Latter-day Dads
A Father’s Blessing for Our Struggling Infant
The author lives in Utah, USA.
Our newborn son would not live long, but we knew our connection with him could continue forever.
Photograph posed by model
Many years ago, my family happily awaited the birth of our son, Randolph “Ray” Gibson. But a routine ultrasound produced a sledgehammer to our hearts.
Ray was diagnosed with hypoplastic left heart syndrome (HLHS), which is a condition where the left side of the heart does not develop properly. Blood cannot circulate for the heart to function, and it is often fatal for the infant.
As our family processed this diagnosis, our friends and family offered prayers for us, family fasts, and outpourings of love and concern. We remained hopeful. Nevertheless, a follow-up test brought more discouraging news: Ray’s HLHS was extremely severe.
Compassionate medical professionals discussed our options with us. To terminate the pregnancy was not a decision we would consider. But we had to balance a wish for our son to live—however faint the odds—against pain he would suffer from attempts to repair his heart. Efforts to keep Ray alive would likely lead to a lifetime of suffering and to death at a very young age.
My wife, Kati, and I prayerfully made a very hard decision. We would greet our son into this world, keep him comfortable, and allow him to die peacefully. Our commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ and our belief in the plan of salvation helped us make this choice. It was not easy watching our son grow in the womb, knowing his death would occur after birth. We also worried how our two-year-old would deal with meeting a baby brother and then attending his funeral a week later.
We were strengthened by the Lord’s declaration that “little children are holy, being sanctified through the atonement of Jesus Christ” (Doctrine and Covenants 74:7).
Kati and I can attest that the year in which we awaited Ray’s arrival helped us understand the true meaning of a husband and wife cleaving to each other (see Genesis 2:24 and Doctrine and Covenants 42:22). We clung to one another, allowing our love and trust to help us endure. We poured our hearts out to God, asking for strength to go on and to bless our family through this ordeal. Our marriage grew stronger.
Before Ray was born, we found out he was breech. The doctors worried that he would not survive the strain of normal birth, so they performed a C-section delivery. Minutes after the birth, I, along with my bishop and several others, gave Ray a priesthood blessing outside the operating room. During this chaotic, traumatic situation, I uttered several sentences and finished “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Ray was then washed, bundled, and taken to his family in the hospital room.
For comfort, I tried to recall the words of the blessing, but I couldn’t.
Ray lived for 24 hours and 16 minutes. Family and friends filled the hospital room during the day, holding Ray and loving him. It was a surreal experience—the only day we would have with our son. I treasured holding him, kissing him, and changing his diapers.
The next morning our son died. We held him and loved him fiercely in his final hour.
A week later, I desperately wanted to remember the blessing. So much had happened. The blessing lasted only a few minutes, but I could not recall the words I had uttered that morning.
I got on my knees and asked for a miracle, even though I didn’t know if one would come. After the prayer, I grabbed a pencil, and then the words of the blessing flowed into my mind.
This experience reinforced my faith that the veil between life and the afterlife is thin and that we can stay connected with family members no longer with us.
I had witnessed a miracle. I know my son played an integral part in that miracle.
My wife and I are still comforted by the promise found in Romans: 8:18: “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”