No, that boat was never sinking

I learn so much about faith and scriptures and Jesus from teaching children.  Mostly my own, but sometimes other people's children too.  Since this is about my learning journey, not just from grief, but from life, here's a recent moment I had.

A few weeks ago, I had a profound moment of spiritual learning when my 3 year old daughter was looking at the picture of Jesus calming the storm.  If you aren't familiar with that story, it's in the Bible in Mark chapter 4 (which I'll admit, I'm not enough of a scriptorian to know that off the top of my head, I had to look up where to find it.)  My daughter asked me a very simple question "Is the boat sinking?"  And I thought about it for a minute, because the frankness of her question surprised me.  I've never really asked myself "Is the boat sinking?" before.  Hearing the story in hindsight, of course I know that the boat didn't sink, that the Savior calmed the storm, and that everything turned out fine.  However, something in the way she asked the question made me think about it more in present tense--like if I was on the boat, would I think the boat was sinking?  Again, with hindsight, I understand who the Savior is, and that the boat was never in true danger, because the Savior was on the boat.  So it was easy for me to say "No.  That boat isn't sinking.  It's in a big storm, and the people on the boat are afraid it's going to sink, but Jesus is on that boat, so they're safe. And Jesus told the storm to stop, so it did."

 

After I explained it to her, I continued to think about how it must have felt to been on that boat and to wonder "Is the boat sinking?" That conclusion was easy for the Savior's followers to make in the very moments when they were on the boat and the waves were getting higher, and the storm was steadily worsening, and the boat was probably getting harder and harder to steer.  They hadn't seen all His miracles, they didn't understand that He'd conquer death by being resurrected, they didn't understand all the things He had tried to tell them about who He was.  So they truly feared for their lives, lacking the understanding that when the Savior is on the boat with us, we're in no real danger.  

And then I thought about me.  About the figurative boats I've been on, and when it's felt like I'm going to die, like that ship is going down and it's all going to be over for me shortly.  I might look like I have it all together, but anyone who knows what happens on the inside of me knows that I struggle, that I still get dreadfully overwhelmed, and that I have hopeless, intensely frustrated, doubting moments.  There have definitely been times in my life that I thought my figurative ship was going down.  Many of those moments happen when I have forgotten who the Savior really is, and what he's capable of.  And some of those moments were moments when I was probably in the wrong boat, not the one that the Savior is in--and those ships CAN go down.  But as long as I'm in the boat with the Savior, that boat is never sinking. 

So...in a nutshell, her question gave me the inspiration to pause and ask myself whether or not I'm in the boat with the Savior, and what do I need to do to make sure I'm in the right boat, and then what do I need to do to remember who He is and how His ship doesn't ever sink.  

Yes, I still miss him, especially today

So many things in life are cyclical.  The water cycle, the cycle of each year, the patterns of each day.  And because of those cycles, grief still occasionally slams into me and catches me off guard when I don't expect it.  I think grief is like that for many people, especially as certain holidays and traditions cycle around and the memories tied to those traditions are incredibly powerful, and sometimes so is the sadness from realizing that those memories are a thing of the past, not the present; there are no new ones to be created in this life.

Today would have been Gideon's first primary program.  For those of you who aren't familiar with what that means, in congregations of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (aka Mormons) each year the primary children (aged 3-11) prepare songs, scriptures, and short messages to share with the entire congregation in a special meeting.  They spend months preparing for it, learning songs and parts and today they sang, shared their parts, and brought such a beautiful spirit of humanity, life, and faith, and I loved it.  Today, as I heard the children singing "Families Can Be Together Forever", it hit me: the memories of singing that song just days after his death and the pain that I was feeling, the realization that Gideon would have been up there today doing his best to sing the songs and share his part, and the truth of the words "families can be together forever" and a gratitude that he's mine forever, but feeling that loss today and wishing he were here already.

It does get easier, I don't miss him as painfully now all the time as I used to.  Grief is something I have learned to live with and grown accustomed to.  I still think of him every day, but often the thoughts aren't as consuming and heavy as they used to be. 

Today was my reminder that as the cycle of the big holiday season approaches, it's a time of memories, and so it's a time where life can be painful for those who have reasons to miss someone.  It's a good reminder to me to be sensitive to other people, and also a reminder to treasure the chance I have to make memories with the loved ones I have here and now.  Since the beginning of this journey, I have been determined not to let the grief I feel over Gideon's death keep me from living a beautiful life full of other amazing memories with my loved ones and the children I do have here with me.  What an opportunity life gives me EVERY DAY to get to know and love others more deeply and to share time with them.  

Today, I really still missed Gideon, but I'm grateful that his short life continues to help me learn to appreciate my life more, and that I'm able to live mine more fully because of all I still am learning from missing my little boy.  As long as the grief continues, my learning and growing journey continues.

Moments

Gideon's 4th birthday is next week.  Has it really been almost 4 years since this incredible journey began?  Has it been nearly four years since I touched his tender little face, delighted to see his eyes as they struggled to open and make brief contact?  

Alydia age 3

Someone observed to me today "Wow, all your children are so different."  It's so true.  In some ways, it makes parenthood more fun, like a rollercoaster in a dark building (think Space Mountain) or a waterslide with a dark tunnel, where you aren't sure what twists and turns are up ahead.  But in other ways, it makes parenthood much harder, because it's hard to predict, prepare, and plan for all the curves my children throw me.  Having unpredictable children, it makes me wonder even more about the little boy who would be 4. When would he have walked?  What would his first word have been?  Would he be good at snuggling or be too wiggly?  Would he look like any of his older siblings?  Would he tend towards trouble, confidence, mischief, silliness?  I hate not knowing these things about my son, but I do still have faith in eternal families, and in the resurrection; I look forward

to the day when we'll be reunited and I will get to know him.

Ethan age 6

Hyrum age 4

James age 4

In the mean time, I have gained a greater understanding and appreciation for the moments I get to have with people--not just my own children, but all people.  I didn't even begin to understand how precious an hour could be, until I knew we had precious few hours with our own son.  In hindsight, we can think of things we could have and should have done to make those days and hours count for more, but they are days and hours we can't really get back.  We go on, with the knowledge that we were not fully aware of how little time we had, and that we did try to make his time special when he was here, as well as caring for our other children and making sure they were also OK.  So we missed out on some opportunities, and we're painfully aware of the moments we wish we would have used differently.

I'm not necessarily saying we have regrets, because we were trying to follow doctors' and nurses' advice, with hope that his body would normalize and grow and develop, and trying not to push my own body too hard after just having a baby--we were trying to use our time as though he was going to spend many months in the NICU, not realizing we'd have only a week.  And we know we can't beat ourselves up about that time.  We are trying to remember what we learned from the time we wish we'd have used differently and seize more opportunities in the HERE and NOW with the people we have in our lives.  Spending time learning about people and understanding people and especially loving people is not wasted time.  It doesn't get projects done--most often this type of investment is completely invisible, which is very frustrating in the world we live in--a world of projects and achievable, accountable goals, and comparisons, but it is still incredibly valuable time, probably often even more valuable than all the project oriented stuff or entertainment type stuff we spend so much time on.

I know I still don't fully understand this.  I am still learning to make time count for more, I'm still trying to learn that moments reading to my children, moments of tenderness with my husband, moments of learning about another person's needs and filling them aren't time wasted.  I still have my mental "checklist" of things I'd like to get done, and most of the time, I neglect to include "love" in that daily checklist.  And when I do spend time loving and connecting with people at the cost of a different project, I'm learning not to beat myself up about what didn't get done.

I'm still learning to appreciate the madness of motherhood, but I feel that because of Gideon's death, I can more fully appreciate it.  Even if Gideon was a toilet paper unroller, a food mess maker, a kid who giggles at the wrong times, one who struggled to aim at (or anywhere near) the toilet, I know I would take ANY moments with him, even with the messes and frustrations. Thus I am able to enjoy those sometimes less delightful moments with my own family, when normally they'd feel like a huge chore.  Don't get me wrong, cleaning up messes is not fun, and I still get after my children for making messes that they need to learn how to not make.  And I still make them clean up when they miss the toilet.  But I am painfully aware that it's worth it, and I'd rather have the messes to clean up than not have the children in my home.

I have such a long way to go still.  My understanding of how special each person is, and how special each moment can be has definitely deepened.  The sense of loss has made me more sensitive to it, and though I hate that sensitivity because it hurts more, I'm also grateful for it because it is shaping me into a better person.

Are we there yet?!

I am fortunate enough to live in the Western United States, where I can access many of the National Parks and some of the most breathtaking landscapes.  I love hiking, driving, meandering, and just taking in all the amazing wonder that there is in the world, and thankfully so do my family.  But to get to any of these places, we have to drive through miles and miles of desert.  The closest National Park is 4 hours away, and many are 5-8 hours away.  On those very long drives, it looks like there is NO WAY it will ever turn out to be anything but endless desert.  I often think to myself, "How did someone discover this?"  How would they have felt as pioneers, after traveling on foot for months through all kinds of ugly, barren terrain to come upon some of these amazing wonders?  Along the drive I often wonder if we're going the right way, if there is really anything out in the middle of nowhere, and of course, my children have to call out "Are we there yet?" 

Does it look like we're there yet?!

Arches National Park, 2013 me and my sister, Heidi

But of course, we eventually arrive, and the landscapes are humbling and breathtaking and inspiring, and I'm always grateful that I trusted Google Maps or the GPS, even though it seemed like there was no possible way that anything amazing was going to show up after so much desert.

Redwoods, California. Taken in June 2017

Life is like that sometimes.  I have been having an "Are we there yet?" week, when I know I'm doing the right thing and on the right path, but it has felt so frustrating and mundane.  Being a wife and mother is hard, even when married to a good man and when I have good kids.  Taking care of the daily chores of life is hard.  And honestly, sometimes it's not very rewarding, like a journey through so much wilderness.  But I trust that God has amazing destinations in store for me, and so I try to hold on and keep going, despite that lack of inspiration.  I feel like I should know how to enjoy every minute of every part of my children's lives, I've had such a hard lesson about treasuring each day, each moment with my family, because they could be gone any time.  But honestly, sometimes I don't--I'm human.  Taking care of sick kids, yelling at them to pick up their dirty socks for the 10th time, sweeping the floor AGAIN, trying to keep up with endless laundry, helping with homework for the umpteenth time is TEDIOUS, and hardly awe inspiring.  Those moments do exist, though, when I am so excited, proud, delighted, inspired, and thrilled by my husband or my kids or by something I created or they created, some demonstration of love or kindness that I didn't expect, and I catch glimpses of beautiful "vistas" in my life.

Outside of Crescent City California, June 2017

On weeks like this one, I have to hold out hope that they're coming, because I'm still trying to do the right things, I'm still on the path that I chose and that I feel like God wants me to be on.  If I just hold on, I know I'm going to get to see all kinds of amazing things come to pass in my life.

Bryce Canyon National Park, 2014

Solutions

I really believe there are many possible solutions to the world's many problems.  Among them are different gun control laws, planting trees and reclaiming the earth, better help for those with mental illness, stricter prosecution for criminals, and/or banning video games and media that glorify or even encourage murder and rape.  But I honestly, deep in my heart feel like a huge part of the problem is that everyone has stopped realizing what a privilege it is to have friends, to have time to be with family, to love and be loved, and to learn from other people.  People talk to other people--living, breathing human beings as if they're stupid, volatile, and inferior ALL THE TIME.

Have you ever seen Madagascar?  The monkeys say to each other "If you have any poo, fling it now."  I'm pretty sure that happens every day in the comment board on every news story, every social media page, everywhere in the world.

I know there's no way to teach people to love everyone and be kind to everyone.  And obviously you can't trust everyone.  But showing respect to other human beings, and trying to truly understand their point of view is so important.  Everybody is in a hurry to be understood, but nobody wants to take the time to understand anyone else. They're often just busy trying to make other people feel dumb, hoping it'll be a speedy way to get the other person to come around.  How do we not have it figured out that it just doesn't work?  "Whenever someone insults me or calls me names, I'm sure to realize I'm wrong"...said no person ever.

Here's something a real person said, though: “Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”  
― William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well 

Martin Luther King said "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."   Too many people are communicating using hateful language--belittling, name calling, disrespectful language is not going to help others see light.  It never will.

What the world needs now, is love, sweet love.  It's the only thing that there's just too little of...

It's a flower child response, I know.  Truly, though, if I could pick one solution to "rule them all" it'd be that we all remember that we are all human beings, real people--we all need love, respect, and to be understood.

It's a privilege

This isn't a goodbye post, though I'm feeling sentimental and nostalgic.  It's a "life is precious" post.  It's a "family and friends are a treasure" post.  And words won't be enough, but they're what I've got.

Before I buried a child, I never felt grateful for the opportunity to be awakened in the night by a sick little person who was fevered or throwing up. I didn't realize that potty training was a privilege. I couldn't appreciate that fighting homework battles, teaching them not to throw a fit, spending hours convincing them to try a new food, and/or removing privileges because they were disrespectful are all special pieces of a journey that I should be thankful to be a part of.

Lest I sound like the woman who has it all together, who is always keeping a perspective filled with love, laughter, and delight, I'll just make it very clear that I'm not that person.  I hope that I'm on the path to becoming that person, but I'm not there yet.  I still get frustrated, aggravated, sleep deprived, and attitudinal (I love that word).  My house is messy, and I am harder on myself than I should be in some ways, and not hard enough on myself in other ways. 

I just...I know how it feels to bury a child.  I know how it feels to notice that someone is missing.  I watched some of my children sing "I am a Child of God" in a church meeting last week, and I just ached because my son should have been up there singing for his first time with the primary children.  I know how it feels to miss out on birthdays, and on opportunities to snuggle him when he's sick, to potty train him, to do all the "normal" parent things.  It still hurts.  I don't blog about it as often any more, because I feel like I've said it so many times already, but the pain is still there.

With that pain, though, has come this amazing awareness that being a mom is such a blessing.  I look at my children and remember (not always, but many times) that it is a privilege to spend time with them each day.  And in light of the recent mass shooting at a high school in Florida, that awareness has been brought closer to the surface this week.  I am heartbroken for the parents and friends that have to bury children.  The tragedy has sparked a lot of arguing about what the solutions are (and I'll talk about that in another post) but I hope it has also sparked a realization that every day is precious.  And that there is a NEED in the world for every person to feel loved, special, even treasured.  I don't know what happened to drive the shooter to the point that he chose to do what he did, but what if he had felt precious to someone every day?  What if he had a connection with someone good in his life every day, and felt loved, safe, and secure?  Earthquakes and hurricanes and storms and accidents should ALSO make us aware that it's important for us to be grateful for every day, to let our loved ones know they are special to us, and to reach out to those who we truly care about that might need our help.

In the last few years, I've seen many marriages fall apart that have stood for years.  I know, when I first fell in love, that spending time with my (then) boyfriend or fiancee was a privilege and I took every opportunity to be with him.  Now I'm blogging, while he watches TV (and that's OK, he knows that this is important to me, and he's understanding and supportive.  In fact, me starting a blog was his idea so that I could cope with my emotions and share my thoughts after we lost our son.)  My point though, is that back when the relationship was very young, it was obvious to him and to me that being with him was a privilege.  Life is hard, marriage is hard, and relationships are hard and take commitment, because we are human and we screw up and we don't always communicate well.  And out of necessity, things change--we can't always spend every moment together, it can't always be a honeymoon, and space can be a good thing too.  But, for those of you in a relationship, when is the last time you felt like it was a privilege to be with your partner?  And when did you tell them?  Or...when did you last feel so special--like the person you're with felt like it was a privilege to be with you? 

I feel like I can and I need to do better about making sure people in my life know that I feel like it's a privilege to know them, to love them, to be influenced by their thoughts, opinions, and experiences.  Even in the hard times, like tonight when my toddler had a hard time going to sleep because of a cough and a sore throat, so I had to go back in and hold her and help her settle down far after bedtime, it's a privilege to love and care for her, even when it's not convenient or fun. 

If you're one of my friends who reads my posts, who cares about me enough to want to hear my thoughts and feelings, know that you're precious to me.  People who care are something really special, and the world needs more people like you.  It's a privilege to know you.

Gifts

I don't know about anybody else, but for me Christmas has just about every feeling possible crammed into the season.  I feel elated and excited, anxious and amicable, grief and gratitude, sympathy and sadness, delight and dread all swirling around as I try to dig deeper, be kinder, find ways to serve others, spend time thinking of the Savior and Heavenly Father and the gift they gave, and as I try to make sure everyone in our family has the right balance of presents and that they're wrapped and festive and fun.  I try to take time to create memories and also to reach out to others who may be in need.  It's a lot.  The purchasing and the wrapping of gifts and trying to plan and make everything perfect is definitely so overwhelming.

It is so easy to look around and see all that there is to do alongside all that needs to be done and then feel like I am drowning.  I want the house to be even more clean than normal (which is impossible when crafting, cooking, or creating anything--which I ALSO want to do more of.)  

I have 6 children, but people can only see 5.  It doesn't really make the child who died any less real, but he's less visible.  Because of that, I have been thinking a lot--for months, actually--about things that are not seen.  Struggles that lie hidden underneath the surface, talents that remain dormant when unused, and some of the amazing spiritual or personality gifts that many people are given, but aren't really easy to see all the time.  It's easy to see presents that are under the tree, but there are so many gifts that we forget to take time to appreciate. 

I am grateful for the gift of life.  I am more keenly aware of my ability to breathe after watching my child struggle for his last breaths.  I share that gift every single day with many other people.  For example, I keep my children alive by doing boring things like feeding them, and helping them learn to toilet train, and by giving them a home that feels safe and warm.  (I also don't kill them when they're making me crazy. )  As moms, sometimes we don't give ourselves credit for being alive, or for keeping others alive, or for enriching other's lives.  That is truly sharing a gift, and should not be discredited or discounted, even if the floors went unswept that day or the laundry ended up not folded.  

The ability to sympathize is a two-edged-sword type gift.  I am grateful that I am able to mourn with those that mourn, because it is what God wants me to do.  Possessing that gift means that I cry more, I hurt more, and I want to help more than I would otherwise, which often adds to my feelings of being overwhelmed.  Honestly, though, I wouldn't trade the gift away, because I know it has helped other people who really needed it.  And having been the recipient of true giving in my own time of need, the gift of being sympathetic means that I am better able to pay that forward.

Being able to easily talk to people is a gift.  The funny thing about that, is that there is a sister gift that is very different--which is the ability to truly listen to people.  And not just chit-chat and small talk, but the real, deep talk when we are trying to figure things out in our lives.  Our world seems to be gradually becoming void of people who nurture those gifts in themselves, which is why we now pay therapists and psychologists hundreds of dollars to listen and to talk to us about the things that really matter in our lives.  (And also, I think why politicians are unable to discuss or listen when they need to figure out real solutions to big problems.)  These are gifts too--not visible, but very much gifts.

So many talents are gifts.  I have been very blessed with musical talents, and I try to share them freely (without showing off--because I don't think that helps anyone to feel special.)  I have been very blessed by others who have shared their talents with me, whether it was sharing music, their ability to do makeup, sew clothing, make really great food, draw, paint, or take pictures.  All talents are gifts worth sharing (and receiving and working on), but none can be wrapped or put under a tree.  Except perhaps art.  My sister in law made this beautiful sketch for me and gave it to me recently. 

It is one of my favorite tangible gifts.  

Similar to talents, the gift of creating is so incredible.  As a mom, I have participated first hand in the creation of a human life, and that is something special.  Moms on bedrest often feel like "they can't do anything", and don't give themselves enough credit for investing so much of their life in creation.  Construction work isn't often considered to be a "glorious" profession, but creating homes and buildings is amazing!!

God has given so many gifts that can't be wrapped.  Families.  Love.  Earth.  Promptings of the Holy Ghost.  Commandments and blessings.  Prayer.  The list could go on and on.

Time is a gift--it's limited for all of us, but we just never know how limited it is.  Almost ANYONE that you ask wishes they spent more time with a loved one, especially once that person is gone.  And moments are precious.  Obviously each of us can't invest time in every single soul on the planet--that would be insane.  However, we can make our interactions with each soul in our sphere of influence count.  Whether it's driving considerately (because all of those people matter too), smiling at a stranger, sympathizing with a mom who has crying children at the store or the bank, holding the door for someone, or talking a little longer with someone who needs it, we all have so much time to spend on the people around us, and we might as well make the time count.  We often don't think that strangers can have an effect on us, but it's not true.  When I was a teenager, I remember once walking down the street and saying to a man "Hey, how are you?"  And he responded "I'm blessed, I'm blessed, I can't complain."  His response struck me and has stuck with me for all these years.  It taught me so much, in a 15 second interaction.  The time you spend everywhere will tick by whether we use it to share goodness or not, so make that gift count!!

The ability to love and be loved are such beautiful gifts, and even though they seem like they should be as natural as breathing, I really believe that different people are blessed with varying levels of ability in both of these areas.  Some people have the ability to love anyone in whatever "love language" they speak, and others struggle to speak more than their own "love language."  Some people truly struggle to feel genuine love (and often, as a result of mistreatment in their developing years, which is such a tragedy.)  I think, far too often, I don't count time spent helping someone feel loved as "getting something done" or "giving a gift", when truly, there aren't many greater gifts.  

So many times I've read the scripture "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13) and thought it was only talking about dying for someone.  What if that's not the only thing it's talking about?  What if it's talking about giving someone a part of your life?  Your time?  Your ability to love?  Enriching their life?  As a mom, I set aside many of my own personal goals each day in order to give each of my children the gifts that can't be seen.  Isn't that one version of "laying down my life for my friends?"  

To everyone caught in the same swirls of emotion and feeling overwhelmed as I have been: don't let the tangible things block your ability to see all the amazing gifts that you give every day.  Don't let your hustle to buy a present or wrap a present get in the way of you giving someone a hug or a listening ear. Just because everything on your "to do" list didn't get done, don't beat yourself up if you were spending your time with people, trying to improve their lives.  Don't discount those things that you do everyday--shuttling kids to and from appointments, making or buying food for your family, interacting with coworkers, creating buildings or homes or lives, listening to people--those count.  They may not be on your "to do" list, or under your tree, but they are gifts that are beautiful and special, and should be recognized too.  Happy Holidays to all my friends.  (This includes Happy Hanukkah to my Jewish friends, Merry Christmas to my Christian friends, and Joyous Kwanzaa to all my friends of African descent.)  And I hope all of you who read this take a few minutes to realize what an awesome gift each of you are, and the amazing gifts that you share every day.