About 25 years ago, my wife Paula and I discovered with great joy that we were parents for the third time. After having been blessed with two beautiful little boys, Brady and Mike, we were excited to discover whether our newest child was a son or a daughter. Because of previous difficulties with pre-term labor, we were able to see our baby at about 7 weeks on an ultrasound, with a little beating heart. Everything looked perfect.

Unfortunately, we later lost our precious little daughter — whom we named Elena Grace Marion — on our anniversary, when Paula was about three months pregnant. I held Elena’s perfectly formed little body in my hand while baptizing her. Little hands and feet, and a beautiful little face. I remember feeling an odd, alternating mix of numbness, shock, sadness and amazement at how beautiful and perfect she was. We never found out why we lost her, because there was nothing genetically wrong with her. I think in part because hardly anyone ever knew what had happened, the whole thing continued to seem almost unreal — like a bad dream.

So, I soon returned to my normal routine — working, helping to raise our boys, coaching and teaching religious education. Everything seemed fine. But I eventually noticed that I was having an increasing difficulty praying and sensing God’s presence in my life as well as an intensifying irritability. I even stopped going to confession for a couple of months because I felt no peace afterward. When things continued to worsen, I eventually returned to confession with a wise Franciscan friar, and was about to finish when I hesitated for a moment and then told him that I felt something was very wrong because of the difficulties I mentioned above. I explained that I had never endured anything quite like that and was greatly frustrated that I couldn’t figure out why.

He immediately asked, “Has anything traumatic happened to you recently?” And I replied, “Recently? Not really, father. At least nothing that I can think of.” He then asked if I could think of anything within the past year. So, I thought for a moment and said, “Well, my wife and I did lose a child to miscarriage a few months ago. But I’ve come to terms with it.”

There was silence, and then in a knowing, penetrating tone, he asked me, “Are you sure about that, my son? Why don’t you pray a bit about it today and ask God to make it clear to you?”

After receiving absolution and praying my penance, I drove home and prayed for God’s help along the way, as the friar had asked me to. When I walked into the kitchen, Paula greeted me with a hug and kiss as she always does, and I began to share what happened in confession. I told her that I thought I was over the loss of Elena, but I really wasn’t. I said, “After thinking and praying about it, I guess I finally realized that I’m struggling so much because … I miss my daughter.” And with those last four words, tears began to stream down my cheeks. Paula and I embraced and grieved her loss together.

Soon after that, my peace began to return and I was able to pray and feel God’s presence in my life again. But, while we entrusted Elena to God’s infinite mercy, something still seemed unsettled or unfinished.

Recently, after talking with a deacon friend who has a particular heart for families that have suffered the loss of a child through miscarriage, the issue of funeral Masses and Masses of remembrance for such children came up. Soon after, our little Elena Grace came to my mind. I realized that because things happened so quickly and unexpectedly, we never had a Mass and burial for her. In fact, we didn’t even know it was a possibility at the time. The idea of finally, publicly acknowledging Elena’s precious life, speaking her name out loud for her brothers and sisters on earth to hear, and appealing to God on her behalf was powerful and healing.

So, a few weeks ago, I called the rectory at our parish and asked for the soonest available date for a Mass of remembrance for our Elena Grace. We were given May 12, Mother’s Day, and I will be serving that Mass and reading the Mass intention.

What a beautiful God-incidence. 

Thank you, Lord.

Elena, we look forward with great hope to seeing you again one day in Heaven.

We love you,

Mom and Dad