The Period of Mourning Is Officially Over

Sunday night I was feeling particularly sad and missing Mom a lot.  It had actually been a rough day for both Jonah and me.  He had been thinking about his dad a lot and I had been dwelling on my mom. 

Jonah had gone to work and I decided to listen to some choral music.  I found a playlist on Spotify and started listening.  The second song was one I had never heard before based on a poem I was not familiar with.

Here are the lyrics:

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of far-off birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
Lacrymosa, dies illa (That sorrowful day)
I am in ev’ry flower that blooms,
I am in still and empty rooms.
I am the child that yearns to sing:
I am in each lovely thing
.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I did not die."

As I heard these words I felt Mom's presence very clearly, and the message she had to give me was simple and direct: "Stop mourning!"

I felt her spirit say to mine, "It's okay that you miss me; it's even good that you miss me.  It's okay that you cry because you miss me.  It's okay that you're sad sometimes.  But you don't have to be sad, you don't have to miss me, and you don't have to cry because I'm right here.  I have never left.  I am still with you, so there's no need to mourn anymore."

I felt no judgment from her, and I also felt that it was my choice to continue to grieve or not, but that she was simply telling me I didn't have to anymore; that if I was grieving for me, that was my choice, but if I was grieving for her, it isn't necessary.

Part of the reason I get sad about Mom (aside from the fact that I just miss her incredibly) is that I never want her to forget how much I love and miss her.  She was essentially telling me she already knows, nor is she gone, so it's not necessary for me to be sad.

Little things trigger my emotions.  On Saturday I was thinking of going to Wells Fargo to deposit a check, and for some reason I started thinking about the branch my mom banked with in Utah and how the tellers were all so friendly with her and new her by name and appearance and I wondered if any of the "regulars" she had seen in there ever wondered where she was or if they missed seeing her, and it made me sad.  It was a weird chain of thoughts, but it just made me miss the way things once were.

When I researched the poem the song was based on, I found this on Wikipedia:

[Mary Elizabeth] Frye, who was living in Baltimore at the time, wrote the poem in 1932. She had never written any poetry, but the plight of a young German Jewish woman, Margaret Schwarzkopf, who was staying with her and her husband, inspired the poem. Margaret Schwarzkopf had been concerned about her mother, who was ill in Germany, but she had been warned not to return home because of increasing anti-Semitic unrest. When her mother died, the heartbroken young woman told Frye that she never had the chance to 'stand by my mother’s grave and shed a tear'. Frye found herself composing a piece of verse on a brown paper shopping bag. Later she said that the words 'just came to her' and expressed what she felt about life and death.

I completely agree with Frye's assessment on life and death: Mom is actually here with me.  There is no need to weep over her loss because I haven't actually lost her at all.  While I can't see and talk to her in the same way I could when she was in her physical body, I can see talk to her and hear and feel her if I pay attention.  I can still "see" her in many, many different ways.  This knowledge is of great comfort to me, and I believe it.  As we approach the first anniversary of Mom leaving her mortal body, I am choosing not to mourn and grieve, for she is not gone at all.  I'm sure there will be moments when I forget that and become sad. but I am actively reminding myself that she is still right here with me.

A Visit From Mom

Sunday night I'm pretty certain Mom paid me a visit.  Jonah and I had gone to see a production of Cabaret and then I dropped him off at work and went back home.  I re-watched the last two episodes of "Lost" again because I find them moving, particularly the last episode. 

As I've mentioned before, the show deals with themes of life and death and what happens to us when we die and the legacy we leave behind.  These thoughts have been on my mind lately and I thought re-watching these episodes could help reinforce some of the ideas I've been thinking about.

As I watched the last episode, I thought about how wonderful it will be to be reunited with those who have gone before us.  And I felt her.  I felt Mom was there with me.

I went into the backyard into our beautiful garden.  The weather was cooler with a light breeze.  And I felt her there with me, and I talked with her.

I went back in the house.  It was almost time to pick Jonah up from work.  I played a song on the piano called "And I Love You So."  I've talked about this before where I played the song and then the same song played in my car just minutes later.  Well, the same thing happened again.  I was playing the song on the piano and singing, and I felt like Mom, much as she had done so in mortal life, was sitting nearby or leaning over me listening to me perform.

When I got in the car to go pick up Jonah, the very same song started playing, and I just started laughing because I was sure Mom was with me.

But here's another interesting thing.  The next day I received this random message from a Facebook friend.  We're friends, although not super close, and I have not heard from her in some time.  This is what she wrote:

Hi, [Cody]!  This may sound really strange, but last night a vision popped in my head of you when you were little standing with your mom outside in front of a little red wagon (like a radio flyer.)  Then you now, with her hand on your knee...almost like saying she's with you.  I felt like I needed to share this with you...hope you don't think I'm nuts.

I replied:

I don't think you're nuts at all.  I actually am quite certain my mom visited me last night, so this is a pleasant confirmation.  [Then I related what I've previously written above]  I think your vision is just extra confirmation of [all that I've related].

I don't believe in coincidences.  Thank you so much for sharing.

She wrote back:

O gooodie [Cody]!!!!  I'm so glad!  It was definitely your mama!

There are no coincidences, I'm glad you felt her last night!

Thank you for confirming what I felt was real...this has helped me trust that all my hard work on raising my consciousness is not in vain...& to trust it.

Thank you!  I hope all is wonderful with you!

Others may believe as they wish, but I feel certain Mom visited me.  At the very least, I'd like to think so.  It gives me comfort and certainly doesn't seem beyond the realm of possibility.

I'm glad my friend followed her instincts and shared her experience with me.

Remembering Pam (Feeling Homesick)

A few days ago one of my mom's best friends passed away.  Her name was Pam and I had known her as long as I can remember.  Mom and Pam were particularly close in the late 80s and through the 90s.  They were still friends after that, but Pam gradually kind of disappeared from view over the last few years.  I know she had health problems and she stopped going to church, and I felt like her and Mom lost touch even though they both lived in the same neighborhood.  I felt like Pam, for whatever reasons, became a bit of a recluse.  We saw her occasionally, but it wasn't the same.

The last time I remember seeing Pam was probably three years ago.  Mom and I went to one of our favorite restaurants at the time, Jumbo Buffet, and Pam was there with her son.  We chatted and it was all friendly, but Pam seemed distant...different, somehow.  Mom was showing signs of dementia then, although she was still doing okay.

Pam and Mom used to take walks every day in their neighborhood.  It was a ritual for both of them for quite some time, and I know both ladies enjoyed their friendship and talks very much.  I always felt a little sad that Pam kind of withdrew.

I understand that she even kind of withdrew from her family somewhat as well.  Evidently no one in her family, including those that lived with her, knew how sick Pam was until very close to the end.  She apparently didn't share that information with her family for whatever reason.  She also chose not to go to the hospital or a care facility and died at home, from what I understand.  I can respect that, but I also wonder if those who loved her most felt cheated at all.

I actually don't know what was going on in Pam's life these last few years.  As I said, in her later years she didn't seem the same to me.

I'm glad Pam and Mom are reunited again and I hope they are taking many "walks" together, wherever they may be.

I'm been thinking a lot about death lately.  A lot.

It's funny, as I get older I think about my own mortality and, obviously, the older one gets, the more death one experiences.  It's natural to lose people you've known and loved as you progress in age.  I think Mom's death, Pam's death, Jonah's dad's death, the deaths of some people in Mom's old ward, Harold's death, and the impending death of my friend, Anne have really put death on my mind this past year.

Another friend's longtime dog passed away, and my other friend's brother just died from cancer.

And as I get older, I feel my body slowly falling apart.  I'm only 43, but my hips and knees and back and neck and feet ache.  I get winded more easily.  I can't as easily do things as I could in my twenties or thirties.  I don't see or hear as I did ten or twenty years ago.  I know I'm getting older.  And I know things will just continue to deteriorate.  That's just part of mortality.

I've talked about death before (here and here, for example).  It's not something I find depressing or scary.  It just is.  It's a part of this journey we call life and every one of us will experience it eventually.  But it is sometimes hard to be separated from people you care about or love or see others go through the same thing.

I think about Jonah and me.  One of us is going to go first (unless we somehow die together, but that isn't as likely a scenario), and it's going to be very painful for whoever is left behind.  I think about my poor mom, who had to wait 21 years to be reunited with my father or my grandma, who had to wait almost as long to be reunited with my grandpa.  I think about another friend who lost his wife shortly after Mom died and how much he misses her and misses her.

Recently I finished re-watching "Lost" and one of the themes of the show deals with death and what happens to us in the afterlife.  I am convinced that the afterlife will be a great and wonderful place where we will be able to have continuing relationships with those who have gone before us.

It's weird, but sometimes I think I get "homesick" for my heavenly home.  Sometimes when I watch the news and hear about wars and crime and the terrible things human beings do to one another, I long for a place filled with peace and love and kindness, which is what I think heaven will be like.

Don't get me wrong; I don't wish for death.  Not at all.  I like my life and it has been and continues to be a happy one.  I recently wrote on Facebook:

"I was thinking about it today: I have had a great life thus far. Sure, it's had its share of trials and disappointments, but I honestly wouldn't change a thing (except maybe quitting piano lessons when I was 10). Every moment I've had in life, both good and bad, has brought me to the person I am now, and I like who I am and the life I lead. If I died today (which I hope is not the case) I could look back on the life I had and be very satisfied with how it turned out."

I think how wonderful it will be to see Mom and Dad again and my friend, Melanie, and Marlyse and my grandmas and grandpas and aunt and neighbors from the ward and Jonah's dad, etc.  But it also saddens me that those left behind continue to grieve, even if it's only for a relatively short season.

I'm quite convinced that Mom visited me this evening.  It was a feeling, but a very strong one.  I'm glad she reminds me she's still around.  Sometimes I need it.  I am quite certain our departed loved ones are not far off at all.

I recently read a book called The Afterlife of Billy Fingers, which I briefly talked about in this post.  It reminded me of something that has really been solidifying itself in my brain: I am more and more convinced that the essential purposes of life are to learn and to love.  If we are doing those two things, we are living successfully.  I don't believe that the kind of judgments we cast on one another (and ourselves) in this life exist so much in the hereafter.  I recently came across this quote by Ram Dass:

"When you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You appreciate it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don...’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree. The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying ‘You’re too this, or I’m too this.’ That judging mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are."

Many near death experiences I've ever read about describe an indescribable love and the experience of not feeling judged.  I think this life is a school of learning whatever lessons we're here to learn and a place to learn what love is and how to give and receive it in great abundance.

Actually, we don't need to learn to love.  We already know what that is from the pre-existence.  We're here to be reminded of the love we already know.

I would like to experience a life of pure, unfiltered love.  The world would be so much better if we just loved without judgment, if we could really understand each others' hearts purely and totally.  I long for that.

As for me, I try (and sometimes fail) to be as good and as loving a person as I know how to be.  I hope whenever my time comes that I will be remembered as someone who brought love and positivity into this world we all share.

Cancer Sure Knocked The Wind Out Of My Sails

On my break at work last night I received some very sad news: a dear friend of mine [let's call her Anne], one of the greatest people I have ever known, has pancreatic cancer and has probably less than two months to live.  I have wrote in the past that death is just a part of life, and I still believe that, but man, this one bites.  This also comes on the heels of a childhood friend's dad dying and two friends who have lost dogs they've had for many, many years. 

The friend who informed me of Anne's cancer told me she's too weak to let everyone know, so she asked him to tell various friends, including me.  I'm glad he did.

He said I should write her a letter, and I felt like I should.  This is, in part, what I wrote:

My Dearest [Anne] (and you are very dear to me indeed),

You can imagine the shock I must have felt when [our mutual friend] told me you had pancreatic cancer and would not be pursuing treatment for it.  It was as if someone told me the sun would stop shining soon or air would no longer be available to breathe.  That may sound a bit hyperbolic, but it is how I feel. 

I don’t know how much time you have left, but I can’t imagine it is relatively much, so I wanted to get this letter off to you as soon as I could to just remind you how much you have meant to me.  I know you know I love and adore you, but I hope you know that meeting and knowing you has been one of the great privileges of my life.  I know our friendship may not be as close or as long as some of your other relationships, but since I met you, my life has been richer for it as I know it must be for anyone who knows and loves you.

You are truly one of the kindest and most generous souls I have met during my sojourn on this planet.  If I may say so, you are pure light.  You’re the kind of person who, when you walk in a room, fills that room with light and joy and effervescence and makes anyone else in the room feel more buoyant and happy.  You’re the kind of person people just want to be around because you have such an optimism of spirit.  You are good, and in a world that often has a lot of unpleasantness, you are truly a breath of fresh air.

I remember when I first met you...  I immediately adored you...

I remember you and [Rick (Anne's husband)] inviting us into your home and it was such a wonderful time.  I remember...you and Mark sharing with us your memorabilia from your days on Broadway.  But mostly, I just remember feeling the love, laughter, and friendship in that room.

I remember your coming to see Little Shop of Horrors, I think it was.  It was such a joy to see you again.  And I’ve enjoyed the brief contacts we’ve had via email since then.

Knowing you, I imagine you are at peace with where you are in life and the circumstances in which you now find yourself.  I imagine the hardest part will be having to leave those you love behind for a season.  I know if I’m feeling the way I’m feeling right now, this is probably especially hard for [Rick and Cecily (Anne's daughter)].

Mortality sure does have a way of kicking you in the teeth sometimes.  As you may know, I lost my mom about ten months ago.  Although it gets easier, the pain of losing her never leaves.  I miss her every single day of my life.  It was hard to watch dementia alter her just as I’m sure it is difficult to see what cancer is doing to you, my vivacious friend.  But I suppose these things are a part of the life we lead here on earth.  All of us must face the travails of mortality and aging eventually, and there are many wonderful lessons to be learned from it, even if those lessons are sometimes accompanied by pain.  Watching my mother’s last days was very illuminating for me.  Caring for her made me a better and less selfish person.  Facing death with her was an extremely spiritual experience.

The day Mom died I was sitting in her room listening to some of the most beautiful harp music I had ever heard being performed by a harpist the hospice provided.  As I let this gorgeous and ethereal music envelop me, I looked around the room in Mom’s assisted living facility and saw all the photos she had hanging on the walls, and as I looked at the snapshots from my mom’s life, I was made aware of just what a full and wonderful life she had led, and I was crying tears of joy because I was so glad it had been such a good, fulfilling life.  I was grateful that she (and my late father) had raised us children well and instilled us with the values that have shaped our lives ever since.  I realized that although she was leaving us, the legacy she left behind will influence generations to come.

The angel Clarence says to George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, “Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?”  The loss of my mother has left such a hole in my life, although I know she is still around because I feel her spirit often, but it’s not the same as seeing her face or touching her hand or hearing her voice.

When it comes time to make your transition into whatever lies beyond this mortal life, you will leave “an awful hole.”  The world will be poorer for losing you, but so rich for what you have left behind.  The influence you’ve had on friends and family is more far-reaching than you can ever imagine.  You will be leaving behind a legacy of love, joy, and inspiration.  I know you are not gone yet, but I want you to know how very sad I will be when you are.  My life is so much richer for having known and loved you.  I will always love you, my friend. 

Whatever remains of your mortal journey, my dear [Anne], I hope that it will be as pain-free and as comfortable for both you and your loved ones as is humanly possible.  I pray that your days with [Rick and Cecily] will be filled with more happiness than sadness and more love than fear.

[Our mutual friend] told me you are weak, so I don’t expect to hear back from you.  I hope my letter doesn’t seem too maudlin or macabre.  I am a realist, and death is not a frightening aspect of life for me; it just is a part of life.  I only wanted you to know the amazingly positive effect you’ve had on my life (and I’m sure the lives of everyone you have ever touched) and how much I love and miss you and will miss you.  Please give my love to [Rick and Cecily] as well.

Love,

Your friend,

[Cody].

Losing someone you love is never easy, but this one really sucks. 

Tribute To Harold

Jonah had a dream about a week or so ago.  In it, Mom paid him a visit.  She was very childlike, much like she was in her dementia days.  She was holding a white book and she was in a blue room.  Those were the main details Jonah remembers and one other big one: she was coming for someone.

I've learned that Jonah's dreams are not to be ignored.  He's very intuitive and almost psychic, and he has had many dreams that have been precursors to major events.  Two days before his dad died Jonah had a dream that his grandfather came to visit, and he was troubled by the dream because he thought it might be an indication that his dad would pass soon, which he did.

Once skeptical, I've learned to take Jonah's dreams and feelings seriously because he's usually 99% right about the intuitions he's having.

We wondered who Mom might be coming for.  My uncle (Dad's brother) was recently re-diagnosed with cancer.  My great-aunt and great-uncle are both in their late 90s.  I wondered who Mom might be coming for.

Two days ago my sister called my tears telling me that the daughter-in-law of Harold (Mom's pseudo-"boyfriend" from her days in assisted living) had called to let her know that Harold was in hospice care.

My sister wasn't necessarily crying over Harold.  It sounded like she had just had a really difficult and painful couple of weeks overall.  In fact, both my sister and I found much to rejoice in.  Harold, after all, hadn't looked well at all the last time we saw him in January.  He was very depressed and lonely and while I'm sure he never would have acted on it, he even seemed suicidal.  His body and spirit were broken.  It was hard to see him like that.

It gives me great comfort knowing he will be with his late wife soon and that he will get to see Mom again and meet Dad as well.  It makes me happy that he will be free of his suffering.

But it also brought up old feelings (or rather, lingering feelings) of when Mom died, and that has been hard.  I also regret that since I saw Harold in January I never spoke to him again.  I was pretty good about calling him and even attempted to several times, but was never able to get a hold of him.  Still, I know Harold knows how I felt about him, and that must be enough.

A friend of mine at work gave me a good perspective as we talked about how I was feeling.  She said, "It was great that this man was able to help your mom make the transition into assisted living and make her feel good about being there after so much time of not wanting to be there.  I believe your mom is now helping Harold make the transition from his life here, which has become very sad, to his life on the other side, which will be one of happiness."  I liked that.

I will miss you, Harold, and I will be forever grateful for all you did for my Mom and for the special friendship you had.  I'll miss talking to you and sharing stories about Mom.  I'll miss visiting you at the assisted living facility (now I really have no reason to go back there).  I'm glad I got to see you one last time before you leave us.  I'm glad you and Mom were away from each other for only a half a year, and I'm glad you'll get to be reunited again (but don't forget, she's with Dad now).  I love you, my friend.

Little Signs And The Story Of My Life

I wrote the following on my Facebook page a few weeks ago:

"I'm sure there are those who get tired of these posts (to which I say, 'Don't read them.'), but for me, they help me through my grieving process.

"I am and always have been a mama's boy. My mom was one of my very best friends. Even though her early passing saved herself and her family from a lot of suffering, there are days when I still can't believe she's gone.

"Many days I'm fine, but there are days like today when I miss her terribly and long for her immediate presence.

"Since her passing nearly five months ago, she has let me know many times that she is still around and very much a part of my life. That is comforting, but it's not the same.

"I just miss her. I hope it gets easier. I guess it's a testament to our deep love that the deep pain of her passing still remains.

"-sigh-"

I discover that I miss Mom terribly.  While the rational part of me knows that things worked out for the best, the emotional part of me just wishes she were here.

Yet she has shown me many times that she is very much around.

They're just little things, and others might chalk them up to coincidence, but I believe Mom is letting me know she is still very much a part of my life.

I've already talked about the Josh Groban concert.  The song "Smile" has become a way for Mom to let me know she's around.  Recently my brother and sister-in-law and their kids through town and we agreed to meet at a local IHOP.  I started my car to meet them, and a version of "Smile" by Barbra Streisand began to play.  I felt maybe it was Mom's way of letting me know she'd be attending breakfast with us (and sure enough there were two empty seats at our table, so maybe Dad was with us as well).

That's actually happened a lot (the two empty seats).  I attended a fairly full house of the show Rock of Ages, and there were two seats next to me (although I'm not sure either Mom or Dad liked the show), and at a Kristen Chenoweth concert the same thing happened.

I recently visited my family in Utah and we had dinner at Su Casa, one of Mom and Dad's favorite places, and again, there were two empty chairs at a rather full table.  I also saw a rehearsal of one of Mom's favorite shows, A Few Good Men, and found myself beside two empty seats.  (I know Mom loved that one.)

I've also felt Mom communicate to me through music.  Not just "Smile," but other stuff as well - the Josh Groban and Kristen Chenoweth concerts; songs on the radio; etc.  I was playing a rendition of a song I like (which I imagine Mom would have liked) called "And I Love You So,"

and I got in my car to go to work, and the exact song started playing on the radio.

It just felt like too much to be just a coincidence.

One unexpected song has become a sign for me.  About a month or two ago I had seen "The Story of My Life" performed by One Direction.  I liked the song and wanted to watch the video, which I did and which left me a weeping mess.

I don't know if it's because I've been dealing with Mom's journals and photos, but the whole idea of the video (these frozen memories in time; the moving on of time even after loved ones have left us) just really connected with me.

During my visit home when I was visiting Mom and Dad's grave at the cemetery for what turned out to be the last time it was warming up a little after a cold week and I could feel the sunshine on my body, and I closed my eyes and imagined Mom and Dad were beside me, much as I felt Dad beside me when I was on my mission shortly after he died.  I don't know if I've ever shared that story here, but the week he died, I was in church and bore my testimony and when I sat down I felt like Dad's hand was on my shoulder (and I believe it was).  Much in the same way, I felt like Mom and Dad were standing beside me in the cemetery, and I felt that same feeling in St. George recently when Jonah and I were married.  After I basked in that feeling, I got into the car and what should start playing but “The Story of My Life” by One Direction , and I started crying because I just felt sure it was Mom telling me she and Dad had been there. 

Other remarkable things that happened two other times I visited the cemetery.  The first time I visited it was a windless day a bit cold.  I'm not really a cemetery-going kind of guy, but the cemetery was only three blocks from where I was staying so I figured why not?  I was met at the grave site by several geese who were milling around, and it felt like kind of a sign to me.  I guess the life that was present felt like Mom reminding me that she's not really dead, just on another plane of existence. 

  
I hadn't been to Mom's grave since the week she was buried and I broke down.  I just miss her.  Sometimes I feel bad because I didn't behave the way I did with Dad's passing as I am with Mom's.  It's certainly not because I loved Dad any less.  I adored my father.  But Mom and I just had more in common (plus 21 more years together than Dad and I had).  Plus I was away when Dad died, so it didn't seem as present in my mind as Mom's death, when I was stroking her hair and looking at her face at the exact moment she passed.

There were two pinwheels on the graves of a nearby couple, and although I did not feel any wind, they both began to turn.  

 

I wondered if maybe Mom and Dad were making it happen.  It made me feel good to think they did.  I just let them know how much I missed them.

My other visit to the cemetery was at dusk so it was dark, but as I drove in I saw a herd of seven deer leaping and bounding about the cemetery.  While it is not uncommon to see deer in this part of Utah, the cemetery is in a fairly suburban area where deer don't frequent.  I was actually afraid to get out of the car until the deer departed, but they were a truly beautiful sight to see.  And then I saw a flock of the same geese I had seen previously honking and flying above me.  I took it as another sign of Mom's presence.  It was almost magical.


Recently, for their tenth anniversary, Facebook created commemorative movies based on each individual's photos and posts.  Somehow I felt mine was tailor-made to let me know Mom was around.  Yeah, I know it's based on algorithms and popular posts and photos, but it just felt like Mom had a hand in it.

The movie starts out with my profile photo of my headshot.  Then as it shows my first moments, we see the house Jonah and I bought together when it was just in its beginning stages.  Then there is a cast photo and a teaching job I had.  My most liked posts have to do with acting and my job and the day Mom died.  Then there's a shot of the sun breaking through the clouds the day after Mom died that was my sign from her that she was okay.  Then more shows, a trip to Disneyland I took with Jonah and a close friend, a favorite photo of my cat, the march I did with Mormons Building Bridges at the Gay Pride Parade in 2012, a picture my niece drew of Jonah and me, my current job, a silly photo of me, my family in the early 80s (complete with Dad, Mom, and my siblings), my recent trip to Disneyland with Jonah, and then as the movie ends with a compilation of several photos, there's Mom right in the middle smiling at me, and I think to myself, Facebook could have picked any photo.  I think the center one is based on a profile photo, but if it had chosen the most used or popular one, my headshot would have been at the center, but no, it's Mom. 

I just felt her love, and when I showed it to Jonah I just wept and wept in his arms because I felt so close to my dear, departed mother.

People can call these coincidences.  I don't believe they are.  Even if they were, they bring me great comfort, so I'm taking them as little signs.

Of Colonoscopies And A Life Well Led

Not to get too gross (although I've already done that here and here), but today I went in to have a colonoscopy.

 
For the past year I've been having weird digestive issues.  Lots of cramping, bloating, loose stool, gas, plus the acid reflux I already have.  Anyway, I've been a bit concerned, and because my grandfather died of colon cancer, I figured it might be worth checking out.

It may be something as simple as being lactose intolerant, but I wanted to make sure everything was good down there.

I've never had a colonoscopy before.  I was actually expecting the bowel prep to be worse than it was.  I was near the toilet a lot yesterday, but the whole thing was not nearly as bad as I had imagined.  

I've also discovered that a good way to lose five pounds in two days is to prep for a colonoscopy.  And actually, the cleanse made me feel a little more energetic and more buoyant.

Jonah drove me to the surgical center because I was not permitted to drive for 24 hours after the procedure (although I think I could have; I didn't notice any impairment after I woke up).  As we were driving, I said to Jonah, "I don't tell you this often enough, but you're one of the best things that has ever happened to me."

I ended up waiting a good while before I went back for my procedure.  While I was waiting, an elderly, hunched-over woman and her caretaker daughter came in.  The mother had to be in her 90s and I would have put the daughter in her 60s.  The daughter made sure the mother got to her seat all right and went to deal with the receptionist.  I heard them talking about her being the mother's power of attorney while the mother looked around in sort of a daze.

The daughter seemed attentive to her mother's needs and the two seemed to get on well; but I also sensed maybe some weariness and impatience from the daughter and a bit of annoyance from the mother that the daughter was babying her.  I felt such empathy for both women.  I know the situation well and it brought back memories of my own relationship with my mom.

After my procedure, Jonah and I went and ate at Sweet Tomatoes and I saw yet another elderly mother with her caretaker daughter, and I felt maybe Mom was just reminding me that she's still around.

When I went back for my procedure, I was instructed to remove all my clothes and don a hospital gown and booties.  Then I was asked to lie on the bed while two nurses dealt with me.  I actually found everyone on the surgical staff to be very personable, compassionate, efficient, and informational.  I had a very good experience.

When one nurse was preparing my IV, she didn't cap it tight enough and blood started spurting out.  That was a new experience for me.  Both nurses (and the anesthesiologist) were so nice and friendly, though.  The IV nurse got it capped pretty quickly.

They were a little behind schedule, so I ended up lying in the bed for about 15 or 20 minutes.  They came in a few times to apologize for the delay, but mostly I was left to myself.  I didn't mind; it gave me time to contemplate and meditate.

As I was lying there some strange thoughts came into my mind.  I thought, very calmly, "What if something went wrong with this relatively simple procedure, and I died?"  While I didn't want to die this young, and even though I knew it would likely be a devastating shock to my friends and family and particularly hard on my husband, I thought to myself, "If I were to die today, I would have few regrets.  I've lived a good life, a life that I am proud of.  I feel prepared to go if today were the day."

The only regrets I would really have would be leaving my poor husband behind; putting my family in a temporary financial bind because I am the trustee over Mom's trust; not finishing transcribing Mom's journals; and leaving Jonah saddled with a mortgage to pay by himself.

I was looking at the ceiling and the curtain and thought, "What if this was the last thing I saw and suddenly found myself in heaven?"  That would be a surprise, but a pleasant one.

Anyway, I just thought it was unusual, but I was happy I felt I could die with a clear conscience, having lived a happy life.

In any case, I did not die.  I was brought into the operation room where the doctor and anesthesiologist asked me a few questions, and then the anesthesiologist shot something into my arm that hurt a little,

and the next thing I know a nurse is telling me to wake up.  I was actually shocked that it had all happened.  It felt like the blink of an eye.  I was also surprised by how coherent and aware I seemed to be.  I remember when I got a a cornea transplant in 1997 that was not the case at all.  I was OUT. OF. IT.  Mom helped me get dressed and I didn't even remember it.  I fell asleep in the car on the way home, and it seemed like forever before I finally felt like myself.

I was told they had pumped air into my colon and so that I would be expelling that same gas.  They needn't have bothered.  I let two huge ones right after I woke up (happily, no one was around).

They gave me some apple juice to drink and gave me some final information.  I felt perfectly fine and was pleasantly surprised that I didn't feel any adverse effects or residual pain or discomfort (aside from some minor flatulence).

Oh...and the doctor said everything looks good in my colon.  So that's nice to know.  Maybe it's just milk that's the problem.  Or...

Mom, Josh Groban, and Little Signs

I originally had anticipated writing a post on October 10th about how it didn't seem real that an entire month had passed since Mom passed.  The time has gone by quickly.

Friends have been so kind and said such wonderful things about my mom, my family, and me.  Some friends have talked about how proud Mom is of me, and I'm sure that's true.  Others have talked about the grace with which I've dealt with Mom's illness and death.  If that's true, it's only because my parents taught me to have that grace.

What I really want to talk about today, however, is a Josh Groban concert I attended recently.  While I like Josh Groban's music, I've always found him to be a little more operatic in style than is my personal preference.  I wouldn't call myself a fan, but I enjoy hearing his stuff on occasion.

I remember when Mom was well, she had a Josh Groban CD in the player in her car.  Mom often didn't know how to operate her CD player or radio, and that disc was in her player for a couple of years, at least.  Mom didn't typically have the volume up on her radio/CD player, and when I'd borrow the car on occasion, I'd turn the volume up, and there Josh Groban would be.  I'd usually remove the disc, listen to the radio, then replace the disc and turn the volume back to what it had been.

Mom liked Josh Groban.  I think she thought his stuff was really beautiful.

Jonah also likes Josh.  Actually, Jonah has a voice similar to Josh's in timbre and tone.

Recently I was offered the opportunity to get 2 for 1 tickets to Josh Groban's concert.  I actually considered it because the bottom price tickets in the 2 for 1 deal were not bad at all.  I thought Jonah might like it.  I eventually opted not to get them because we had just taken a trip to Disneyland, and my budget is a bit tight at the moment.  Also, more often than not, Jonah and I don't have the same nights free, so I didn't think he would be able to go anyway.

The day before the concert, my work announced that they had free tickets for his concert.  Evidently, the concert had not sold as well as was expected, and they needed to pad the house a bit.  I called Jonah and asked if he was free the next night.  Much to my surprise, he said he was, and so I asked him if he'd like to see Josh Groban.  He very excitedly said yes.

One of my fellow employees said he couldn't use his, so I took those as well.  Originally, Jonah's sister and a friend of Jonah's were going to go, but his sister canceled because she wasn't feeling well.

Our seats were a couple of rows away from each other.  Jonah knows I don't mind sitting by myself, and he wanted to catch up with his friend, so they sat together and my friend from work, who would have been sitting alone, took the other seat we had, and we sat together.

To my other side were two empty seats which remained empty the entire concert.  I had thought about how much Mom would have enjoyed attending a Josh Groban concert, and so imagined that she and Dad were sitting in those two empty seats.  I'm not sure Dad would have liked Josh Groban as much as Mom did, but I don't think he would have disliked him.  Whether Dad was at the concert or not, I don't know; but I'm quite certain Mom was there.

Josh Groban's opening act was a lady named Judith Hill.  I think she was on "The Voice."  She sang for about a half hour, and I really enjoyed her.  After a half hour break, Josh came out.  He was very charismatic and funny, but a little schlubby looking.  I enjoyed him, though.  He's got a great voice, although I did feel like he went a hair flat at times, though I doubt the majority of his audience noticed or cared.  I also think as he gets older, it will be harder for him to pull those high notes out.  However, he puts on a very good show, and I really thought it was a good concert.

There was one point he sang a song I wasn't familiar with, and they had the audience clapping, and I could just picture Mom clapping along with joy and excitement in her eyes.  It felt like she was right there beside me.

Then later he sang, "To Where You Are," and I just really felt Mom's presence very strongly and the words reminded me of our current situation:

Who can say for certain
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memory's so clear

Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen

As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'Cause you are my
Forever love
Watching me from up above

And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave

Fly me up
To where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

I know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are 

My friend who was sitting next to me hugged me when the song was over, probably not even realizing how emotionally touched I was by it, but it almost felt like a hug from Mom.

But the clincher, the thing the told me Mom was really there with me was something that happened at the very end of the concert.  After his final song, the audience cheered and gave him a standing ovation, and so he performed an encore, his famous "You Raise Me Up."

Then the band left but Josh remained, and the audience continued cheering, and Josh asked if we wanted another encore, and the audience went crazy.  So the band came back.  Both Jonah and I noticed on his teleprompter that his second encore would be "Smile," the same song Jonah had sung at Mom's funeral.  We were both taken aback by it.

Josh announced he would be singing "Smile," and as he went into it I started crying and I noticed Jonah was crying, too.  And then, through the tears, I just started grinning because I knew Mom was there and letting me know she was there.

I don't believe in coincidences; I really don't.  Josh Groban could have sang any number of songs as his very last song of the evening.  Why that song?  Why did I get free tickets for a concert I never really intended on attending?  Why did Jonah just happen to be free on that night when in the past he hasn't been?  Why the two empty seats next to me?  I just felt like all the elements came together that Mom made her presence known to me.  I really appreciate it because Mom and I had such a close relationship that I've been convinced that if I sought her spirit out, I would feel her presence, and I definitely did at the Josh Groban concert.

So I am very thankful.

Mom's Death...And Her Beautiful Life

This has been a truly exhausting week.

Mom made her exit on Tuesday, September 10 at 2:23 PM Mountain Standard Time.  She was surrounded by me, my brother, my sister-in-law, my cousin, and my aunt.  Although both of my sisters had been there earlier, neither was there when Mom actually passed, and I think it worked out better for them that they weren't.

Although this has been a very difficult and painful week, it has also been a very spiritual and meaningful one.

I had never actually watched someone die before and certainly not someone as close to me as my mother was.

Jonah and I arrived in Utah on Thursday of last week, and I wrote about that night here.  Friday morning Mom was still pretty coherent, but drugged out a bit.  We had already determined to let her go, so it really was about making her as comfortable and pain-free as possible.  We took her off oxygen.  The tube in her nose was annoying her, and we figured it would only prolong her life anyway.  We also stopped the IV fluids.  Mom had already stopped eating by this point, although she was still drinking water.

She was in renal failure, and we were told it would take anywhere from a day to a week or so for her to pass.

As I said in my last post, I am convinced that we made the right decision on her behalf.  It is what she would have wanted and she would have been pretty miserable and confused otherwise.  She could have gone on dialysis three times a week for a the rest of her life and lived with her right leg missing; but a woman in her mental condition would have been very agitated, confused, and miserable as a result.  It might have been nice to keep her around longer, but I think it also would have been a long and painful road for both her and us.  I just think she would have been very sad, which would have been hard for her after she had finally found happiness again.  I miss her already, but we did the right thing, and now she is with my dad, whom she has been away from for 21 years.

Many of us stayed in the hospital with her on Friday.  I wrote down some of the things she said, which may have been drug inspired, but which I like to believe were her thoughts as she grew closer to the heavenly realm.

Here are some of the things she said, both in the hospital and in the assisted living facility:

"It's different."
"It's weird."
"I'm happy."
"It's great."
"I'm doing great."
"It's funny."
"Somehow I found a place."
"Everything went well."
"Nobody will understand.  Just the people who know."
"Nobody knew but us."
"It's a secret.  Then they'd know."
"Sounds like little children."
"It's so beautiful.  It's so beautiful."
"It's a little trick."
"I think it's fun."
"It's fun to watch it because we already know."
"We find each other.  We find each other somehow."
"Did you see that?"
"I think we have to."
"It's true."
"It was really good." (about Harold's guitar playing when he visited Mom)
"Who's the boy with the monkey?" (my favorite)
"You're welcome." (after I thought she said "Thank you," and repeated it to her to see if that's what she said), and which was the last audible thing she said to me.
 and
the second to the last audible thing she said to me: "I knew you did it right."

When hospice took over, we decided Mom could be moved back to the assisted living facility where she was living, and arrangements were made to move her there in the afternoon on Friday.  We felt Mom would be happier in a familiar place and that way her friend Harold could visit her, and his visit at the hospital really seemed to brighten her spirits.  Plus, Harold was in mourning just as much as we were, and we thought it would be good for both him and Mom.

I spoke with the hospice social worker and signed a bunch of papers and made arrangements.  She was very nice and wanted to make sure Mom was comfortable.  I do somewhat regret remaining with that hospice service rather than dealing with the one that partnered with the assisted living facility, but we made the choice we made, and that service did do some very good things for Mom.  We did have a major snafu with her morphine pump after moving her to the assisted living facility and it seemed the assisted living staff and the hospice staff were not on the same page; the first pump Mom was given was broken; and so Mom was in some pain when first arriving at her home at the assisted living place.  Eventually (although not quickly enough for my brother and me) the problem was resolved, and we gave Mom a large dose of morphine to deal with the pain, and she slept for a very long time.

During the pump snafu time, Mom was able to talk a bit, although it wasn't always coherent.  She seemed aware, but confused, which is how she was in her state of dementia anyway.  I stayed with Mom that first night.  Jonah went back to my friend's, who we are staying with, to get a decent night's sleep.  I slept on a leaky air mattress while Mom slept.  She was out most of the time although occasionally she would open her eyes. 

I didn't sleep too well, mostly because the air mattress was deflating and because the nurse kept coming in every hour to check on Mom.  Mom seemed relatively normal that first night.  Her urine output was almost nil and her fecal output was nil.  She had both a catheter and a fecal tube as well as the morphine pump attached to her.  They had removed her old bed and replaced it with a hospital bed.

We didn't know how much time Mom left; only that it wasn't much.

My siblings and I were in and out, spending hours at a time with Mom and then leaving to get a break while someone else (or many someone elses) stayed with her.  Sometimes we stuck around the assisted living facility on the porch or in the dining room.  Part of me was afraid to leave because I thought she would die while I was gone.

I don't know why it was important to me to be with her when she passed.  I guess I'm a bit of a romantic with a spirit of drama, and I wanted my "movie moment" where Mom took her last breath by my side.  Although I did eventually get my "movie moment," the long week of her dying eventually taught me that I didn't need it.

I think all of us expected Mom die more quickly than she did, although none of us were particularly surprised that she didn't since Mom tended to be very independent, doing things on her own terms, and who was a bit of a hanger-on-er. 

Much of the week is a blur to me.  I remember events and experiences, but not necessarily when they happened.  I know that Saturday morning Jonah and I went out.  Jonah just wanted me to get a break and get away.  He's been such a great support to me during all this, and I haven't always been as kind in return due to stress.  But I have a hard time imagining going through all of this without him.

I know that Saturday there was one point when Jonah, my brother, and I were all with Mom and thought she would die during a half hour period.  Her breathing was very erratic, her pulse was above 100 beats per minute, and there were about 12 seconds in between some of her breaths.  She was aware and communicative, but her voice was weak and sometimes hard to understand.  That was when she told me, "I knew you did it right," and at the moment I thought those would be the last words she ever said to me.  I don't know what she was referring to, but I know it was meant for me specifically.  I hope it refers to my relationship with Jonah or the way in which I helped care for her or the way I'm living my life or the choice we made to not prolong her life.  Whatever it was, I'm glad she's convinced I "did it right."

I remember two specific times when Mom was in the midst of dying, I felt a warmth on my shoulders and neck; not a room temperature sort of thing, but a spiritual presence of some sort.  That's what I believe anyway.  I think there was a being (or beings) there helping Mom prepare for her transition.

I also remember two interesting visions I had.  One happened while I was caressing Mom's hair and stroking her arm wondering how long she would be with us.  While I was doing this, I saw a much younger version of Mom doing the same thing to me just after I was born.  In truth, I don't think Mom actually got to hold me after I was born.  I was born two months early and was in very critical health, and for the first three days of my life, the prognosis was not good.  I spent several weeks in an incubator.  So I don't think Mom held me much, if at all, during the first weeks of my birth.  But the point of the vision, I think, was to show me that at the beginning of my life, Mom was praying for my life and hoping I'd be okay, and here I was at the end of hers praying for a painless and easy death for her and hoping she'd be okay.  It just was a testament to me of the circle of life and it felt very apropos. 

The other vision I had was I was looking at Mom breathing in and out in a deep sleep and suddenly I thought I saw my dad's face in hers and then my own.  I'm not sure exactly what it signified, although I have my theories.

Saturday night my brother stayed with Mom.  I waited for the call that never came; that Mom had finally passed.

Sunday was a day of visitors.  My aunt and uncle came by.  Mom's very close friends who she used to live across the street from came by.  Mom's friend that she's known since she was 16 came by.  My niece and nephew-in-law.

I took a picture of Mom with her old friend and neighbor.  It turned out to be the last photo taken of them together.

At this point, many of us wondered why Mom was hanging on.  Shouldn't she have passed yet?  It just felt like she was dragging it out and, frankly, it was hard to watch at times, wondering if each breath would be her final one.

Mom's friend postulated that maybe it was hard for her to leave while all of us were there, and that sometimes dying people needed time alone.  Jonah wondered if my presence, in particular, might be making it hard for Mom to leave.

Jonah, who had really been having a hard time dealing with the unfairness of Mom's early and unexpected demise and her slow death, had a long chat with God about it, and this is what brought him peace:

"I was talking to God right now and asking what lessons are learned from
a slow death ... in all this there are lessons for every one...each one us
takes a different one when we are there or when we leave.  it all about
accepting what you have seen before you.. I have already told you the
secret God says. I accept you for who you are and I love you for who
you are...Just remember acceptance is the key and I am ready to accept anyone when they are ready to be accepted..." (sent to me from Jonah in a text message)

As Jonah and I discussed Mom's impending death, one thing we theorized is that free agency being the eternal principle that it is there is no reason to necessarily doubt that Mom had choice in exactly when she might depart this mortal existence and maybe she wasn't ready or was afraid or was concerned about leaving us or whatever.  I also came to realize that Mom wasn't in pain or suffering that we could tell (in fact, one of the clearest and most audible things she said was "no" when Jonah asked her if she was in pain) and so why should I be in such a hurry to let her go.  Yes, it was hard to watch her slowly die, but I realized that wanting her to die more quickly was more about alleviating my suffering than hers, and once I accepted that I decided to just cherish every moment I still had with her, no matter how painful it might be for me.

During much of the time Mom was dying, we would let Harold come in and see Mom.  The first time he came, Mom was still conscious enough to recognize him and seemed very happy to see him.  He asked if he could give her a kiss and she agreed.

The second time Harold visited, Mom was unresponsive and he asked if he could kiss her, but she couldn't give permission, so he didn't.

The third time Mom was unconscious, his visit was very short, and I told Harold he could go ahead and kiss her.  He was very grateful.

Mom and Harold meant a lot to one another, and even though we all believe Mom and Dad are reunited now and that Dad is Mom's eternal mate, the fact remains that Harold and Mom made each other very, very happy these last couple of months.  Mom's demeanor was such a happy and vibrant one and much of that was due to Harold.

I think my brother, in particular, seemed a bit put out by Harold's visits and that perhaps Harold was overstaying his welcome and taking time away from the family.  Harold's first visit, in particular, was quite long and extended.  I even think perhaps my brother was a little jealous of Mom's relationship with Harold.

When I say what I'm about to say, I am not judging or condemning my brother.  I truly think he has done the best he knew how to do during these past few years in dealing with Mom, but the fact is that of the four of Mom's children, he probably spent the least amount of time with her.  He always had work or church or family obligations and just didn't seem to have time to visit with Mom the way my sisters and I did.  Certainly he visited with her and helped her, but I wondered now that Mom was dying if perhaps he was realizing the lost time he could have had with Mom.  Maybe my brother has no regrets; I'll never know - my brother isn't too vocal about his feelings nor does he wear his heart on his sleeve the way perhaps my older sister and I do.

But it's like Jonah said in his text message in another part:

"I look at your Facebook page and saw Harold and mom
picture...and yes I too hear the same stories over and over from you as Harold
heard from mom but not once have I left you .. I have sent all of you a
special someone like that ..Harold once again I tell you loved and
accepted mom for who every bit of who she is .like I do you .acceptance
is the key..do you accept death for what it is or do you fear it..."

I know all of us at one time or another got impatient with Mom's memory loss and hearing the same thing over and over.  I eventually reached a place where it no longer mattered.  My phone conversations with Mom these last few months rarely varied.  It was the same conversation over and over; but I didn't care; I was just happy to talk with my mom.

Harold accepted Mom for exactly who she was and not only listened to her repeat the same things over and over again, but delighted in it.  Just like our Father in Heaven, who hears us pray and ask for the same things over and over, Harold didn't say, "I'm sick of this; you're wearing me out."  He accepted and loved Mom just for who she was...and he made her very happy and she, him.  Her death was very hard on him, and I felt he deserved just as much time to mourn her as anyone, whether he knew her as long as we did or not.

I did try to make sure my brother got some alone time with Mom because I think he needed it, but I just hope he doesn't live with regret of missing time with her.  I think my brother really made an effort to be with Mom while she was dying, but I sometimes don't feel he made that effort when she was living.  Again, no judgment or condemnation; just an observation.

A really fascinating thing happened on Sunday night.  We had thought Mom was going to die soon due to her irregular breathing and rapid heartbeat.  She hadn't eaten anything in several days, and although we tried, she wasn't taking much water.  Her lips were chapped, although we tried to keep them moist.  Her potassium levels were very high, which meant her heart could give out.  Her kidneys had shut down.  Her oxygen level was 71, and they had told us the 60s was where to expect death. 

For much of her dying period, I had played old standards because Mom loved that kind of music, and it was funny how so many of the songs started to take on double meanings under the circumstances.  "They Can't Take That Away from Me" made me think that even though Mom was dying, her influence really couldn't be taken away; "Que Sera Sera" - what will be, will be; "Unforgettable" - that's what Mom was and is; the "Sentimental Journey" Mom would soon be taking; "I'll Be Seeing You" - knowing that soon everything would remind me of Mom; "Embraceable You" - one of Mom's very favorites (and what Jonah will be singing at her services).

When Mom was conscious, she would move her lips, and I know she was trying to sing.  Her first night at the assisted living before she got worse, we sang it together while we were dealing with the morphine pump fiasco, and that seemed to calm her down.

But on Sunday night Jonah wanted to sing to her.  We started singing "How Great Thou Art" and then Jonah encouraged me to sing some familiar LDS church hymns, which I did.  Even though Mom was asleep, her lips would move, and the most remarkable thing was that her breathing regulated itself.  Whereas her breathing pattern had become sporadic with 9-12 second between breaths and a heart rate of 100 beats per minute, after Jonah and I sang with her, her breathing became normal and her heart rate when down to about 73 beats per minute.  We also learned that her oxygen level, which had been 71, had gone all the way to the mid 80s.  I knew music was powerful, but I was absolutely floored by the change in her.  We told my niece and nephew about it, and they asked me to sing with them to Mom, and it was a wonderful experience.

Jonah and I stayed with Mom a bit that night.  Jonah said after I fell asleep that Mom's breathing and mine had been opposite, but that we eventually started breathing in time together while we were asleep.  I thought that was interesting.  Jonah eventually left and I stayed with Mom that night and actually got a better night's sleep.

Jonah and I actually think the hymn singing may have prolonged her life another day.  Her breathing remained fairly steady for a while.

By Monday night, Mom's fluid build up had gotten worse and her breathing had become gurgled.  I had actually read about the signs of death for someone going through renal failure, and the "death rattle" breath is a sign, so I knew death was getting closer.  And yet I also felt compelled to leave Mom alone for the night.

My brother had asked if I was staying, and I said I wasn't, and he asked if he should come, and I said he didn't have to.  For some reason I felt compelled to follow my neighbor's advice and just let Mom be by herself for a bit.  And in truth, the gurgling breath was hard to watch.  Mom kept gasping for breath, and each breath felt like it would be the last.  It wasn't watching her dying that was the hardest; it was wanting so badly to help her and not being able to.  I also felt that same warmth I'd felt before, and I knew that even if we left, Mom wouldn't be alone at all; there were spirits preparing for her arrival much in the same way my siblings and I were preparing for her departure.  Jonah and I said a very powerful prayer that Mom's transition would be smooth and free of fear and that she would know she wasn't alone.  It was a very powerful and spirit-filled time.  I put my hand on my Mom's head much like I might have if I still held the Priesthood, but simply prayed, and I knew my prayer was heard and being answered.

I told Mom that we were leaving and that I loved her.  She opened her eyes and I know she was trying to say, "I love you, too," but she couldn't speak.  Still, I knew she was aware.

There were times when Mom would open her eyes and they just had a dead look, but I always felt she was very conscious and cognizant of what was going on around her.  I also wonder if her demented mind was filled with clarity as she grew closer to death.

I fully expected to receive a call in the middle of the night saying that Mom had passed, but it never happened.  She had been so warm and had been gasping her extremities were swollen and she was unable to move herself.  And I realized I might miss my "movie moment" of being with her when she died, but it no longer mattered.  I just wanted her to be free on her own terms.

We had asked the nurse to call if there was any change, and she said she would call at the end of her shift at 6:00 am, which she did.  Mom was still in relatively the same shape.  At about 8 or so, my brother called saying that Mom had grown worse.  Jonah and I got there around nine, and I basically stayed with her until the end.

Mom's breaths were very short and gurgled.  My older sister had gotten there and hadn't expected what she saw and called my aunt, who used to be a nurse.  She picked by aunt up, and they came.  At one point, all four of Mom's children were present with her at the same time.  My great-aunt also visited.  The nurses gave Mom a last bath and changed her from her sweaty hospital gown to her regular clothes.  They also turned the bed so we could gather around it.

A chaplain showed up and talked to us.  Although I didn't necessarily require his services, it was nice to talk to him and share experiences we had had.  Jonah was also very good with my younger sister, who was really having a rough time, and said some things to her that really seemed to help her.  My cousin soon showed up.

Perhaps one of the neatest, most beautiful things that happened was the hospice service had a harpist come in.  She played some of the most beautiful music for about a half hour, and I relished in the peacefulness that was present.  It felt almost like we were in heaven.

And a profound experience occurred: I looked around the room at all the photos on my mom's wall and saw the tapestry of her life.  Here's one of her in 1975 with her husband and kids, my youngest sister just a newborn; here's another of her with my brother and his wife and three of their kids in about 1997 or 1998; here's another of her gay son and his partner at Disneyland; here's another of her youngest daughter with her husband and young children taken just last year; here's another of her as a little girl in a big bow with her mom and baby brother; here's another of her enjoying an activity at the assisted living facility; here's another of her family when Dad was having health problems taken a couple of years before he died; here's another of Mom with her extended family, but this time no Dad - he'd been dead many years by that point; here's one of the whole family shortly after my brother was engaged to the woman who is now his wife (Mom had asked, "Are you sure you're getting married?" before allowing her to be in the photo).  And now I'm looking at the map of the world my sister put on the wall showing all the places Mom had been in her life as well as the places her dementia made her think she'd been.  France, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Belgium, Austria, Canada, Great Britain, Switzerland, Holland, Alaska, Yellowstone Park, Disneyland, Hawaii, Boston, New York, and others.  And I start thing of the wonderful life my mom had had, the experiences she's lived; the family she and my dad have grown and raised; and the influence she will always continue to have after her death. 

And then I look down at this frail, dying woman who's mind and body have been wracked by mortality, but who is now surrounded by people who love her very much and whose lives she has impacted for good through her love, generosity, kindness, faith, and sacrifice.  And I am only sad because this beautiful, lovely woman will certainly leave a void in my life and others' lives when she departs from this world; but I am not sad for the wonderful and very full life she lived.

And I truly believe that although her spirit and her body will be separated, that we will never be without her.  She lives on in us.  Those grandkids and great-grandkids who will never know her in this life will know her because their parents and grandparents knew her and were taught and loved by her.  Her example lives on in all of us, and I know we are never alone or without her.

I don't want the harpist to stop, but eventually she does, and I thank her.  You can tell she loves what she does and that she has likely seen many people die.  But she knows why it's beautiful and spiritual.

Eventually both my sisters have to leave.  My oldest one leaves only minutes before Mom passes.  My sister-in-law has arrived.  I somehow find myself in the seat next to Mom.  I am stroking her hair and arm.  There are these little gurgling, gasping noises, but barely any breath at all, and I know the end is near.  I am happy she will be reunited with my dad and her parents and the loved ones that have gone before, and I am happy she will be whole in mind and spirit again; but I am sad to know I will soon be losing the best mom a guy ever could have had and that I will no longer be able to talk to her on the phone and hear her voice or hug and kiss her.  I know I will dreadfully miss her presence in my life.

Mom takes a breath, but does not exhale.  I know without knowing that it is her last.  I have never actually seen anyone die in the flesh before.  It is profound and spiritual.  It really is as if you can see the spirit leaving the body.  The color goes out of Mom's face and although there are still involuntary muscle twitches, I know she is gone.

I continue to stroke her hair.  I put my hand on her forehead and face because I know soon she will grow cold, and I want to hold on to her warmth as long as I can.  We all cry except my brother and cousin.  I go into work mode.  I tell the staff that she's gone; I call the funeral home (who we met with a couple of days before while Mom was dying) and the cemetery.  I schedule a meeting with the cemetery in just an hour or so.

We are given time to be with Mom, although we don't necessarily need it.  We've been with her the last week.  I find Jonah, who's been with Harold.  I let Harold have one last visit with Mom.  The funeral director comes and we go through some logistical stuff.

I give Mom one last kiss on the forehead and then the lips.  She is colder now, but I do not want to forget the way that kiss feels.  The funeral director moves the body and Jonah and I head off to the cemetery.  Fortunately Mom and Dad prepaid for their plots, vaults, and burials, so that has made it easier and less stressful.  It just so happens that every day I pass the cemetery where Mom will be buried because my friend we're staying with lives only a couple of blocks away.  Jonah and I look over the grave site.  We are charged an extra $250 because it will be a Saturday service.  Fortunately, we have all the money we were going to use to care for Mom; now she's using it to take care of us.

I have already pre-written Mom's obituary and funeral program, so I send those off.

Monday is spent doing activities unrelated to Mom.  Jonah is trying to distract me from my grief, God bless him, but all I can seem to think of is Mom.  Even when you think you're prepared for a loved ones death, you really aren't.  Everything reminds me of her ("I'll never be able to take her to this restaurant again;" "Mom would have loved this movie;" "normally I would have been calling Mom right now;" etc.).

I feel lost.  So much of these past few years has been devoted to Mom's care that now I feel like I've lost part of my purpose.  True, this will enable me to devote more energy to Jonah and my career and my own life, but I miss living for Mom.  I miss her.

Today was spent cleaning Mom's room at the assisted living facility, meeting with her lawyer about her estate, helping my brother-in-law with a photo presentation for the funeral, picking out a program cover, lashing out at Jonah when we was only trying to relieve my stress; and having dinner with my sister and brother-in-law.  Tomorrow will be spent getting Mom dressed, made up, and having her hair done and getting things ready for the viewing.

Saturday will be the funeral.  I'm giving a talk, and I wrote this blog entry to help me organize some of my thoughts.  After the funeral will be the burial and a small dinner.

Jonah and I may stay Sunday or go back home.  We definitely must leave by Monday because we both have to get back on Tuesday for work.  It's been a long week.

I wonder when I will come back to Utah.  My family is here, so I know I will be back, but not having Mom here will be weird.

I have absolutely no regrets about my relationship with Mom or my love for her, her love for me, or they way I treated her and cared for her.  That is a peaceful feeling indeed.  I miss Mom, but I know she's in a great place.

The day after she died, when I was feeling especially down, I saw this:

 

Today I saw a beautiful double rainbow.  I think those are Mom's way of saying, "Hey, I got here all right."

See you later, Mom.
 

David, Iraq, Pioneers, and Being in the Same Boat

My apologies. This is going to be a very long post.

Church was actually quite excellent on Sunday. Generally, I’m so tired on Sunday mornings that if what’s going on isn’t holding my interest, I tend to doze off, but today I was pretty wide awake for most of the meetings.

I went to Primary first. I used to be a Primary teacher in my home ward (where I currently attend), and I loved it. I loved teaching the kids, and I loved how the gospel was taught at its most simple, basic level without all the tangents and frivolous stuff that, albeit interesting sometimes, isn’t always essential. Even though I’m no longer a Primary teacher, I still attend Primary in my home ward; one, because I like Primary a lot, and two, it isn’t Priesthood meeting, which I’ve never been a big fan of, mostly because I don’t feel I fit in and because 90% of the time, Priesthood instructors have seemed less than prepared, and my attitude is if they didn’t take the time to adequately prepare a lesson, I don’t want to waste my time listening to it of there is no thought or objective behind it.

During Primary I noticed two young boys being playful and affectionate with each other, and I thought, “Why does that seem to become a stigma later on? Why can’t men just be affectionate with each other?” In France and Belgium, where I served my mission, it’s no big deal for men to be affectionate with each other, and yet Western culture seems to frown on men being affectionate with each other or crying, and I’ve never really understood why. I think it’s sad in a way. I actually don’t think homosexuality would be that big of an issue if it weren’t so taboo. Nobody seems to care when women are all touchy-feely with one another, but if men do it, it’s looked on as something odd. And yet, you look at sports figures, for example, who are looked on as such a symbol of masculinity, and you see them slapping each other on the butt or hugging when their team wins, and nobody seems to care. I just find it interesting. I like men who aren’t afraid to be affectionate. Interestingly enough, some of the most openly affectionate men I know are some of the most heterosexual men I know. I find that interesting.

One of the songs we are singing in Primary right now is the 11th Article of Faith, which is “We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may,” and was thinking that as members of the Mormon Church, I don’t think we’re always so good at following this. I think we say we do, but we don’t always do it.

Sunday School was very interesting. A ward member who has been serving in Iraq just came home a week ago. It was really good to see him and know that he was safe. He and I don’t often agree politically, but he is a good man, and it was really good to see him. It had been a while since any of us had seen him, and he asked if anybody had any questions for him about the war. It was odd that we were talking about the Iraqi War in Sunday School, and yet it seemed strangely appropriate. I was just worried that it would get political or confrontational, which it didn’t. I have always been against the Iraqi War from the very beginning and feel more so each passing day. And yet as I listened to him talk, I felt my spirit open to his words. I’m still against the war, but what he said at least gave me a different spin on things, which was nice for a change.

He says he was really surprised by how much the media portrays the war as all “gloom and doom,” because, from his recent vantage point, things were different. He says most of the Iraqi people he’s dealt with on a personal basis are happy the US forces are there and are grateful for many of the things that have been done for them. That doesn’t mean there aren’t complaints, but overall, they are grateful for the American forces. He talked about providing solar energy for a school and building (and rebuilding, after it was bombed by insurgents) a water treatment plant for Iraqi civilians. I specifically asked him to tell me some positive things about the war since we get so much negative. He told me about the school and the water treatment plant, but also talked about simple things like the joy he saw in the faces of two different children, one who was given a lollipop, and had never tasted a piece of candy in his life, and another staring at a box of coloring crayons, which he had never seen before.

Somebody asked him what the morale of the troops was like, and he said it really depended where they were. He said where he was was “hell on earth,” but that the soldiers’ morale was pretty good, and that they were happy to be making a difference. He said in other areas where the fighting is especially bad, morale isn’t always so good.

He talked about the many poor, uneducated people there were in Iraq and how they felt they were helping them better their lives. He talked about how one of the problems is that the Sunnis and Shiites and other factions can’t agree on the democratic process. They even want it, but no one can agree on how to make it work so all sides are happy, and that until they choose to work together, the process isn’t going to work as well.

He talked about how the weather has been 145 degrees before, which I can’t even fathom. All in all, he was very positive about things, and even though I am still against the war, it was refreshing to hear another, more positive point-of-view for a change from somebody who’s actually been there. Of course, I’ve also heard negative things from two soldier friends of mine who are there, so I guess it depends on where you are, who you are, and your attitude. In any case, it was enlightening.

The teacher, a man I like and respect very much, was quite emotional today, both because this returned soldier is a very good friend of his and because the lesson seemed to touch him particularly (the teacher, not the soldier). The lesson was about David. For those of you who may not be familiar with the story of David, he slew Goliath and became a chosen king of God. However, he committed adultery and was responsible for the death of his mistresses' husband. The teacher asked which David we think of when we think about David. Do we think of the hero, the man who was loyal to God, or do we think about the fallen sinner? Do we think of the guy who spared Saul, his enemy’s life, or do we think of the guy who took Uriah, an innocent man’s life? “Do we emphasize the David who killed Goliath, or the David who killed Uriah? Should we view him as the servant who refused to lift his hand against the Lord’s anointed, or as the Lord’s anointed who lifted his hand against a faithful and loyal servant?” (Old Testament Student Manuel, pg. 287)

When my brother wrote to me after learning Jonah and I were together, he inferred that I could be like Joseph, who fled from the temptation of Potiphar’s wife, or David, who chose to linger and lust after Bathsheba, whom he eventually committed adultery with.

When I read the scriptures, I find I’m pretty mercifully-minded. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. I feel sorry for people like David or Pilate or even Judas Iscariot, who made grave errors. And it isn’t that I believe the choices they made were right or that they won’t be punished for the evil things they may have done. It’s that I believe they were human and made human errors just as all of us are apt to do. I once gave a talk on the mercy of God. I think Mormons (and most other Christian religions) are really good at understanding the justice of God (thou shalt… or thou shalt not…), but the mercy of God sometimes escapes them. I am guilty of this as well. In my talk I gave four examples from each book of Mormon scripture (the Old Testament, the New Testament, the Book of Mormon, and the Doctrine and Covenants) about people who made mistakes but still received a great deal of mercy from the Lord. Rahab, from the Old Testament, was a harlot (a prostitute) who harbored the spies that the prophet Joshua sent to Jericho. When Jericho was eventually destroyed, only Rahab and her family were spared, and there is scriptural evidence that Rahab was in Jesus’ bloodline. In the New Testament, Peter denied Christ three times, and suffered much for it, but he eventually became the leader of the Church. In the Book of Mormon, Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah led many people away from the Church and did much wickedness, but after they repented, the sons of Mosiah became great missionaries and Alma became one of the greatest prophets of the Church. In the Doctrine and Covenants, Martin Harris was responsible for the loss of 116 pages translated by Joseph Smith from the gold plates, and yet he was eventually permitted by the Lord to be one of the three witnesses to actually see the gold plates. He and Oliver Cowdery as well as David Whitmer were all excommunicated from the LDS Church, but eventually the former two were rebaptized, and although David Whitmer never was, he never denied his testimony of the Church. I think that’s got to count for something, and I believe the Lord will show mercy. A prostitute’s life is spared, and it is through her line that the Savior comes; a man denies knowing Jesus because of fear (the same man who’s lack of faith caused him to sink in the same water Jesus walked on, the same man Jesus said, “Get thee behind me, Satan” to, the same man who was rebuked for not wanting to wash the Savior’s feet) and becomes one of the greatest prophets of the Church; a very wicked man who leads others astray is able to repent and becomes the President of the Church; a man responsible for the loss of holy scripture because of his pride is allowed a great privilege. Even David, who we are taught will not receive exaltation, is promised that “the Lord [will] not leave his soul in hell.” Why? Because He is a merciful God. When the woman taken in adultery was brought before Jesus and told she should be stoned, Jesus said, “He who is without sin cast the first stone,” and of course no one did because all men sin. That didn’t mean Jesus condoned the woman’s actions. He told her, “Go and sin no more.” But he was tender with her and forgiving. Jesus told us to forgive those who sin against us seventy times seven times. If we are to follow the example of our Savior in everything, and if he follows God’s example in everything, doesn’t it stand to reason that they would use the same criteria for themselves.? The point is I believe in a loving, forgiving, merciful God, and I think it‘s important to remember that. God knew we would make mistakes here. He knew we’d sin. Otherwise, why would we need a Savior at all?

But back to David. The fact is he has fallen short of exaltation. He has paid, and is paying the price, for the choices he made in his life. He paid the price in his mortal life and is paying the price in the afterlife. And yet, the question is, was David’s life a tragedy or a triumph? “If a triumph, why, then has ‘he fallen from his exaltation and lost ‘the greatest of all the gifts of God?’ If a tragedy, why is the Messiah prophesied to sit ‘upon the throne of David’ and be called ‘David their king’? Why are we told that Jesus shall receive ‘the throne of his father David’ and that he has ‘the key of David’?” (Old Testament Student Manuel, page 287)

One of the points the teacher made was that David made the mistake of not enduring. On the other hand, he also made the point that our experiences, good and bad, are what shape us, and that only God (and eventually David) truly know what David’s final reward or state will be.

I’ve said it before, but I just don’t believe that everything is so black and white. Perhaps I am wrong, but it is what I feel in my heart. I was thinking today that if I make the choice to live my life as a gay man, wherever I end up in the afterlife, there are going to be a lot of people there with me; a lot of really good people. And whether my actions are deemed good or bad, right or wrong, I feel in my heart that my intentions are based in love, not in selfishness, and I believe that has to count for something. And I also know that Heavenly Father must know how incredibly difficult things are for some of his children. He must understand even better than we do what each of us is individually going through, and that’s precisely why He is the only one qualified to judge any of us; because he knows the inner workings of our hearts. So it is with David.

The teacher brought up the point that Bruce R. McConkie brought up in Mormon Doctrine (pg. 520): “Murderers are forgiven eventually but only in the sense that all sins are forgiven except the sin against the Holy Ghost; they are not forgiven in the sense that celestial salvation is made available to them. After they have paid the full penalty for their crime, they shall go on to a telestial inheritance.” Now, granted, in the theology of my religion, a telestial glory is not what we should be shooting for, but the point I want to make is that it is still a degree of glory. Dallin H. Oaks gave a talk about the degrees of glory, which I quoted in an earlier post. The point is, it all goes back to forgiveness and mercy. God wants us to be happy. The fact that any of us are here in the mortal existence already bodes well for us. We followed the Lord and chose to come here. Maybe I’m rationalizing (I probably am), but I think things will be better for us in the afterlife than we sometimes imagine they will be. We all commit sins. We all make mistakes. We’re imperfect. God knows that. Sometimes you’ve just got to do the best you can do under the given circumstances and hope things will turn out all right.

After Sunday School we had Sacrament Meeting, and there were many signs posted up behind the podium that said things like, “Faith in every footstep,” “The best is yet to come,” “Be strong and do it,” “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I,” and “We shall walk and not faint.” I wondered if God was trying to tell me something.

The youth had gone on what is called “Pioneer Trek,” where they dress as the Mormon pioneers did and reenact just a small portion of what the Mormon pioneers went through as they walked across the plains from the east to the Utah valley. I’ve never been on a Pioneer Trek myself. I had opportunities to do so when I was younger, but was never interested. Hearing the youth and some of the leaders talk about their experiences was very uplifting and spiritual, and it’s been a while since a church meeting affected me so.

The first youth talked about how tired he was and also talked about the “Women’s Pull,” where the women had to pull handcarts full of stuff up a sandy, rocky hill, and the men could only watch without being able to help. It made me think of how sometimes our Heavenly Father has to watch us go through such tribulations without being able to help us. He could, but he doesn’t because he knows we have to go through that experience ourselves. It causes us to learn something about ourselves that we might not have otherwise learned had he intervened. Would Abraham have learned just how much he was willing to sacrifice for the Lord when God commanded him to sacrifice Isaac? I think the Lord knew Abraham was willing to go all the way, but it was Abraham who needed to learn that he was willing to go all the way. But I imagine it pains Heavenly Father and makes him cry as it did many of the helpless brothers who had to watch the women do this incredibly difficult thing without being allowed to aid them.

The second youth was a boy named Anthony who has just amazed me. His father is dead, I believe, and his mother is not active in the church, but Anthony has been coming to church on his own for many years now. My mom taught him in Primary when he started coming to church, and he has turned into a very dedicated young man. He talked about how he tried moving rocks out of the way during the “Women’s Pull” until he was eventually told not to because the objective was for the women to do it all on their own. But it told me a lot about Anthony’s character that he would do that (while some of the younger, more immature kids were doing the opposite) and made me think about what kind of people we are in life: obstacle makers or obstacle removers. Anthony also talked about how he became ill during the trek and how hard it was to move the handcarts as a result of his weakness

The third youth was a girl who kept a journal. These were some of the things she wrote during the trek: She talked about the many people who chose not to make the trek to Utah (or Zion) and the ones who did and made the statement about the pioneers “giving up so much to come to Zion” and the ones who remained behind “giving up so much more not to.” She made a comment about the physical endurance showing “our brain what our body can do.” She made the comment “We can’t do it alone.” She said during the “Women’s Pull” “I looked up the hill and doubt filled my heart.” She talked about the handcart slipping back and pushing the cart only to have it remain still. She talked about how she felt angels helping her and that “the load wasn’t easy but the burden was light,” and how “angels are always willing to help you if you give them a chance.” I thought about how her words could apply to our life here on earth. I think the Lord uses metaphors for life, one being treks through the wilderness (or across the sea), whether it be the modern day pioneers, Moses and his people, Nephi and his family, or the Jaredites. There are many parallels one can glean from the scriptures that can be applied to our life’s trials. But not everyone makes it in their trek (or even chooses to make the trek at all). The ones who stayed behind may not have made it to Utah, but does that necessarily mean they weren’t happy? Even Emma Smith, Joseph’s wife stayed behind. Does that mean she’ll be punished for that? Many died on the way. Does that mean they were somehow weaker or less worthy than the ones who survived?

The next speaker made the comment that these pioneers shouldn’t have lived. What they were required to do was nigh impossible. But they did it. I guess that says a lot about faith and the Lord supporting you. He showed a famous picture of the pioneers trekking through winter cold pushing their handcarts and how unseen angels were helping them accomplish it. A later speaker speculated that those angels helping the pioneers may very likely have been us. But it was hard thing they were asked to do, and some weren’t able to do it. In Matthew 7:14 it even says, “strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” (Italics added). It struck me again how it must pain God to watch us suffer, but how we must go through our own experiences to learn and to know that our final reward will be exactly what we are supposed to get. This trek was incredibly difficult for these youth. Some couldn’t even do what they were required to do, and that was just a taste of what the original pioneers were required to do.

As these youth speakers and leaders talked of their experiences and later sang the hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints (a hymn which is not my favorite, but which I saw in a completely different light on Sunday), you could really tell that they had been through something together that none of us in the congregation could fully understand unless we had been through it ourselves, and it occurred to me that you only can only truly understand the experiences you have because you have them yourself, and no one else can judge those experiences except for the Lord himself because he knows us perfectly, inside and out. It really clarified the concept of not judging others, if that makes sense. It reminded me of people who have been through a war together or a tragedy (such as the Andes airplane crash in 1972). Only they can really understand what they’ve been through. That’s why I feel like gay Mormons understand each other like no one else can. Other gay Christians can certainly relate, but it isn’t exactly the same, and, of course, each gay Mormon’s experience is different, so really, the bottom line is that only you and God can wholly know your true soul, intentions, desires, and progress.

Another girl talked about her handcart sinking in the sand, and how the cart wouldn’t move, and how she had to look at the ground to avoid looking at how much more of the hill she had to climb.

A boy talked about watching the “Women’s Pull” and crying and being afraid that the other guys would think he was a wuss and how surprised he was to see so many men crying, and again it struck me, “Why is it such a shameful thing for a man to cry?” I don’t believe it is consciously, but subconsciously I wonder if I do because I don’t often allow myself to cry in front of other people. It’s not something I do consciously. I just don’t cry in front of others very often.

Another boy talked about how know one can do it alone and how we all have to help each other, and how one needs to work beyond what they feel they’re capable of doing. It again resonated in me the parallels between the trek and our mortal “trek.”

A girl talked about finding strength inside her that she didn’t think she had and how the only thing that holds us back is us. She talked about how God loves us and believes in us, and how we need to trust in ourselves as he does. She talked about how sometimes we think we know more than God and are rebellious, and how he loves us just the same in spite of it. That’s a hard concept to grasp for me sometimes, that God loves everyone the same. For example, it’s hard to fathom that God loves Hitler as much as he loves Gordon B. Hinckley because they are both his children. Sometimes I catch myself believing that God loves me less when I commit grievous sins. I say I think He loves me just the same, but I sometimes feel I don’t believe it as I should. I just want to feel that regardless of the choices I make, God’s love will always be strong and present in my life. He has to love us the same, doesn’t he? I think the story of the Prodigal Son in the Bible is a good illustration of that. And I think that father loved his son just as much while he was sinning as he did when he repented and came home. He did because he was his son. I think as imperfect human beings (some who have one parent or another that doesn’t show them that love or who have people in their lives they can’t fathom loving that way), it’s a hard concept to grasp.

The final speaker talked about the reason the pioneers sacrificed so much was because they believed in Christ. He talked about how today’s challenges are different, but just as challenging, and how these people lost their lives physically, and how we face similar loss spiritually.

I thought about how my religion is like a marriage (and the scriptures even make that comparison) and how I’ve made certain covenants in this “marriage.” Being with Jonah would cause me to break those covenants. And, yet, at the same time, I don’t know that I am willing to sacrifice my love for Jonah for the Church. It’s so complicated. Ideally, I just would like to be Mormon and gay. But I can’t seem to have both. It’s a wonder Jonah isn’t sick of me yet. But he isn’t. He loves me that much. He also loves me enough that he’d be willing to let me go if he thought the Church is what would make me happy (although both of us would be terribly devastated by that). I’ve never experienced such a strong love in a relationship before, and I don’t know that I’m willing to let it go, consequences be damned. And maybe that says something about the choice I am faced with.

I read other blogs from people in similar positions, and it’s always back and forth, back and forth, and I yell at the screen: “Make up your mind already! Make a choice and do it!” And yet I’m fully aware that I am in the exact same boat. But I was reflecting the other day about how nice it is to be in the same boat with a lot of people. At least we’re all in the same boat and understand to some extent what each other is going through. And that is comforting.

It's funny, when the youth were singing "Come, Come, Ye Saints," they seemed so somber and serious and teary-eyed because of the experiences they shared together. I imagine the Pioneers sang it in a similar fashion. And yet the words go, "All is well. All is well." The song struck me in a profound way it never has before. I leave this entry with those words:

Come, come, ye Saints,no toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day.
'Tis better far for us to strive
Our useless cares from us to drive;
Do this, and joy your hearts will swell-
All is well! All is well!

Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
'Tis not so; all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins; fresh courage take.
Our God will never us forsake;
And soon we'll have this tale to tell-
All is well! All is well!

We'll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
We'll make the air with music ring,
Shout praises to our God and King;
Above the rest these words we'll tell-
All is well! All is well!

And should we die before our journey's through,
Happy day! All is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell!
But if our lives are spared again
To see the Saints their rest obtain,
Oh, how we'll make this chorus swell-
All is well! All is well!