a North Dakotan girl through and through, wife, mother and die hard Catholic.

To welcome our next little one in the comfort of our domestic church—how beautiful to have shared that experience with just Mason, our boys, and The Lord. Even though it was far from what we imagined with Karol and his/her birth, the peace of that moment remains a gift and the Lord answered a lot of underlying desires through Karol’s little life.

At the same time, I knew a part of me would grieve when we welcomed another child after George—grieving that we couldn’t share the news with both of my parents, and that my dad would never meet another one of his grandchildren Earthside until Lord Willing, Heaven. How deeply grateful I am that your Papa John gets the privilege of holding Karol before Mason or I ever could. Knowing that he or she is so well cared for brings a comforting peace.

Leading up to this pregnancy was a lot of discomfort going on from transitioning to a new state (very undesirable for us at the time), Mason beginning the rigority of Medical Residency and so much more under the surface.

I began to miscarry on the feast of Saint Padre Pio, and we lost our sweet baby right at the 3 o’clock hour the following day. How profound to enter into the hour of Divine Mercy, the hour of Our Lord’s Passion, as I labored—just as Christ bore His own cross and crucifixion.

What a gift Mother Church is. The love and support we’ve received from Her priests—who’ve offered Masses, made countless holy hours for our family, and reached out as soon as they heard what we were going through—has been a source of profound consolation.

A dear priest friend of ours called me immediately after hearing the news. He sat on the phone and cried with me, mourning the loss of our child. Then, he simply prayed over me. What a gift spiritual fathers are.

We baptized Karol in holy water from Lourdes immediately after his or her birth but knew the beauty of the baptism by desire our faith gifts us. When we began making funeral arrangements, we realized we hadn’t even purchased burial plots for ourselves for the day we would one day pass. We were torn between two places: our hometown and the town 1.5 hours away where we went to college and felt deeply called by the Lord to return to after residency to plant our roots and raise our family.

With the help of our priests back in our hometown, we were given two options:

1. We could purchase a plot for several hundred dollars and cover the funeral arrangements ourselves in our hometown.
2. Our bishop had a grant in place for parents who lose a child due to miscarriage, stillbirth, etc., waiving all fees for families in the town we had felt called to return to for several years following Mason’s medical schooling and training.

We chose the latter, because it felt like the Holy Spirit was reassuring us of our future when everything felt so uncertain. Fast forward over a month after Karol’s funeral we ended up signing a job offer for Mason in that very town Karol is buried. Again the Lord holding our deep desires close.

Three days after Karol’s death, we celebrated a funeral Mass. (No coincidence that it was three days later like the Resurrection and again on a Friday, at 3 p.m.—the very hour of Our Lord’s Passion.) As we stood at the gravesite, Father began to bless the final resting place and invited us to do the same. He then shared that the water he used was also from Lourdes—water he had brought back himself during a pilgrimage.

How beautiful that Karol was both baptized and buried with the same Holy Water.

At Karol’s funeral Mass, our priest reminded us of Saint John Paul II—one of our Karol’s dear patron saints. He, too, endured great suffering in his early life, losing his parents and brother before ever becoming pope. Yet, when he was elected, one of the first things he said to the world was when we address the audience: “Do not be afraid.”

That line struck my heart more than it had in the past. It was exactly what I needed to hear—not only after the loss of our little one, but after this long season of suffering we’ve walked through with losing my father the year prior.

As Catholics, we do not mourn like the rest. There is a deep and abiding hope because of the Resurrection. Near the end of his life, Saint John Paul II was asked why he didn’t step down in the midst of illness and suffering. His response was simple and powerful:

“Jesus didn’t come down from the cross. Why should I?”

What a reminder, as we carry our own crosses, to hold fast to the hope of the resurrection to come.

We are confused. There are hollow places in our hearts that may never be filled Earthside. But I know this: the wounds we carry are access points—holy spaces—for Christ to enter in and heal more deeply. I know Karol’s life stretches far beyond those short, sacred weeks I carried him or her in my womb.

And I know we are not alone.