Before and After

Oh, Natalie.

I remember trying to describe this once.

How pictures from Before

bring such an onslaught of feelings,

such a mix of emotion.

My After-self gazes with tenderness

compassion

fear

longing, yearning, sorrow

when I see pictures

of my innocent, unsuspecting Before-self.

I trace her face with my fingertip

and whisper sweet condolences.

Though my heart yearned for your understanding,

NEVER

in all my aching prayers for freedom from grief's isolation,

did I think that your understanding,

your empathy

would one day be this full . . .

. . . this excruciating.

Still

My heart lifts in gratitude

as I watch yours open so fully,

and your soul rise so sweetly

in love for He who walks this path with us.

I have prayed for these blessings in your life

from the moment I first kissed your beautiful little face.

But

never did I imagine

my prayers would be answered in

this

searing

way.

If I had known . . .

Would I have tried to spare you ?

Probably.

But we did know, didn't we?

And we chose not to change a thing.

How great the wisdom and the love

that called for our vote before

and not after

the Plan was set in motion.

Again life's double edged sword,

the opposition in all things:

It's dizzying

to feel so sorry

and yet so grateful

all in the same heartbeat.

Please feel both from me.

I love you so.

Once upon a time

parents, families, friends

stood on a windy pier

said tearful good-byes

held each other close

and then watched as their loved one

climbed aboard a ship and

sailed away.

From that day on

they knew only that

the adventurers would be

somewhere

out there

in a New World

making a new life

for themselves.

And that knowledge

had to be enough.

Most of them called it

Adventure.

Ecclesiastes 3:3

I've gotten email from so many of you who have lost children and wonder that you still grieve so deeply--who somehow feel frail and awkward and guilty about your grief, like maybe you need to hide your pain somehow. This post is for you. It's from a journal entry I wrote a full 18 months after Gavin died, and two months after losing my amazing friend and brother.

The late spring snows have crushed my daffodils again . . . arrrgh! Just when I was so hungry for the sun! But we need the water and my sweet little daffodils are still under there, spunky and resilient. They'll come back--good as new.

This weekend [general conference], I drank in precious, healing waters I know Heavenly Father wanted me to hear. He's been feeling after me and is concerned I know, but I'm still bowed down under the weight of grief come again too soon. If I were a little bird, the coyotes would have gotten me by now. Vulnerable. Wanting to hide.

God understands this need to hide, I'm sure. He waits and watches lovingly, leans toward me, hands patiently folded. Quiet. Tender. Patient. He knows me. Knows I'll find my balance and open up again, come out into the light. I will. Everything in it's time.

We cleaned out Gavin's car on Saturday. Well, Greg did. I love that man. Later, I stood in the laundry room and hugged a shirt that Gav had left in his trunk . . . how long ago? Long enough that his smell was missing. I searched for it, buried my face in that shirt, tried to imagine it. It wasn't there. But I could feel him in the thin, smooth cotton against my cheek, and I held him tight to my chest and cried. Hot, yearning tears. I don't resist them when they come. In many ways, they're part of what I have left of my boy, and it's good to feel them on my face, taste their salt on my lips.

Today, I loved these words from President Uchdorf:

We need the refining lessons of the journey

to craft our character

and purify our hearts.

Birthday wishes

I wish I could decorate your door with crepe paper streamers and balloons.

And wake you in the morning with a do-nut birthday cake and candles

and a crazy birthday song

that I stayed up too late writing

(set to Beatles music, of course)

I wish I could touch your face and tell you how proud of you I am

and hug you and tell you how cool it is that you're taller than me

I wish we could dance around the kitchen together

(oh, I miss dancing with you, so much)

I wish we could go for a hike

or a late night walk in the snow

(remember?)

I wish for one of your phone calls to tell me about

the tiny frog you've got in your hand

or the run you just finished

or how much you love President Hinckley

or that you're back safe from your ocean paddle

(thanks so much for those 'I'm home safe' calls)

Today, I'm cherishing

the way you'd open my car door

the notes you always left for me to find

the way you always said, "I love you, Mama."

and the way your voicemails always started out,

"Hi Mama! It's your baby boy!"

I'm remembering your arm around my shoulder

and your smile

(oh, your smile)

and your text messages--

"11:11 Mom. Thinkin of you."

"Pancakes!"

And your amazing hugs

your grateful heart

and the way you loved me so openly

So freely

So unashamedly

So unconditionally

Thank you, my son.

For all you were.

For all you are.

You're a pretty awesome guy, you know.

I feel humbled and so blessed

that you chose me to be your mom

Grateful that you knew I'd understand

that you had to leave-

that you had a greater work to do

that there were others who needed your love

your testimony of the Savior and His Atonement

and the gift of your understanding heart.

I am eternally blessed by the knowledge of

Where you are now

and What you're doing

and in Whose name you serve.

I do love you Gav.

Always did, no matter what

Always will, no matter where

Please feel my hand on your cheek

and hear the love in my heart when I say,

You're still making me proud, my buddy.

Happy Birthday, Gavin-San.

I love you.

Kiss your little nephew for me, will you?

And tell him how much I miss him--

miss both of you.

I love you both.

So very much.

Ooooooooooooo, I love you.

Forever.

Mom

p.s. I know I'm a day early,

but, I wanted to make sure you get this first thing in the morning-

(I know it's not quite a do-nut cake, candles and streamers. I just

couldn't figure that one out.)

Diamonds

Dearest Arden,

Let me give you one simple reason

I know that God is good.

(There are a million of them --

but for tonight

this is the one that shines most brightly for me.)

My patriarchal blessing tells me that I will live

only as long as life is sweet to me.

So whenever life seems like more than I can bear

I always check to see if I'm still alive.

Yes, today my heart is breaking at

yet another unimaginable loss

A tiny life, bright and precious

gone from our arms so soon.

Almost too soon to bear

So soon, following

So many others

I have cherished and prayed for

And still lost

So soon

I can't seem to catch my breath in between them all

And now no way to spare my beautiful daughter

from this anguish

I understand far too well.

But I know God is good,

And I know His promises are sure

And I'm still alive.

So, I dry my eyes and lift my weary head

and look around

for the promised sweetness.

I don't have to look far.

Tonight, when I went out to walk the dogs,

a quiet moon poured down onto the fresh, perfect snow

and cast a thousand shimmering diamonds across the landscape.

So.

Even if He asks me to suffer for now

I know God is good and tender

and loving and caring

and mindful of me.

Because when I walked out into the darkness

and the deep chill of this winter night,

He cared enough

to pave my way with diamonds.

"The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit,

that we are the children of God:

and if children, then heirs;

heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ;

if so be that we suffer with him,

that we may be also glorified together.

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time

are not worthy to be compared

with the glory which shall be revealed in us."

Romans 8:16-18

the heart always makes the perfect choice

I wrote the following not long after my son Gavin died:

We've often been asked why we chose to bury Gavin in Hawaii rather than here on the mainland. Luckily, in the shattered days when you're required to make this kind of decision, logic has little sway. My heart knew though, without question. And now, in retrospect, I'm so glad that his body rests there in that warm island sand, in view of the ocean where he loved to swim, surf and kayak with his sea turtles and whales. The gentle trades bring quiet comfort; the mountains in the distance hold his footprints; Natalie, Richie and the boys visit and remember Unkie whenever they feel the need.

The heart always makes the perfect choice.

#

And now today,

Now that our Baby Gavin's little body lies

in this same sacred place-

right over his Uncle Gavin's heart-

I'm so grateful for my heart

that knew to listen.

And, I am reminded once again . . .

God knows the end from the beginning.

He watches over us

and plans for us,

and keeps His loving arms around us.

Always.

Longing to hold him

To all of you who have been so supportive,

loving and prayerful

(and patient while I've been unable to access

the internet),

Thank you.

From the deepest parts of my weary heart.

Thank you for your love.

And your prayers

and emails and blog comments,

and your tears.

Mostly for your tears.

As we weep together,

I feel your love and it lifts me through this trial.

I am spending my days and nights

holding my own baby

while she longs to hold hers.

I've written several posts in my heart.

I'll start posting them . . .

Tomorrow.

Today I need to take my baby to the beach

and let the sun warm her lonely arms.

You understand, I know.

Love you.

Bunches.

And yes,

God is good!

And His purposes are just

and perfect.