sat and cried a little more. When I was able to stem the tears I walked out to my car, where I sat and cried some more. I struggled to process the situation, knowing that I would need to relay it to Brian soon.
In a bit of a foggy haze I drove to the office of a nearby client, whom I had arranged to pick up some important tax documentation from. As I pulled into the parking lot the email came in from the ship's Chaplain. He was looking for Brian and would have him call me shortly. So I sat there in the parking lot of my client, waiting for a call that I never thought I would have to make.
Brian called, I told him, he was in shock, he asked me what he should do. I told him to finish his orders, I would be fine. Not knowing what to say, he commented, "She will always be our daughter." This was the fourth tender mercy I received. That brought me peace, because I knew he was right. Since that phone call I've held onto that one truth, she will be waiting to meet us when our time on this earth is finished.
The fifth tender mercy came shortly on the heels of that phone call. Walking into the client's office, this client being very dear to me because we have worked together for nearly two years, she could see I was hurting. She guessed what happened and took me to a private room to cry with me. She confided that her own daughter had just recently lost a baby as well, and while her daughter hadn't been as far along, she shared with me some of the things that helped her and her daughter through the difficult time. She advised me to let the tears out, she joked that she never knew your cheeks could get chapped from crying so much. (It only took me a few hours to realize how right she was on that note) She made sure that I would have support, that I had someone I could reach out to so I wouldn't be alone.
That was the next thing I did. I sent a text over to one of my girlfriends from church. I asked if she wanted to get together that night, her place, my place, out for dinner, it didn't matter to me. I was just looking for some company. She readily agreed and we made plans to meet at her house after work. So in an attempt to keep myself busy, I went back to my office, also hoping to let my business partner know what happened.
The rest of the afternoon flew by, telling the people who would be most affected by my sudden absence. I told one of my employees, who prayed with me, I told my business partner, Misty, who rushed back from an appointment to be with me, and help make arrangements regarding clients. Amidst all that Brian called me again, after discussing the situation with his superiors it had been decided that Brian would come home, as early as that night. This was tender mercy number six. While I was on the phone with Brian my doctor called to check on me, becoming tender mercy number seven.
The eighth tender mercy I received was Misty's help in submitting the necessary forms to get assistance in getting Brian off the ship. I didn't know this until he was preparing to leave for this particular trip, but the Red Cross provides a program to allow family members to request communication and return of their service members who are on deployments. The form needed to start that process is very detailed, and asks questions that are VERY blunt. It was extremely difficult to fill in a box labeled "Reason for request" with "Death of child." Beyond that nothing mattered to me, but it felt like everything did to them. I was so grateful that Misty took over answering all those seemingly pointless questions, because I just could not do it.
That afternoon I had so many phone calls, several from Brian, 3 or 4 from my doctor's office. A call to my mom. By the time I left work at 5 pm my whole world had changed from the time I arrived at work only 8 hours earlier. Brian was confirmed that he would be home sometime the next day (Friday). Mom was contacting the rest of my family, while looking for a way to get her and dad out here from Washington State the next day as well. Lastly, but not least of all I was set to be induced the following Tuesday. I was exhausted, so many tears, so much emotion. So in search of a distraction I grabbed some take out and headed to spend quality time with Brittney and little Weston.
It was at Brittney's home, after telling her everything that had happened that day, I received the biggest of all the tender mercies I have ever received. Her husband and another friend from church gave me a priesthood blessing. In our faith, a priesthood blessing is believed to be inspired words, direct communication from God, our Heavenly Father, to the individual receiving the blessing.
My blessing was very special, something that I hold sacred. In it I was promised many things. I was reminded, again, of the Plan of Happiness (or Salvation) that will allow me to be with my daughter after this life. I was given peace, comfort and most of all strength. I was told many other things, about my purpose, about my family, about God's love for me. From that point on I felt such an overwhelming sense of peace, a calming influence. It made all the planing we needed to accomplish go by with such ease.
Since that day I've had many more tender mercies. My in-laws getting lost, and winding up in the parking lot of the wonderful funeral home we ended up working with. My family making the trip across the country to be here for us during those hardest of days. The overwhelming outpouring of love and kindness from so many close to us. The ability to make very difficult decisions without wavering, with full faith that the decisions made would be best for all involved in the long run.
Emory Pearl Payne was born Wednesday, January 25th. We spend one beautiful day with her beautiful, precious, most sacred body. God's greatest mercy to me has been, and will continue to be the knowledge I have that I will have many more days with my sweet, wonderful little girl. Many times I have received a confirmation that she truly is our daughter forever.
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