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.

Because it's the 17th

Christmas Love

I have a collection of copies of this tender love story. I read it every Christmas and melt all over again, every time. It should be standard issue for all newly (or old-ly) wed couples--it's the perfect portrayal of family love in it's purest from.

Your Prayers, Please.

This is my beloved friend Sandy.

She has been at my side through

triumph and tragedy,

laughter and tears.

Her son Nate is fighting cancer

and is undergoing surgery today.

He has a beautiful little family who love and need him,

and I'm afraid he's going to need a miracle

if he's going to be able to stay around to raise them.

Will you help us pray for one?

So much to be thankful for.

For the beauty of the earth,

For the beauty of the skies,

For the love which from our birth

Over and around us lies,

Lord of all, to thee we raise

This our grateful hymn of praise.

For the joy of human love,

Brother, sister, parent, child,

Friends on earth, and friends above,

Pleasures pure and undefiled,

Lord of all, to thee we raise

This our grateful hymn of praise.

Happy Thanksgiving! See you next week.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

New Life

Gavin David Bruce Norton

Born on the anniversary of his

Great Grandma Patricia's death,

and named after his Uncle Gavin and Great Grandpa Bruce,

this little guy has already stolen every heart in sight.

Not long after his birth, Lincoln and I walked

out to see Uncle Gavin's pine,

the one he planted

only a few days before his death.

It has recently sprouted a new

little sapling. I imagine it comes in honor of this new life just begun.

See how the larger tree lovingly bends to hover over it's little charge.

My life is swollen with miracles.

Courage

I met a little boy in the San Diego airport on Monday. He stood about the height of a five-year-old, but his face looked to be maybe eight or nine. He walked with crutches. The for-life kind of crutches with the metal rings that wrapped around his forearms for extra support. Walking down the concourse was a lot of work for him, but it was clear that walking had always been a lot of work for him. No big deal. But certainly more work than for everyone around him. As Greg and I ordered our breakfast at the juice bar, his little family turned up again there in the crowd, and in the crush and bustle of the morning rush for an airport breakfast, the little boy balancing on crutches got jostled and fell to the floor. I imagined that this wasn't new for him, it probably happens a lot. I found myself imagining falls on the playground or in the lunchroom at school, and the mother's heart in me pounded as I watched today's clattering tumble to the hard tile and then his patient struggle to get himself back on his feet again. I gave him and his mom a minute to get straightened around and walked over to them.

"I want you to know something." I looked him right in the eyes, not exactly sure what I was going to say next, but wanting to express this emotion rising in my heart. I had to fight to make sure I didn't tear up and embarrass him. Finally, the feeling identified itself and I went on. "I want you to know that you give me courage." I had to pause again. "In fact, I think you give lots of people courage. Every single day. I think it's important for you to know that who you are, and the courageous way you handle the challenges in your world, gives me, and gives others, the courage to handle the hard things in our lives. I think this makes you a hero, and I want to thank you for that."

He and his mom exchanged a quick glance and she whispered to him, "Do you want me to show her?" He nodded enthusiastically, and Mom unzipped his backpack and slid out a small toy dog.

"It's a German shepherd!" he told me, his face bright and smiling.

"Do you want to tell her his name?" his mom asked. He nodded again.

"Courage," he said. "My dog's name is Courage."

I share this story because I know there are many of you who read my blog who live your lives with this little boy's kind of courage. This week marked eight months since my sweet sister-in-law lost her best friend and husband, my brother Bart. I know how hard it is for her to carry on each day without Bart's warm sunshine in her world, but she's doing it, and she's doing it with great determination and a lot of courageous smiles. Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the death of my friend Shelly's precious mom. Patricia Kay Bickmore Christensen was a strong force behind everything bright and beautiful in so many people's worlds and I know Shelly must miss her keenly, but there is never a phone call to or from Shelly that won't leave you feeling happy and grateful to be alive. Another girlfriend lost her husband last year and then discovered that their entire retirement had evaporated in the Bernie Madolf scandal. Among you are mothers who have lost their children. Sisters who have lost beloved brothers. You all march on each day, doing good, blessing lives, being courageous in your own needed ways. I want you all to know that you give me courage. I think it's important for you to know that who you are, and the courageous way you are handling the challenges in your worlds, gives me, and gives others, the courage to handle the hard things in our lives. I want you all to remember that you are heroes. And I want to thank you for that.

Looking forward to a great weekend.

Water Color Sketch by Gav, 2004

I woke up at 4:30 this morning to coyote howls and had to get up and look for kitty; make sure she was safely inside. Of course she was. But just in case that wasn't enough to wake me up for the day--I stumbled downstairs to the stench of yet another sewage ejection pump problem. It's a brand new system, for heaven's sake. It turns out the main line (this is a large, 3-inch pipe, friends) had vibrated itself loose somehow. So, I'm down there in my robe and flip flops (rubber souls supremely important at this point) trying to jimmy the line back into place when Greg gets up and flushes the toilet three stories above me. Keep in mind here that a shower isn't an option at this point. I'll spare you more detail.

But I do plan to have a great weekend. 2008 taxes are finally finished. The virus from Hades has abated. I'm not off to London after all, which is good news. The sun is shining, the mountains are vibrant with color, and we're off to spend time with baby Ireland and her big brother Cole. I'm think I'm about due for loving me up some grand babies. It'll be good medicine.

Oh, and yes, the plumber has already come. And conquered. And so shall I.

Thanks Cuz!

Angels are aware.

I'm sorry. I know after two years people really expect you to just get on with it, but let me tell you something about grief. It is absolutely unpredictable. It's a twisting, dipping, winding, rolling road that goes through forests and valleys and over hills and through dark tunnels and you honestly never know what's around that next bend. I'll be sailing along a nice, easy straight-a-way, thinking that maybe life is going to start getting a little easier, a little more joyful, maybe even a little normal again when suddenly, out of the blue, I'll hit a huge sink-hole and darned if I don't just drop straight down into it and smash myself up all over again.

Last weekend I got hit by a perfect storm, a trifecta of flu, jet-lag and the longing for having the kids gathered near for General Conference as a family, and thwack! I was suddenly under the dank, dismal gloom of aching for my boy again--as dark a gloom as in those early weeks after his death. But here's the thing. Somehow (well, I do know how: prayer is a very good thing) heaven heard my anguish and through a series of seemingly unrelated events, which began way last July, I received some email that brought me buckets of tears and then relief and smiles. So, here--because angels should be acknowledged--are the most recent emails from that string:

On Oct 6, 2009, at 4:03 PM, [R.A.] wrote:

Hi Annie, I'm glad the post got to you. I've been wanting to write something for a while. Cluttered in between bills and old homework from college dorm...and now my apartment...are all my failed attempts. Gavin, L___, and I were all Sinagua's, but then the guys and girls walked separate. We talked the entire ride up, there was a pouting young walker in the back whom I don't quite remember. Gavin did try to cheer him up. After that he talked to Laura and I and told me the mountains were "weak sauce" and that the mountains we were seeing were small. Gavin was cool. I think of him from time to time, when I hike, but especially when I see bright orange powdered cheese. I just finished eating a dinner of lentils & mac & cheese. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so excited to see anything in my life. He was so excited and talked about all the good things that you could make with it. He told Laura and I you could make cheese go farther by adding the powdered milk. He was a great person, so cool. I looked up to him instantly. You can write to me anytime you want. [R.A]

On Tue, Oct 6, 2009 at 6:19 PM, Annie Link <annielink@mac.com> wrote:

Thanks Renee,

This made me smile. I still remember how excited he was to cook for his dad and I when we went out to meet him on the trail the first time he walked. He really got into the food and was actually a good cook. His pizza was excellent. He made great ash cakes, too. (Hearing about lentils and mac and cheese made me smile too. I still have his black cooking/eating cup.)

It sounds just like him to have tried to cheer up the young walker. He was always, all about everyone else's happiness. In Hawaii, on Sundays, he used to gather up homeless guys on the beach and make sure they got a good meal and got to go to church if they wanted to. he'd drive them to wherever their specific religion met. just wanted to make sure they knew that someone cared. he was worried about many of them because he felt like they had mental handicaps and really didn't have any other options but homelessness. He was easy to look up to. He had such an honest, good heart. He sincerely loved people. All people.

Anyway, thanks for taking the time to share your memories. I think of him whenever I hike, too. I'll bet he's found some great hikes in heaven. Wish I could share them with him.

I hope you're doing well in your world. That you love the people in your life and are having happy times. Thanks again for writing.

It's crazy how much it helps.

Annie

Hi again Annie, I wanted to mention this. You talk about him loving everyone, its very true. I didn't know that about him and all the good work he did Hawii...but I could totally see it being true. Anyway, out of all the people he loved you most of all. He told Laura and I about the phone call he made as a YW. He hiked and hiked just to find a phone. He wanted to let you know he was ok, make sure you were ok and to tell you that he loved you. I didn't really appreciate this until I was on the trail. At best he didn't have much to eat, he didn't have great supplies, he probably had icky water. And it was far. According to trail lore he walked 50 miles. I'm sure it gets farther and farther every year. He wanted to be in that place again. Not 50 miles off trail, but close to you. I think thats part of the reason I've remember him so often. I'm sure you already know that...I'm sure you've heard the story a million times. But I think he's still the only one who's ever done that. It is a story for legends, told around the campfire, the hearts of the young walkers, and Sinagua, turned to home, wishing they could be so brave. Perhaps they don't know his name, but the story is told and told....and as long as their's Anasazi, it will be told forever. [R.A]

So, there you have it. All of you who wonder how in the world you could ever possibly offer comfort to someone who's grieving:

It's really quite simple after all. Just follow those quiet promptings and do whatever your heart whispers to do.

And even if all you can come up with to talk about is lentils and dried cheese, believe me, it will be enough.

And now for some happy thoughts.

I don't know this little angel's name.

I learned later that it was her 7th birthday--

an auspicious birthday in Japan--

which is why she is wearing her kimono.

Can you believe my good fortune?

To immunize or not to immunize?

I have been sick now for two weeks. I'd consider myself to be in excellent condition--6 days a week of strenuous aerobic work-outs, yoga and weights. But with this H1N1, there have been nights when I had such a hard time breathing I wondered if I should have Greg take me to the ER. If you decide to not immunize, please, make sure you do everything within your power to keep your kids healthy this flu season. This really is a scary virus.

Just when I needed it. I always need it.

From: Annie Link <annielink@mac.com>

Date: October 6, 2009 3:13:21 PM MDT

To: [anonymous]

Cc: Annie Link <annielink@mac.com>

Subject: Thank you

Dear _____,

Yesterday, Sean from Anasazi forwarded me a copy of your Facebook post about Gavin. I cannot tell you how much it meant to me. There aren't words for how much I miss him and just to hear someone even mention his name is like cool water to my thirsty, aching heart. Thank you for taking the time to share your memories. Thank you so much. So much. So much.

As good as he was. That's how much we miss him.

Sincerely,

Annie/
Gavin's Mom

Hi Anasazi,

I'm _____. I walked on the trail in May/June of 2007.

Another June has come and gone...infact by this point most of July has.

I still remember Gavin. He was a fellow Sinagua walker. At the time the guys and girl Sinagua still walked separate, but Gavin rode on the transport with me and Lara and we saw him on the trail when we stopped to camp. Nearing the end we didn't see him anymore. The Wednesday before we left the trail Jamie told us that Gavin had died. And the dinner we all had wasn't completely happy beucase the three of us had planned to all eat together...in fact Gavin promised us becuase we were both having doubts and I was terrified of scorpions. He kept us excited.

For two years I have written letters to Gavin's parents to let them know all I rememeber about him. But I've never been able to send them. They all sounded so stupid. Mostly it was all the things I remembered. He was so glad he could pack his little Bible and he was really nice about mine being different and didn't say anything mean. He had plenty of stories and jokes. He knew all about the rocks and trees and all the funny Arizona stuff that I had no idea about. (I thought I'd been transported to Mars) I remember how much he loved trail food, especially the neon yellow cheese. He was SO excited to get that...as if someone gave him pure gold to eat. He knew so much about Anasazi and the trail. He wanted to make himself better so much.

And he really, really loved his mom. He said hiking to the phone was one of his proudest moments. I was amazed that he'd walk so far just to tell her that. He wasn't content with a letter, and there were times on the trail I wished I could had that bravery. On the trail, after he told the story, I realized the magnitude of what he did...of how far he walked, what he carried and risked. It still blows me away. He was coming back to Anasazi so he could find that passion again.

I still think of him a lot. I haven't forgotten him and hope I never will.

So if you could please forward this to his parents somehow I'd appreciate it.

Sincerely,

A Japanese Garden

The New Otani Hotel in Tokyo is famous for it's 500-year-old Japanese Garden. This is the view from the hotel's coffee shop. I'm not sure how many acres the garden covers, but it meanders magically through pines, Japanese maples and bamboo groves to tiny pools and hushed enclaves guarding hidden statues and quiet meditation benches. Loving hands have tended here for centuries. There are ancient, miniature bonsai gardens tucked carefully within the larger garden, sparkling koi ponds and large and small waterfalls. There is even a tiny mahogany paneled chapel and a rustic, seemingly secret Japanese tea house.On the last day of our trip, a Sunday, I had a little time to wander in the garden before our departure. A local woman had set herself up to sketch the tea house while I attempted to capture the garden with my camera. (Notice her white gloves and the careful, cotton sleeve guards.) If you'll drop back by later this week (and I don't die from this H1N1) I'll treat you to what this beautiful garden gave me next. It's almost too good to imagine. Don't even try. Just check back a little later.

Tokyo Manhole Covers

I was fascinated with all the beautiful man hole covers on the streets of Tokyo. Who would have imagined I would find this many treasures looking down?

(I think my favorite is the last one.

Be sure to click on it to enlarge--

those are dragon flies!)

Felt Tip Sketch - Gavin Link, 2003

General conference weekend with a beautiful full moon, and I found myself missing Gavin a lot more than usual. We always made this weekend a time to gather, just the four of us, so there are a lot of poignant memories.