My parents hardly ever talked about one of my brothers. As far as I knew, my parents had five sons (and no daughters until daughters-in-law and granddaughters came along). I remember Mom once telling me that between my birth and the birth of my brother three years later, she carried to full term a baby boy who was stillborn. I was too young to comprehend the kind of pain Mom and Dad must have experienced as the result of this trial.

Once as a teenager I asked Mom where the stillborn child was buried. She replied that back in those days nobody did anything like that. The child's body was treated as biowaste. No name or other information was recorded. It was as if the child never happened. I still don't know the date, or even the year of this event. I couldn't understand Mom's seemingly deliberate vagueness surrounding this child until I had my own kids and grasped in some small way the emotional pain Mom still felt.

Nearly a year after Dad's stroke, he ended up in the intensive care unit when the antibiotic prescribed by his dentist caused a bowel perforation because Dad was also taking blood thinners. Dad wasn't terribly coherent during the first couple of days in the hospital. When he did become more lucid, he kept telling hospital workers that he and Mom had six sons. My brother showed Dad a family photo with only five sons. Dad was befuddled. He was absolutely certain that he had six sons.

Some years later, Mom confided in me that she had very much appreciated my brother and sister-in-law naming their younger son Matthew. She explained that this was the name she and Dad had picked out for the baby that didn't survive. That was news to me, although I was in my sixth decade of life by then.

Mom spent the last 2½ years of her life in a small eldercare facility near our home. Although this was a nice facility with caring staff, it was hard to watch Mom decline physically and mentally as she aged and suffered a long series of brain "microbleeds" and small strokes for which the medical industry could do nothing.

A few weeks before Mom's passing last autumn, I gave Mom a priesthood blessing following yet another small stroke that had left her a little more impaired than before. Suddenly I knew Dad was in the room with us. His presence was strong throughout the blessing. It is difficult to describe this to someone who hasn't had such an experience. I couldn't see Dad, but there is absolutely no question that he was personally present. I felt comforted and I know Mom did too.

But that wasn't the end of it. Over the next two days, I sensed Dad's presence about eight or nine times. Each episode left me feeling uplifted. I gathered that these visits were part of the preparations for Mom passing through the veil. But there seemed to be something more. Otherwise, why would Dad keep visiting?

Finally one morning when I again felt Dad in the room, it dawned on me that maybe I should ask whether he had a message for me. As soon as I asked, the words forcefully blasted into my mind, "I love my wife! I love my wife! I love my wife!" Having been raised a stoic northern German under Hitler's reign, Dad could be stiff and curt with Mom and us kids. But in this instance I felt a love that is as wide and as deep as eternity, laced with a tenderness that I can't describe in human terms.

Suddenly I felt Dad's words cheerily come into my mind saying, "I am here with your brother Matthew." I then sensed a pure being of magnificent brightness. He felt ... familiar. I realized that this person had ministered to me and my family many times in the past. In fact, I sensed that ministering to his siblings and their families was one of his chief duties. I asked whether Matthew's information should be put on our family history records and was told that this was not necessary.

Not long after that, we visited Mom at the care facility one day and found her unusually lucid. I told Mom about this experience and asked what she thought. She pondered a bit before her facial expression became quite pleasant. Then she said, "I think that's right."

I didn't feel Dad's presence like that again until my brother, my nephew, and I gave Mom a blessing a few hours before she passed away. We sensed many other loved ones from beyond the veil as well. It was a very tender moment.

The doctrine surrounding stillborn children is undefined. Perhaps that's because there is a great deal of variability and uniqueness among the cases. So, while I can't say anything about other stillborn children, I can say is that my brother Matthew is very much active in the spirit world. I'm grateful that he ministers to my family and I look forward to someday meeting him in a setting where we can more fully interact.
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