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Donna
MY MOTHER GIVING BIRTH TO ME
I have a friend who is a well-educated, unassuming person who had a successful dentistry career and worked at least 30 years before retiring. I expected a response to this question with something more profound than these six words. At first, I was surprised, even disappointed, but the more I pondered the response, I determined his answer to be intricate and beautifully perfect.
I am writing this a few days into the season when we celebrate the birth of Christ, the Savior of our world. He is my Redeemer, my Elder Brother, the Son of God, the Christ Child, the one with whom I hope to spend an eternal life.
I review the story of Mary being overcome by the Spirit and then Joseph being educated by the Spirit regarding his role as the adoptive father in the life of Christ. I remember the young couple journeying to Bethlehem to pay their taxes while Mary, “heavy with child,” rode a donkey’s back and found no room in the inn. I recall the innkeeper taking pity on the glorious mother-to-be and offering them shelter in a stable with a makeshift cradle used as the resting place for the Holy Child. This Holy One would be a gift to the world, and His birth is remembered every year, time immemorial.
This same Mary, the very mother of Christ, grieved at the foot of the cross, bearing her precious boy nailed to a cross by those who “knew not what they did.” Even though she knew his heritage and she knew he was the one with the power to deliver humankind from the sins of the world, she still wept with a mother’s heart, feeling the deepest of grief. This kind of grief is spent with the shedding of tears and sobs, wracking her body with physical pain.
Do any of us dare put ourselves in the same category as Mary? We bear our children just as she bore Jesus; we love our children just as she loved her boy. We worry about our children just as Mary nervously asks after her missing child, only to find him in the Temple teaching his elders. Many of us have shed tears mourning the loss of children. We have those things in common with Mary.
For every good gift, it is good manners to express appreciation to the giver. I hope all of us thank our Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son and that we thank Christ for His gift of selflessness. I hope we remember Christ’s mother and her example of love and charity. If we still have our mothers, we can tell them how much we appreciate their efforts in bringing us into this world and express our love.
After giving birth to my first child, I recall feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my mother. For now, I know exactly what she went through to bring my five siblings and me into this world. I felt a distinct impression to call her and tell her how much I appreciated and loved her for doing that. As I recall, she got a little choked up and barely squeaked out a “thank you” for my expression.
I realize that not everyone has been blessed with the most ideal circumstances in this world, and I am so sorry. It ought to be a given, but sadly, there are broken people worldwide. Suppose any of you are in that category. In that case, I hope you can identify with someone who makes positive differences in your life and let them know how appreciative you are for their influence in helping you cope with life’s trials. I also hope that all of us realize the influence we can have on others who may be struggling with what fate deals them. Let us look for ways to “mother” people, help them see their value, and encourage them to watch out for others. No matter how little we may have, we can share something, even if it is just our time and attention.
I have a new job. It’s pretty basic, nothing of any consequence, something many people could do. Why is this important to me? Why am I putting myself through the effort of qualifying for a job? Why do I want to put myself out there like this?
I’ve tried this a couple of times before in the last few years and struggle with the reality of considering that maybe I’m not good enough anymore. I have worked my entire lifetime. There were a few years where I felt I was needed more at home for my family, and I would stay home and do the homemaker thing, and for the most part, I enjoyed it. Even in those times, however, I found myself taking on the responsibilities being a PTA President, a Homeowners Association board member, an Avon lady, a welcome-basket person, a tour guide for some historical building, many things. I’ve never been comfortable staying home and making my home a castle. I’m always seeking some way to earn my keep. My parents instilled in me that everybody needs to work.
I retired from a job I liked in 2008. Lowell and I went on a mission to the Philippines, and I’ll never be sorry for that. I loved my job with Continental Airlines. It was part-time, I worked from home, my job had flexibility, and I used my flight benefits to see different parts of the world. I don’t fraternize and I’ve never been a “joiner” and though I knew many of my fellow employees, I didn’t have to deal with them on a personal level daily. It was an ideal situation for me.
Going on the mission and being with my husband 24/7 was an adjustment, and I managed it well. When we finished our task and returned to civilian life, it didn’t take long to find another way to use my time. I volunteered to give tours of the Church Conference Center in Salt Lake City and I enjoyed it. I took the train uptown, talked with people I didn’t know and came home. We decided to do another mission, and I enjoyed that experience as well. When we got home from that assignment, I started getting restless, and found a job with a hotel chain as a customer service agent working in a call center. I was thrilled and jumped in with both feet. A week into training, I knew I had made a huge mistake on many levels and for so many reasons. I didn’t have to work, and I found many excuses to say enough is enough. I walked away from training and never looked back, but it took a toll on me to face what I identified as an “inability to follow through” at this stage of my life.
We decided to move to southern Utah so Lowell could ride his precious motorcycle more than a few months out of the year, which is what happens when you live in an area with snowfall. He found a house he wanted to see, we went to St. George, and though we looked at other places, we bought the one he found on the internet. I enjoyed getting away from northern Utah and being by ourselves. I love the house and the neighborhood. It’s been fun putting everything together, and the quiet is well worth what it cost.
Today is my 58th anniversary of wedded bliss. My son asked me last night if we were still in love. I had to pause for a moment before I answered. It is not that I questioned my love for my husband, I just have always been a little confused I am thinking about the word “love.” I do not think I have ever felt that giddy feeling that many people identify with love. I used to worry a little bit about that, wondering if I had really experienced “love.” I have come to understand that for me love is not about being giddy with butterflies in my stomach. I identified myself as being a pragmatic some time back and I do not believe pragmatics feel that kind of love. I know I love my children and I love my husband. I have had many experiences I have loved. For me love is an emotion that is real and full of commitment and that is what I feel towards the man with whom I have spent over a half century. I am confident in his love for me, and I do not try to identify what that means for him. He tells me often enough of that love and more importantly he shows that love by his respect and devotion to our vows.
I hear of people who fall in and out of love. Those kinds of emotions temporarily fill a gap and like a sieve, the material filling the gap dissipates leaking through the fabric of lives having to be replenished with another stop gap filler.
My marriage has not been 58 years of “over the moon” happiness. We have had quarrels regarding finances, disciplining our children, in-law disagreements, major health issues, and personal preferences. We’ve had to deal with the emotional upheaval of losing a child. There were instances where either one of us considered throwing up our hands and looking for an effortless way out of a difficult circumstance. The thing that kept us together was our family and looking back I know we made the right decision. A lot of it involves a good understanding of the purpose of life and our view of the Plan of Salvation. On July 12, 1963, I do not think either of us saw our marriage in this light. We wanted to be married and live together in our little house at 260 North 1st Street in Tooele, Utah. Coming to terms with the commitment we made on that day was a lengthy process and looking back, I know we made the right decision.
We have four wonderful children, and they are a blessing to us. I wonder if they would be as well-adjusted, and thriving had we broke up our family in favor of our individual selfish 
desires. My husband is a good man. He has been faithful and true to me, a good provider for our family, and a faithful Priesthood holder. I respect and honor him, and I do love him. I have committed myself to him and I believe I have helped him become the man he is just as he has helped me to become the wife and mother and daughter of God that I am. I am proud of both of us. We promised across the altar 58 years ago to honor one another through it all and to raise a righteous family unto him and we are living up to that promise. I do not know how much longer we will be together here on this earth, but I do know that God has promised that our partnership will go on for eternity and I cannot imagine not having that relationship. 
In the Book of Mormon is an account of Alma, a great high priest and judge of the people of Nephi, and he is in a quandary and feeling great sorrow. He sees great iniquity among some of the people who lift themselves up with pride, despising others, turning their backs upon the needy and the naked and those who were hungry, thirsty, sick and afflicted. Alma decided to select a wise man named Nephihah from among the elders of the church giving him power to sit in the judgment seat as Chief Judge and govern the people. Alma decided to devote his time in the office of high priest over the church. He would preach the word of God stirring up their remembrance of duty. His goal was to pull down the pride and craftiness and all the contentions among his people doing so by bearing in “pure testimony” against them.
The term “pure testimony” struck me because it inferred something more than a simple testimony and so I set out to find my own “pure testimony.”
I was baptized at the age of nine at the suggestion of faithful home teachers who reminded my parents that it was time for me to take that step. Our family was not actively involved in worship, but our home teachers were always welcomed into our home and we children were called upon to be respectful and quiet during those visits. My baptism date was set and on that selected Saturday, my younger sister, Lorraine, and I walked to the church a couple of blocks away and I was baptized by an authorized Priesthood bearer. I did not fully understand why this was happening or the covenant I was undertaking at that time. My confirmation, the gift of the Holy Ghost, was scheduled for the following day in the regular weekly church meeting. Again, my sister and I walked to church unaccompanied to take care of this part of my baptism. I remember very clearly knowing with absolute sure knowledge that something very special had happened to me, but I couldn’t explain it to anyone. I didn’t want to describe it out loud because I was afraid it would somehow be lessened by anyone hearing it. I simply basked in what I felt and longed to have that feeling always. At some point I decided that what made it real was the fact that the priesthood bearers performing these ordinances were duly authorized by God. There was no other explanation to me except that simple truth.
Many years would go by, and I learned line by line and precept upon precept. I often recalled the sure knowledge of the reality of the Priesthood of God. I read the account of John the Baptist ordaining Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery to the Aaronic Priesthood in D&C 13 giving them the authorization to perform baptisms. Later, they were ordained to the higher Melchizedek priesthood with authorization to be apostles and special witnesses of God’s name and to bear the keys of their ministry and those things God revealed unto them. Because I had a sure knowledge of the reality of the power of this priesthood, it was logical to me that Joseph Smith was a latter-day prophet of God. He was instrumental in restoring the Gospel of Jesus Christ in these latter days and he translated the Book of Mormon as another witness of Jesus Christ, and he organized the Church of Christ today known as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The continuing enhancement of that organization is also logical to me because it is being directed by the priesthood of God and I have “pure testimony” of that.
The next part of my “pure testimony” comes many years later. I’ve written before about the life and illness of my daughter, Robyn. My faith was tested during this time and it’s interesting to me that the very foundation of my “pure testimony” was challenged. I didn’t understand how the blessing pronounced on her beautiful head could not be honored. It was a blessing given by more than one worthy priesthood holder and it’s pronouncement did not seem at all ambiguous to me. The words, “you will recover but the road will be long and hard” echoed in my brain, brought me comfort for the five years she fought her battle and helped her to face each challenge with a measure of positivity. Towards the end of her fight, I told the Lord that I didn’t understand what was happening and why the promised blessing did not appear to be clear. My “pure testimony” of the reality of the priesthood came to my mind and I bowed in submission to the Lord. I said, “I don’t understand with this human brain I have, but I’m confident that at some time when I’m not burdened with human frailties I will understand, and I’ll wait for that time Father.” Within minutes I heard those words as our, mine and Robyn’s, Heavenly Father telling her, “You will recover but the road will be long and hard.” Could it be that He is reminding both of us that her spirit will recover but the road to that recovery will be after the earthly body has suffered long and hard in the illness wreaking havoc on this vehicle, we call a body. I realized that we two are sister spirits and I the one honored to supply an earthly tabernacle for her stay here on this earth. It would be left behind and absorbed by its telestial residence, and her spirit would soar back to Paradise whole and healthy waiting for the rest of us.
The last part of my “pure testimony” came a few weeks after my daughter’s death. I found peace in knowing she no longer suffered. I even found acceptance in the fact that I had fulfilled some part of my purpose on this earth by providing her with the body she took much care to value throughout her 44 years on this earth. I felt satisfaction that I had fulfilled my role as a devoted and loving mother. I knew she was now fulfilling the next part of her eternal existence and that someday I will embrace her again. Still, I wondered about her and pleaded with my Heavenly Father for some assurance of her wellbeing. I also asked for some assurance that He knows me, and I told Him of my love for Him. Within seconds, I was filled with assurance of my daughter’s wellbeing and a complete and absolutely overwhelming assurance of love. I felt wrapped in the arms of complete love and I recall wanting that feeling to continue. I closed my eyes and maybe even gritted my teeth trying to hold on to whatever enveloped me as it gradually dissipated leaving me almost breathless returning to the reality of my surroundings.
My “pure testimony” is three pronged. The first prong is a pure testimony of the reality of the Priesthood of God. It is upon the earth and endowed to men who generally try very hard to be worthy of it and use it as God would intend. The second prong is that we are eternal beings having a temporary earthly experience that will end and free us to return to an eternal existence. The third prong is that God loves us, all the billions of people who have been born on the earth and however many more may have yet to be born. I don’t pretend to have a complete understanding and the capability of verbalizing how this all will end up. At some point the shackles of this temporal existence will be lifted and my brain will have complete understanding and it will all make sense. That is my “pure testimony.”
Yesterday was an anniversary of sorts. It’s been two years since my daughter left her mortal existence. It is my understanding that she is now waiting in Paradise. I hope her time spent there is more than just waiting. She spent her time on earth doing, not waiting. She may have taken a little bit of time getting used to having clarity of thought and full use of her limbs. I doubt it took too long before she was looking around and even asking, “what’s next?” I rather imagine she recognized some family members. She didn’t know many people who had gone before her, but I hope they had been alerted about her arrival and reminded her that though they hadn’t seen her since she was small, they knew her ‘way back when.’ I hope when that revelation was made, the memories were quickly revived, and she realized she was among family. Since she was very outgoing throughout her life, I rather imagine she smiled that beautiful smile and shared a memory she recalled, and I’ll bet she hugged them and squeezed extra tight because she was likely missing those she left behind. If tear ducts are still intact, I think she may have shed a tear or two and received comfort from her Grandmas and Grandpas. Grandpa Broadhead would remind her how she sat on his knee amazed with his skill in sticking out his dentures and quickly putting them back inside as her curious hands reached for them. Grandma Broadhead would remind her of how she rode her tricycle up and down their long driveway. Grandma Davis would recall how much she enjoyed hearing her play the piano and Grandpa Davis would introduce himself to her since she was born after his own demise. Brian’s grandparents would have been there to welcome her to the fold and remind her of the camping trips they had shared. There would probably be many other aunts, uncles, etc. who would nod to her and she would smile back at them searching her memory for tiny details of her relationship with them.
At some point she would meet our Savior, Jesus Christ, and she would instantly recognize him since when was a devoted follower throughout her lifetime. I think they would have enjoyed a long embrace as the older brother she loved. From a mortal standpoint, she left behind three big brothers. They all fought hard to keep her here with prayers and fasting. For whatever reason, it didn’t work. She also left behind a loving husband and five children. None of them wanted to be separated from her either. Nothing we did could keep her here. Her Dad and I have cried buckets of tears while saying, “God’s will be done.” That seems the best way to stay sane I’m thinking. My faith in seeing her again is based on HOPE.
I had a very vivid dream of her a couple of weeks after her passing and it left me with one truth. God loves me and understands my grief and my pain. I suppose I was hoping that I would have that experience regularly. It hasn’t happened again and that’s okay too. I think the Lord trusts that I can do this on my own. I’ve not had any more dreams of Robyn. I think about her every day and my eyes still mist as I grieve my loss. I look at her pictures, I think of her voice, I recall her laugh, I can smile at her goofy expressions. The good thing, I suppose, is that the time when I HOPE to see her again is fast approaching and I’m looking forward to that. I recall two years and a few months ago thinking, “I can’t live seeing her suffer like this.” Then I remember thinking, “I can’t live without her.” Now, I’ve done both and I’m surviving with memories.
You know, I love to do new things. When I think back on the seven decades of my life, I recognize a wanderlust that showed itself in multiple aspects of my life. Some of that attitude has admittedly been detrimental, but altogether I think my perspective of always looking for something else has been satisfying. I believe I have successfully embraced the life goal of gaining experience. I have my boundaries. For instance, I don’t care how exciting it may be to jump out of an airplane. I’ve already decided that it is an experience I don’t care to have. Admittedly, a birds-eye view of the world fascinates me, but I’m satisfied by enjoying drone type videos with a second-hand view of this beautiful world. I’ve always had an intense fear of the water and therefore have never learned to swim, but I thoroughly enjoy watching underwater videos.
I have met some great people throughout my life, and had I not been eager to explore the world outside my own four walls, that would not have happened. So, I’m glad that my life includes travel beyond the confines of my birth state or home state where I grew up. I’m delighted that I’ve been able to live in a third world country. It helped me to appreciate my life evermore. I’m glad I’ve been able to live thousands of miles from my family because it cemented in my heart the value of being close enough to see them and experience home life with them. I’m glad I’ve rubbed shoulders with people of varied ethnicities because it’s taught me that we are more alike than we are different.
I believe we are all here for a purpose, and part of that purpose is to gain experience. Some people, like me, may never experience the beauty of free flight or underwater beauty first hand. Others will not experience freedom from a tyrannical government or the comfort of a full stomach. There are too many beautiful people in this world who will never experience the freedom of travel because they are bound to a minimal area due to physical or mental disabilities. There are children born into abject poverty to families who can’t see any way out of that position, thus rearing their children to accept that fate. Some of those children will claw their way out of that stronghold. Others will become another cog in the clogging wheel of self- sufficiency demanding more and more of what they think they can’t earn for themselves. Of course, there are those born into life holding the proverbial silver spoon. Sometimes, they learn to do what they can to ease the burdens of others, grateful for their privileges. Many others become more greedy and look for ways to take advantage of and get gain.
I don’t know how much more time I have to gain experience. I heard recently that people in my age range refer to our life’s mistakes as experiences, and I suppose that may be true. I have had some experiences I certainly don’t want to repeat. Altogether, my life has been relatively easy. I’ve had things happen to me that I never want to relive. I’ve known people who were not kind. I’ve been in places to which I will not go back. I’ve trusted people I should not have believed.
On the other hand, I’ve experienced true love and real friendship. I’ve raised four people who are terrific and who positively contribute to humanity. I take great pride in knowing my contribution is good for the world. I’m comfortable and content right now, but I know I’m not finished with what I can experience in this world or with what I can contribute to this world. Life is fantastic and I’m thankful to be here. I’m grateful for my life as a citizen of the United States of America. This country is going through a metamorphosis right now. I hope we come out on top. I’m thankful to know I am a daughter of Heavenly Parents, and I am here as part of a bigger plan I will not fully understand until my passing. I’m thankful to have been born at a time where my life can experience technology. It makes me appreciate all the more those who have gone before me.
I stand in awe of and take off my proverbial hat to my pioneer ancestors for their sacrifices. I have a phone that allows me to talk to my loved ones literally with the touch of a button, and I can even see them on the screen while doing so. I learned to type on a manual typewriter, so I am thankful for the smooth touch of a keyboard. I can make my thoughts appear within microseconds on a screen and then go back and correct my mistakes using an automated system that points out grammatical and spelling errors. I remember the days when I typed things using multiple carbon copies. If I made a mistake, I had to either start over or try to erase those mistakes with weird little erasers or a correction fluid that never really did the job satisfactorily. There are so many things I could list that are better now, so instead, I’ll say I like it here, and I love life as it is now, and I hope I can make the most of my limited scope of influence in my remaining years.
The world is changing, and I’m not so sure I like where it’s going, or it is now. I don’t belong here anymore. I don’t understand why people are mean or why we’re losing hope and purpose. Maybe everyone doesn’t feel like I do, but I’ll be selfish for a little while and talk about myself and worry about myself and try to figure out how I’m supposed to survive in a world that I’ve outgrown. How does that happen? How can a person outgrow the world, I wonder.
With the able and capable help of my husband, we have raised four children. Raising them was sometimes challenging, but not without the ultimate reward of seeing them grown and being contributing members of society doing their best to raise their own families. They have educated themselves, are taking care of themselves, and have a loving interest in us, their parents. As my children grew up, I never experienced blatant disrespect from them. I don’t know how we managed to instill that as a given, but never did any of them make me feel threatened. I think there were times when I felt they didn’t fully appreciate what we were trying to do for them.
I’ve written about my grandchildren and how much I love them and how great it is to have that arms-length attitude regarding their discipline. It is their parents’ job, and I don’t feel the same responsibility in that area. It has been a freeing feeling, and until recently, I’ve been satisfied with the arrangement. An event causing me extreme grief has prompted me to write this. Honestly, except for my husband’s ill health, I would like to move to some foreign country and exchange letters every so often with family members at home. Those letters would keep me in the loop about family accomplishments and sheltered somewhat from the “issues.”
I have a granddaughter who, at the age of 18, found herself pregnant without the benefit of being married. She was with a young man where the two of them were abusing drugs and living together. To her credit, when she realized she was pregnant, she moved away from him back to her parents’ home and got cleaned up to provide her child with a healthy body. I wasn’t happy when I first heard the news of her pregnancy for many reasons. It certainly wasn’t what I envisioned as my experience as a first time great grandmother. I told her I wasn’t happy with her, and she returned with hostility for a time. Eventually, because I continued to beg forgiveness, she allowed me back into her life, and we enjoyed a good relationship. My great-granddaughter was born that summer, and I became her Grammy. That little girl is now two years old and a great delight to the whole family. When this little girl was about six months old, her mother quickly met and married a man who turned out to be not what he portrayed himself to be. The marriage lasted a couple of months and was annulled or divorced (I don’t know which) a short time later. Last week, my granddaughter announced without a shred of shame that she would be adding to her family another child this spring.
When she sent me a text message with her daughter proudly showing the ultrasound and happily noting the happiness they share with this news, I responded with, “I have no comment.” My granddaughter responded, saying something like, that’s okay. I’ll love and adore you anyway. I hope you can someday celebrate with us because we are happy about it. To say that things went downhill from there is an understatement. She said that babies are always gifts from God and a great blessing and that I needed to understand that. I responded with an agreement about babies being blessings from God. I also felt that her inability to provide for her children entirely was about what I had an issue. She reminded me that she wasn’t asking me for anything regarding the rearing of her children. First of all, up until a few weeks ago, she was living with her parents. Her parents have downsized their home, and she and her twin sister would need to find their own dwelling since they are both 21 years old now. They found a place which I applaud. They need to be on their own. I hope it lasts. They tried moving out once before, and it wasn’t long before they were back on their parent’s doorstep.
Anyway, my granddaughter has talked to me about the state assistance she has been able to get to help her as a single mother. I suggested that unless she was totally on her own without government assistance, she is not independent. That’s when all hell broke loose. She proceeded to call me some very vulgar names, refer to me by my first name rather than Grandma, and accuse me of being petty and immature. I’m still trying to figure out those two observations. I’m pretty sure that I’m the only one in the family who has dared to tell her that she is reckless and irresponsible. Frankly, I don’t understand the rest of the family, leaving her with the idea that what she is doing is perfectly okay. I didn’t tell her this, but I’ll say it here. I’m very ashamed of her, and I feel she is blighting our family name.
The issue didn’t end there. A couple of months after all this went down, my other twin granddaughter, for whatever the reason, decided to enter the fray, perhaps in defense of her sister. In a post to our family Facebook page, she tried to benefit me with her wisdom by telling me that there were hurtful things said on both sides and that I needed to not be so judgmental and take some responsibility for the situation. I was livid that she had inserted herself into the problem and that she chose to publicize it. I sent her a personal message telling her that my opinion had been voiced and I stood behind it. I reiterated that both girls need to conduct their lives in better ways and that I felt neither of them were being respectful of their elders. There was so much more being written back and forth, but the end result was that this 21 year old girl, my namesake, one of a pair I’ve been extremely close to said, that I must give respect if I expected to get respect.
I never called either young woman any names. I simply said, I felt the one now expecting her second child out of wedlock was being reckless and irresponsible in her life decisions. Her response was, “I’m choosing my own life.” And, I called the second girl out for her disrespectful behavior on more than one occasion. However, both girls referred to me as a bitch and a mother-****ing old hag. I was shocked to know these girls used that kind of language at all but to have those words directed at me was absolutely devastating.
I sent a note at Christmas time suggesting to both girls that we let bygones be bygones and do a reset of our relationships. The expectant mother sent me a message agreeing with my proposal and sent me a friend request indicating I had been unblocked from her social media page. The other twin has yet to make contact.
I am not a contemporary of any of my grandchildren or even my children. I am a 77-year-old woman, their grandmother and have lived a long life taking care of my family and myself. I’ve almost always had a job outside the confines of my home and I’ve been a good citizen and a good friend to others. If, for no other reason than that, I have earned respect and most assuredly respect from my grandchildren ought to be a given.
The world I live in is new to me. People have no problem moving in with one another and living as a couple without the benefit of marriage. No one even gasps anymore because we don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Accusations fly about being judgmental because there are no rules. .In my opinion that word “judgmental” is used to distract from the issue at hand. People have multiple sex partners throughout a lifetime, and no one expects virginity before marriage or fidelity afterward. People fall in and out of love as quickly as turning on and off a light switch. Is faithfulness in relationships old fashioned and maybe even impossible?
Have you ever wanted to become a hermit? Have you ever considered withdrawing from society and becoming that unknown hidden island, a no-man’s island? Have you ever wondered, “How much longer is the Lord going to allow humankind to evolve into rude, insensitive people?
I have a rather interesting conundrum. I am an Activity Day Leader in my ward. It’s a calling that I’ve actually yearned for for at least ten years. About five years ago, I was asked to be an Activity Day Leader in my old ward before we moved to our present home. I was excited for it, but I must admit that when I went to the first activity where I was one of about five activity leaders, I felt very overwhelmed and it hit me smack in the face that I’m “old.” The other women in this group were young mothers, full of enthusiasm, very energetic. The little girls were drawn to this energy and my natural inclination to feel “not quite up to par” quickly put me on the outside looking in. That was the only meeting I attended because I got a call from my daughter alerting me to a health emergency she learned of. I quickly packed my things and left to be with her. Fast forward to a year ago. Again, I was asked to be Activity Day Leader. I took it as a sign that the Lord knew it to be a calling I wanted and wanted to reward me with it because of the five years I had spent serving my daughter as her illness progressed to that of being life threatening. I explained that I still felt that I needed to help her and her family as much as I could and they told me to do what I needed to do and they would work with me as necessary. My daughter passed away within weeks of that conversation and I returned to my home trying very hard to live a normal life and enjoying my family. I’ve done just that. It’s only been days since I’ve thought how nicely things are going right now. I miss my daughter very much and still have days where I cry. I still get angry at the injustice and fairness of it all and I still throw up my hands at the fact that, “There’s not a damn thing I can do about it.” It’s so interesting to me that there can be so many good things going on around me and then one thing happens and I feel hopeless. Why does that one thing have so much power over my attitude.
I planned an activity for the two little girls in my group where the girls designed tee-shirts with the logo of our Activity Day Theme for the year. They were excited and spent the better part of a week collaborating for a design. They came up with something similar to the printed logo in all of our handouts and they loved it. The mom of one of the girls is also our Primary President. She’s a very busy young woman with a family, a full-time job and is a talented photographer with a side business as well. Her daughter had worn a tee-shirt to our activity and the girl mentioned that her Mom had made the shirt using a machine she had. I decided to ask her mom if she would help me finish up the shirts. Originally, I had bought fabric markers and was going to have the girls use them to make their logos themselves. I realized the results would be much nicer if we used the techniques so obvious in the little girl’s shirt done by her mother. That mom agreed and on the appointed day she brought her machine and helped the girls through the entire process. I was very grateful for her and the girls were ecstatic with the results. The mom took pictures of the girls and posted it on a group site of other activity day leaders through Facebook. We had several members give thumbs up approval and make positive comments about the shirts. Except for one “right fighter or what I refer to as a Pharisee.” This person took it upon herself to point out that the shirts were nice, but did we realize the theme we put on the shirts was not the Primary Theme but the Youth Theme. She went on to make another post regarding what she termed as a general misunderstanding in the church regarding the difference between the two themes and instructions that we needed to use the program as it has been structured rather than the misuse she has so ably sees for herself. I answered her comment by saying, “Thank you for setting me straight. However, the principle is good for all of us.” Several people “liked” my comment. I thought that was the end of it, but the moderator of this group deleted all of the “complainers” comments and posted that according to instructions from church headquarters we were free to use any part of the theme and the logos we wanted to use and anyone making negative comments and trying to make others feel badly about their choices would have those comments removed by the moderators.
Several days went by and it occurred to me as I looked at the ideas posted continuously by members of this group how blessed we all are with these resources. I posted a paragraph expressing my gratitude and how thankful I am for the great ideas. That post got over one hundred likes and at least a dozen positive comments. I came away feeling great. Now for what brought me down.
I went to the drug store yesterday to pick up some medicine for my husband. I was in a bit of a hurry because I needed to pick up my grandson from school too. Walgreen has moved their check-out counter slightly and so I was a little confused by that, but saw where I needed to enter to become a part of a rather long line, about three people ahead of me. As I waited, there was a display to the side that caught my attention and I picked up a box to look at it. I put it down and realized that an old man who had been behind me had stepped into my place. I stood there for a minute contemplating the situation and decided to reclaim my spot so I stepped back into the line where I had been. He said to me, “I guess you didn’t know that I had been waiting in line before you. (I can only assume now he may have been confused about where the line formed and had re-positioned himself in the real line upon realizing his gaffe.) I might have given up my place to him except for the next sentence out of his mouth. He went on to say, “If you moved that fast all the time you might lose some weight.” With that statement, I hunkered in and decided he wouldn’t get my place no matter what. By now, the line had become longer and Walgreen decided to open another check-stand. As it happened the checkstand they opened was directly in front of me. The old man behind me immediately put his purchases upon the counter and the checker reached for them. I said, “I am first” and I replaced his things with mine. The checker looked at the old man who humphed and hawed. She rang up my three items, I paid for them and left. I never said another word to the old man. However, since that time I’ve come up with all kinds of comebacks I should have said.
I could have looked down at him and said, “You know, if you walked a little more, maybe you wouldn’t have to make do with the speed of a turtle. Also, if you wore stilts, you would be the size of an average man. You’re very short, have you tried heel lifts? Is that box of chocolates a Valentine gift because if it is, you probably ought to do better than that for your boyfriend. And also, I can lose weight if I want to, but what can you do about being ugly?” Oh yes, I can be vicious if I put my mind to it.
The point is, how is it that one person who spoke an inappropriate few words to me out of the hundred who voiced support of my positive mindedness can make me feel bad enough that I become as ugly as I view him. Why should I care what he says? He is nobody to me. I don’t even know him. I saw a post today on Facebook, one of those cheer up sort of posts. It said to remember that people who say mean things are not happy with themselves and that’s why they try to make others feel badly. In other words, “misery loves company.” All I need to do is to stop thinking about it and realize that what he said or how he acted has no value.
My daughter has been gone now for 17 months. Those months have passed much quicker than the time it took my sweet girl to get through her horrible last days. Those seemed to drag by as I watched her cling tenaciously to life, hoping for the miracle we all thought and were sure she deserved. Since then, I’ve realized that I have a massive regret in dealing with her last year, more particularly her previous six months of life. I thought at the time that we were doing everything right, so there would be no regrets. But I realize now that I have regrets. Regrets that gnaw away at my conscience. I’m glad I was able to be with her in those months before her death on a full-time basis, no regrets. I’m happy she felt well enough for us to go Christmas shopping and afterward to stop for a sandwich and just talking without mentioning doctor appointments or test results. I’m glad for the afternoons where we enjoyed a television movie or sending a Marco Polo to the family back in Utah. No regrets there either.
I’m glad for the afternoon where she felt like baking her special rolls for the family, no regrets there. I’m pleased for the neighborhood strolls she felt like doing in the weeks before her confinement, almost no regrets there. I put a qualifier there because she fell a couple of times and was very frustrated about her body, failing her in such a simple task. My regret, you wonder, we never talked about death. We both avoided that subject because to do so would have shown lack of faith, and if we did that, we wouldn’t be able to count on the miracle. I wish we could have talked about what it might be like in Paradise and who she might expect to see first. I wish we had talked about what that next step might be like and things she might like to do when she got there. I wish we could have looked at each other in the eye and said, “I’ll miss you very much, and I love you more than words can tell.” As it is, she spent the last minutes of clarity professing her belief in a miracle, and I assured her she had passed the test, and I too still waited for the miracle.
Ideally, I want to die in my sleep. I hope I’ll be found slumbering peacefully with a stilled heart and lungs. If that is not my fate and I know beforehand my passing is imminent, I want to spend those months, weeks, days, hours telling others how much I will miss them and will look forward to hugging them as they follow me to wherever we all go. I want to thank people for making my life one of comfort and joy and assure them they are of value to me during my earthly sojourn. I want to listen to beautiful music and look at favorite pictures where experience is forever captured through the lens of a camera. I want to enjoy my family and friends as they recount stories about what it was like to be underwater or fall from an airplane down to earth or scale a mountain or hike a canyon or climb a tree or be in a parade or meet someone famous. I want to feel the comforting presence of spirits I hope will be nearby to take me home. I want to know they are there. I want to talk about death and what that experience will entail.
Life is surreal, I can’t help but think that the death experience is also amazing. It’s something we must experience individually. Second-hand experiences won’t do it justice.
I failed my little girl because I did not accept her imminent death. I could have done a much better job in helping her pass through that veil with less fear. Instead, I clung to the hope of a miracle. In analyzing it now, all of us were in a Catch 22 if ever there was one. Our miracle would require faith. The lack thereof would make the miracle null and void. But by never embracing the wonder and reality of death, we did not allow her to experience that part of life or allow ourselves the freeing power of that discussion. That doesn’t seem to make sense, does it?
There’s nothing I can do about it now. Someday I’ll see my Robbie Dean again and undoubtedly we’ll have a conversation about that part of both our lives. I hope we can take comfort in the fact that we were both doing what we thought we should do. This earth life is but an ink spot in the eternal destiny of our souls.