At age eleven I was awkward, fat and painfully shy. We were living in yet another new town, surrounded by new people. I attended church with some nice girls, but I was too afraid to get to know them. During this time, my Merry Miss teacher reached out to me and became a dear friend and an amazing role model. She was a young woman of Hispanic descent and she had the cutest one year old baby I had ever seen. This wonderful woman was named Maria and, as she sat by me in singing time , called me just because and took special care to make me feel included and loved during activities, I developed a love and appreciation for her that I had never had for anyone outside of my own family.
Sometimes after class on Sunday, Maria would sit with me in the foyer and we would talk as Sarah, the beautiful baby, played on her lap. I was giggling at Sarah and letting her grab my finger on one such occasion when Maria leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “Guess what? I'm pregnant!” Maria leaned back and, noticing the look on my face, began to laugh. I'm sure I looked very silly because I was so astonished! My first thought had been But you already HAVE a baby! I did not know at the time that someday I would be a young pregnant mother who “already had a baby.”
It only took a second for my astonishment to wear off before I said, “That's great!”
My heart felt full to bursting when she whispered, “I haven't told anyone yet, it is our secret.” Never had I felt so special and important as I did at that moment. Imagine being the first person to know such an amazing secret! I walked a little taller as I stood up to join my family in sacrament meeting that day.
A few weeks later, we had a Merry Miss activity at Maria's house. Maria quietly gestured to me and we sneaked off to a corner of the kitchen where a utility cabinet stood. “Do you want to see a picture of my baby?” she asked as she reached inside the cabinet. Assuming she meant Sarah, whom she often gave me pictures of, I nodded yes. To my surprise, she produced an ultrasound picture of her new baby. It was the first ultrasound picture I had ever seen in real life. The baby looked like a little jelly bean. I expressed my girly awe at the beauty of this new life. I could tell Maria was pleased by my reaction.
A few more weeks went by and Mother's Day was upon us. I asked Mom if I could take a gift to Maria. Mom thought that was a great idea. We baked some goodies and wrapped them up, I wrote her a poem which I rolled up and tied with a pretty ribbon. Lastly, I sewed a tiny blue teddy bear from material I took from Mom's scrap bag. This last item was for the baby. I stuffed it with care and drew a cute face on it with permanent marker. Mom then had the best suggestion of all, I should put all these gifts into the raffia basket that Maria herself had helped me make.
On Mother's day, I gathered up the basket of gifts and ran to our station wagon in a great state of excitement. I talked joyfully with Mom as we drove to deliver the gifts. Maria was happy to see us and invited us in. I was delighted at the way she held and praised every gift. Then, she sat talking to Mom on the couch while I played on the floor with baby Sarah. Over Sarah's squeaks and squeals, I heard Maria say, “The doctor says I'm not supposed to pick up Sarah because it could harm the baby, but she is so young that it is difficult not to.” I heard this, but my eleven year old brain did not process it. I didn't think for a minute that anything was going to happen to the little jelly bean in Maria's tummy.
Later that week, I was sitting at the sewing machine working on my 4-H project, when suddenly I was overwhelmed by the feeling that someone was in danger. The feeling was so strong that I could not ignore it. I let the fabric slip from my fingers and I stood up so suddenly that my sister, who was reading a book not far from me, looked up in wonder. I was seated in the dining room, but now felt myself being led to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, I knew why I was there. The phone hung on the wall and I needed it – I had to call Maria. This panic belonged to her, I knew it. My hands shook as I dialed the phone. My breath was coming in short gasps.
Please answer the phone! Please answer the phone! I prayed, but Maria did not answer her phone, the answering machine did. “Maria, it's Heather, are you there?” I asked, holding to the hope that perhaps she was in the house and could hear me through the machine. I repeated my message to no avail and then hung up the phone.
I was beside myself. Never had I felt such anxiety. I began to pace the kitchen and as I did so, the words “She's dead, she's dead,” played over and over in my mind. It was then that I started praying. I wanted everything to be OK, I wanted Maria to be OK and I wanted the haunting words to go away. It was in this state of panicking, pacing and praying that Mom found me. I would later learn that my sister thought I had gone crazy and had run to get her.
Mom asked me what was wrong and, so confident was I that my favorite role model was in trouble, I gasped out without hesitation, “Something is wrong with Maria.” Mom did not question me further, for which I was grateful. She suggested, “Why don't you try calling her again, maybe she was outside or something.” I grabbed the phone and dialed again. Ring... ring... No, she wasn't there. I suddenly felt light-headed and fell against the wall. I had lost all power to stand and sank down in a miserable, shaking heap on the kitchen floor. If Mom was upset or concerned, she was careful not to show it. She gently removed the phone from my hands and hung it back on the receiver. “Don't just sit around worrying about her,” she suggested with all the calmness a mother could muster, “Why don't you do something for her? You could make her some cookies!” My head began to feel less woozy as I focused on Mom's idea. I could bake cookies. Oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips! I was good at making those. I remained seated until the world snapped back into focus, then stood up and started gathering ingredients. My sister had bread dough rising on the table. She agreed to let me take a loaf to my poor friend.
When the first pan of cookies was set on a rack to cool, and Pam's bread was pulled from the oven, golden brown and giving off a heavenly aroma, I again phoned Maria's home. She was still not there. Devastated, I left a message telling her I had a gift for her and would she please call me?
With nothing left to distract me, I began to panic, pace and pray once more. It was a blessing when, not ten minutes later, the phone rang. It was Maria! She was alive and had just arrived home from somewhere. She sounded a bit odd on the phone, but she told me it would be alright if I brought the gift over.
I berated myself during the car ride to her home. Of course she wasn't dead! How silly I was to have thought that! As Mom pulled into Maria's driveway, I thought about how I would explain the sudden, unexpected gift and my crazy phone calls. But, as it turned out, no explanation was necessary.
As soon as Maria invited us into the house, I could tell something was wrong. Pain was etched in her face as well as the face of her husband. A tear fell from Maria's eye as I handed her my offering of cookies and bread. Mom stepped forward and said softly, “Heather wanted to do something for you because she thought something was wrong.” There were tears and hugs and somewhere in the midst of it all, I learned that there had been a death, not of Maria herself, but of that precious new life that had been growing inside of her. I felt shock and panic all over again. Why did this happen? How was it fair?
These are questions I would ask again years later at the loss of my own unborn baby. It was then that I would also learn the importance of a gift of warm bread and cookies during such a heart-wrenching time. I thank God for putting into the mind of an eleven year old girl the thought that her friend was suffering and in need. May God see fit to make us always aware of the plights of others. May we be instruments in His hands to be earth angels as he has sent so many earth angels to us. This is my prayer. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
