Today was one of many rough days.
I was exhausted from lack of sleep caused by kids/insomnia/the neighbor's storage door banging against the railing all night. Our upstairs neighbors are so loud. They whoop, holler, yell at each other, stomp, romp, wrestle... Sometimes I wonder if they're trying to burst a hole in our ceiling. When the toilets flush, the water rushing through the pipes is so loud. Their music is loud, their voices are loud, they vacuum late at night.
I'm frustrated.
But apparently so are the people beneath us. Ammon and Quin were doing their usual galloping and hollering after dinner. At the old house they would run loops through the downstairs area until they were exhausted. After a few minutes of that today, the upstairs neighbors used a broom (or something like it) to tap on their ceiling and signal us to quiet down. I was so embarrassed, but the feeling of hopelessness in the pit of my stomach nearly choked me.
We're trapped.
It's like living in the middle of a pile of sardine cans. Surrounded by neighbors on every side, no way out. This is the only place we can afford and we're still spending more than 30% of our income on rent alone. My new dream for the future is to buy some land out of town and put a manufactured house on it. I want to get AWAY from other people that I don't choose to have living near/on top of me. But there's no way we can afford land or a house anytime soon. We're stuck here.
I carried that feeling of despair as I picked up some hardware at Bimart. Maybe we need to move somewhere cheaper to live. Idaho? New Mexico? (no, there's scorpions there, bleh).
When I got home I fixed the bookshelf that the kids had trashed. I was nervous as I hammered the thin nails into the back to secure it to the frame. Would my grumpy neighbors be mad at me for fixing a bookshelf? How am I supposed to actually live if we can't make a sound?!
I was excited to get the new cube organizer put together (with the vain hope of organizing the toys in the kids' closet) but I felt too depressed. I practiced the piano for a bit and then felt like I should stop what I was doing. I wanted to continue to the next page, but felt I should stop. I almost didn't listen to the prompting, but then I decided I should get out a Chopin nocturne and give it a try. As I neared the music bookshelf, I glanced through the glass of the patio door and was startled to see a vibrant rainbow at the end of the field in front of me. It stretched all the way across the sky to the beautiful Salem hills. The feeling that came over me was "you are right where you need to be."
I went outside and chased the rainbow to the end of the side walk. I watched it fade as I listed to other families excitedly talk about the rainbow. I had the feeling that this rainbow was here for me. To me it was a sign that Heavenly Father knows I'm going through a hard time. The rainbow was a reminder that His promises and covenants are sure. Right now the work I have to do from Him is to be a stay at home mom and take care of 3 of His precious children. Right now I have to do it in a second story apartment with noisy upstairs neighbors and grouchy downstairs ones. We're blessed to have two families nearby that are fun to play with and who have been so kind to us. We're blessed to have family on both sides (of the veil and our marriage!) near, watching over us. We have the atonement and our covenants to give us promise of better things.
Tuesday, June 16, 2020
Thursday, June 11, 2020
Strawberry Picking
Today we picked strawberries at Greensbridge farms. We invited our downstairs neighbors who have become some of our best friends. We met my mom and the boys there since they had spent the night at her house. My mom got there first and told each boy they had to fill up a clamshell container before they could be done. Ammon was so proud to show me his full container. Quin helped me pick a few more after they had a snack and then Ammon and Quin ran around the strawberry patch. Ruby enjoyed being near grandma and the neighbors, whom she adores.
Saturday, May 16, 2020
Ooo you make me live
This week was way too much for me. I definitely didn't have the energy required to properly handle my life. Sometimes that makes me feel like I've failed. I get to the end of the day and the house is much worse than how Michael left it.
I've been feeling angry, overwhelmed, and suicidal the past few days.
But after I fed Ruby this evening she was so happy. She gave me sloppy kisses and baby soap-scented snuggles that filled me with love and happiness. I'm so lucky to have her. I love the way she gets excited when she sees an animal, even if it's a picture of one. She loves dogs and tries to "woof" through her teeth. It sounds like she's blowing on hot food. She can say "happy" and it's the best thing ever. She loves playing with Ammon and our downstairs neighbors.
I love you Ruby. Thank you for reminding me why it's great to be alive.
I've been feeling angry, overwhelmed, and suicidal the past few days.
But after I fed Ruby this evening she was so happy. She gave me sloppy kisses and baby soap-scented snuggles that filled me with love and happiness. I'm so lucky to have her. I love the way she gets excited when she sees an animal, even if it's a picture of one. She loves dogs and tries to "woof" through her teeth. It sounds like she's blowing on hot food. She can say "happy" and it's the best thing ever. She loves playing with Ammon and our downstairs neighbors.
I love you Ruby. Thank you for reminding me why it's great to be alive.
Saturday, April 25, 2020
Grieving with Disney
Frozen 2 will always remind me of my youngest brother, Curtis. It was the last movie we watched together before he died. We saw it with my mom and my brother Trevor.
When we got to the part where Anna sings "The Next Right Thing," I was amazed that Disney created a song about what it feels to mourn the loss of a loved one. I remember thinking "this song could really help someone who is mourning" and I wanted to remember to share it with others in a similar situation. I never would have imagined it would be me mourning the person sitting a few feet away from me in a matter of weeks.
It's been 4 months since he passed. Michael wanted to watch Frozen 2 with me after the kids were in bed. Perhaps it seems odd that we watched a children's movie during our kid-free time, but that's actually what we usually do if we're not playing a game or listening to clean comedy. Also, Frozen 2 is very enjoyable to watch and incredibly beautiful, even if the plot doesn't quite make sense. Listening to and watching a character mourn the loss of a sibling pricked sharp feelings of grief in my own heart. What Anna describes is incredibly similar to the painful journey that my grief waded through. That night when I went to bed, I felt incredibly depressed and despondent. I woke up in the middle of the night and was pained with grief and sorrow. I thought I had made it through grieving for the most part. But that song triggered me unexpectedly. It made me realize I'll never truly be "done" grieving. There will always be something that reminds me of him. Every time I remember that I will never get to have another moment with him physically in this life causes me to mourn anew.
"I've seen dark before, but not like this
This is cold, this is empty, this is numb
The life I knew is over, the lights are out
Hello, darkness, I'm ready to succumb
I follow you around, I always have
But you've gone to a place I cannot find
This grief has a gravity, it pulls me down
But a tiny voice whispers in my mind
You are lost, hope is gone
But you must go on
And do the next right thing
Can there be a day beyond this night?
I don't know anymore what is true
I can't find my direction, I'm all alone
The only star that guided me was you
How to rise from the floor?
But it's not you I'm rising for
Just do the next right thing
Take a step, step again
It is all that I can to do
The next right thing
I won't look too far ahead
It's too much for me to take
But break it down to this next breath, this next step
This next choice is one that I can make
So I'll walk through this night
Stumbling blindly toward the light
And do the next right thing
And, with it done, what comes then?
When it's clear that everything will never be the same again
Then I'll make the choice to hear that voice
And do the next right thing"
When we got to the part where Anna sings "The Next Right Thing," I was amazed that Disney created a song about what it feels to mourn the loss of a loved one. I remember thinking "this song could really help someone who is mourning" and I wanted to remember to share it with others in a similar situation. I never would have imagined it would be me mourning the person sitting a few feet away from me in a matter of weeks.
It's been 4 months since he passed. Michael wanted to watch Frozen 2 with me after the kids were in bed. Perhaps it seems odd that we watched a children's movie during our kid-free time, but that's actually what we usually do if we're not playing a game or listening to clean comedy. Also, Frozen 2 is very enjoyable to watch and incredibly beautiful, even if the plot doesn't quite make sense. Listening to and watching a character mourn the loss of a sibling pricked sharp feelings of grief in my own heart. What Anna describes is incredibly similar to the painful journey that my grief waded through. That night when I went to bed, I felt incredibly depressed and despondent. I woke up in the middle of the night and was pained with grief and sorrow. I thought I had made it through grieving for the most part. But that song triggered me unexpectedly. It made me realize I'll never truly be "done" grieving. There will always be something that reminds me of him. Every time I remember that I will never get to have another moment with him physically in this life causes me to mourn anew.
"I've seen dark before, but not like this
This is cold, this is empty, this is numb
The life I knew is over, the lights are out
Hello, darkness, I'm ready to succumb
I follow you around, I always have
But you've gone to a place I cannot find
This grief has a gravity, it pulls me down
But a tiny voice whispers in my mind
You are lost, hope is gone
But you must go on
And do the next right thing
Can there be a day beyond this night?
I don't know anymore what is true
I can't find my direction, I'm all alone
The only star that guided me was you
How to rise from the floor?
But it's not you I'm rising for
Just do the next right thing
Take a step, step again
It is all that I can to do
The next right thing
I won't look too far ahead
It's too much for me to take
But break it down to this next breath, this next step
This next choice is one that I can make
So I'll walk through this night
Stumbling blindly toward the light
And do the next right thing
And, with it done, what comes then?
When it's clear that everything will never be the same again
Then I'll make the choice to hear that voice
And do the next right thing"
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Moved and learning to serve
We moved! It went really smoothly, all things considered. We used the extra 3 weeks to get everything packed. Loading started at 8 am and we finished up around 10:30. We didn't rent a uhaul, instead we had planned to do multiple trips with my dad's trucks and trailer. Amazingly, everything fit in 3 pickup trucks, a trailer, and our minivan. We got it all done in one trip and had the rest of the day to unload and start the daunting task of unpacking.
It's been a week now and we love our new place. So far all of the neighbors we have interacted with have been very friendly. The view from the balcony is a large grass field framed by trees. It's very peaceful to sit out there and hear the birds. The kids love the apartment and there are several kids that play in the green space behind the building. We've enjoyed riding bikes in the parking lot with our new friends too.
Even though things are going pretty well and our new place is great, I've been feeling awful. I've had a hard time with the chaos of boxes everywhere and not being able to find the things I need when I need them. I like/NEED things to be organized. And I can't organize the whole apartment while three kids are disorganizing it faster than me. I was feeling frustrated and trapped and wishing my life could be more manageable. The stay home order is to keep people safe, and I support it, but it's been hard to stay home with little kids and amplified chaos from moving. I feel trapped. Like I'm in a crowded fishbowl. Quin and Ammon haven't been listening very well lately and with everything else going on I felt like I was at my wit's end last night. I knew I needed to go to bed a lot earlier than I did and try not to sleep in. But that was hard because when the kids finally go to bed in the evening I feel like I need to have some time to spend with myself. Sometimes I feel like I miss myself and I hardly know who I am anymore. My identity gets swallowed up in the cries of "mom! momma! mom, mom, mom." I told Michael how I felt and that I didn't want to wake up and do it all again tomorrow. I would rather die. I didn't want to feel that way. I wanted to wake up every morning feeling refreshed and ready to do lots of enriching activities that would create lifelong memories for the kids. I was mad that was not my reality. I prayed and asked for help.
Ruby woke up to nurse around 4:30. When she finished and fell back asleep at 5 I thought about trying to fall asleep for a couple more hours, but instead decided to try getting up early. I've been feeling that's what I should be doing, going to bed early and waking up early. As I got up an annoying pop song was stuck in my head again (Tik Tok). I didn't want to think about the lyrics of that song. Almost as soon as I had that thought, the song "I Feel My Savior's Love" came into my mind instead. As I "listened" to the lyrics float through my mind, I was struck by the 4th verse: "I'll share my Savior's love by serving others freely. In serving I am blessed, in giving I receive." I knew that was my answer to prayer when I asked Heavenly Father to help me with the kids. They're not going to be perfect. I don't have to make them perfect. I just have to serve them. I've tried to keep that in mind today as I put shoes on and off of little feet. I'm not being "put upon" to care for these children. My life isn't over or ruined. I have an opportunity to serve them. I want to remember that the next time I'm cleaning spaghetti sauce off the floor or cleaning up a potty accident. These children are a blessing in my life and my work as a mother is the opportunity to serve them.
It's been a week now and we love our new place. So far all of the neighbors we have interacted with have been very friendly. The view from the balcony is a large grass field framed by trees. It's very peaceful to sit out there and hear the birds. The kids love the apartment and there are several kids that play in the green space behind the building. We've enjoyed riding bikes in the parking lot with our new friends too.
Even though things are going pretty well and our new place is great, I've been feeling awful. I've had a hard time with the chaos of boxes everywhere and not being able to find the things I need when I need them. I like/NEED things to be organized. And I can't organize the whole apartment while three kids are disorganizing it faster than me. I was feeling frustrated and trapped and wishing my life could be more manageable. The stay home order is to keep people safe, and I support it, but it's been hard to stay home with little kids and amplified chaos from moving. I feel trapped. Like I'm in a crowded fishbowl. Quin and Ammon haven't been listening very well lately and with everything else going on I felt like I was at my wit's end last night. I knew I needed to go to bed a lot earlier than I did and try not to sleep in. But that was hard because when the kids finally go to bed in the evening I feel like I need to have some time to spend with myself. Sometimes I feel like I miss myself and I hardly know who I am anymore. My identity gets swallowed up in the cries of "mom! momma! mom, mom, mom." I told Michael how I felt and that I didn't want to wake up and do it all again tomorrow. I would rather die. I didn't want to feel that way. I wanted to wake up every morning feeling refreshed and ready to do lots of enriching activities that would create lifelong memories for the kids. I was mad that was not my reality. I prayed and asked for help.
Ruby woke up to nurse around 4:30. When she finished and fell back asleep at 5 I thought about trying to fall asleep for a couple more hours, but instead decided to try getting up early. I've been feeling that's what I should be doing, going to bed early and waking up early. As I got up an annoying pop song was stuck in my head again (Tik Tok). I didn't want to think about the lyrics of that song. Almost as soon as I had that thought, the song "I Feel My Savior's Love" came into my mind instead. As I "listened" to the lyrics float through my mind, I was struck by the 4th verse: "I'll share my Savior's love by serving others freely. In serving I am blessed, in giving I receive." I knew that was my answer to prayer when I asked Heavenly Father to help me with the kids. They're not going to be perfect. I don't have to make them perfect. I just have to serve them. I've tried to keep that in mind today as I put shoes on and off of little feet. I'm not being "put upon" to care for these children. My life isn't over or ruined. I have an opportunity to serve them. I want to remember that the next time I'm cleaning spaghetti sauce off the floor or cleaning up a potty accident. These children are a blessing in my life and my work as a mother is the opportunity to serve them.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
chaos
Quin has been out of school since March 12th. Ammon hasn't had preschool since then. Parks, libraries, schools, playgrounds, restaurants, movie theaters, zoos, amusement parks, basically anything not essential to human survival is closed. I've really been struggling. I keep the playground or the mall as an emergency backup in case of a crazy parenting day. Now if things get crazy we have to keep staying at home. Michael is still commuting for work in Monmouth. He reasons that the databases and websites he keeps running are essential, and I guess that's true. Right now everyone is shopping online for everything. It's been hard to take care of all 3 kids for 11 hours every weekday. My mom comes over and helps, which makes it survivable; especially since I'm expected to do home school with Quin to keep him caught up. It's been hard to keep Quin on task while entertaining Ammon and Ruby at the same time.
Our new apartment was inspected last week and we had expected to move in sometime this week. After not hearing back for several days Michael called them and they said our paperwork is stuck at the State. We don't know when or even if we'll be moving there.
To add to the excitement, I had a case of mastitis, immediately followed by Ammon having an unresolved ear infection come back, immediately followed by Ruby having an ear infection. I don't feel like I was allowed to recover from my infection. Our sleep has been interrupted over the last two weeks and it augments the stress. I've developed a slight hand tremor and have been screaming a lot more than usual.
Our new apartment was inspected last week and we had expected to move in sometime this week. After not hearing back for several days Michael called them and they said our paperwork is stuck at the State. We don't know when or even if we'll be moving there.
To add to the excitement, I had a case of mastitis, immediately followed by Ammon having an unresolved ear infection come back, immediately followed by Ruby having an ear infection. I don't feel like I was allowed to recover from my infection. Our sleep has been interrupted over the last two weeks and it augments the stress. I've developed a slight hand tremor and have been screaming a lot more than usual.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Crazy stuff going on, blowing my mind
March 19, 2020 marks 3 months since Curtis died. I thank it's symbolic that it's also the first day of spring this year.
We're moving in 8 days. Or we're supposed to move in 8 days. The apartments are brand new and just got done being built. They need to be inspected before we can move in and the inspecting department at the city is shut down right now due to COVID19.
Quin will be out of school until at least April 28th. But the situation could last until July or later.
Grocery stores keep running out of toilet paper. Apparently you can only buy it early in the morning and they limit the number you can take. Hand sanitizer and soap is also hard to find. Some people are trying to sell it for $75 on the internet.
I went through our 3 day kits and found that we have plenty of camping toilet paper but no underwear for ANYONE. Whoops.
The state of California is on lock down as of today. There are swarms of locusts in Africa and the Middle East. Salt Lake City had a 5.7 earthquake yesterday. Jason was at work when it happened. He said it felt like a space ship was landing on the roof. He was under a pile of pallets and was scared they would fall on him. He ran out of the building as fast as he could and is safe.
The virus has really affected my piano teaching because no one wants to risk getting exposed. I'm going to try my first skype lesson tomorrow.
Also, I'm on antibiotics recovering from mastitis. So I haven't been able to pack and I feel like I'm getting even farther behind.
Oddly though, with the extra stress I feel more peace. Things are so far out of hand that I know I can't solve them. So I don't try. I'm trying to let go and allow faith to take me to the next part of the journey.
On the plus side, I bought a harp ahead of schedule because I was worried that the music stores were going to close. I wanted to have it in case we were on lock down, so I could work on my new hobby :)
It's going to be alright.
We're moving in 8 days. Or we're supposed to move in 8 days. The apartments are brand new and just got done being built. They need to be inspected before we can move in and the inspecting department at the city is shut down right now due to COVID19.
Quin will be out of school until at least April 28th. But the situation could last until July or later.
Grocery stores keep running out of toilet paper. Apparently you can only buy it early in the morning and they limit the number you can take. Hand sanitizer and soap is also hard to find. Some people are trying to sell it for $75 on the internet.
I went through our 3 day kits and found that we have plenty of camping toilet paper but no underwear for ANYONE. Whoops.
The state of California is on lock down as of today. There are swarms of locusts in Africa and the Middle East. Salt Lake City had a 5.7 earthquake yesterday. Jason was at work when it happened. He said it felt like a space ship was landing on the roof. He was under a pile of pallets and was scared they would fall on him. He ran out of the building as fast as he could and is safe.
The virus has really affected my piano teaching because no one wants to risk getting exposed. I'm going to try my first skype lesson tomorrow.
Also, I'm on antibiotics recovering from mastitis. So I haven't been able to pack and I feel like I'm getting even farther behind.
Oddly though, with the extra stress I feel more peace. Things are so far out of hand that I know I can't solve them. So I don't try. I'm trying to let go and allow faith to take me to the next part of the journey.
On the plus side, I bought a harp ahead of schedule because I was worried that the music stores were going to close. I wanted to have it in case we were on lock down, so I could work on my new hobby :)
It's going to be alright.
Sunday, March 8, 2020
The Final Stage of Grief
I've been missing Curtis a lot. Michael and I watched "Ready Player One" and at the end I really wanted to show it to Curtis and Trevor. But I can't watch it with Curtis. I can't even ask him if he saw it in theaters. The part I thought he would like was climbing Mt. Everest with Batman.
Caught up in my memories of his final moments and the pain of this tragedy, I thought "this isn't how I wanted my life to go!" The gentle but firm answer was "but it's the way it is."
In our culture we're not crazy about the concept of acceptance. If you don't like your job, go back to school! If you don't like your significant other, get a new one! If you don't like how you look, change it! If you're unsatisfied with your experience, see a manager.
Everyone on Earth has something the're unsatisfied with about their life. Everyone experiences disappointment, heartbreak, and opposition. Sometimes there is no quick fix and acceptance is the only remedy. That's universal in the process of grief.
I don't feel like I experienced much of the anger stage of grief. I didn't feel angry at God. God didn't do anything wrong. He didn't take Curtis away. Curtis wasn't mine to keep here. It's still hard to let him go. I feel like I'm letting him go over and over and there's still a strand that I'm holding fast to. I love him. So much it hurts. It breaks my heart over and over to think about it. To look ahead to a life without him physically present. During the early days of our loss I kept thinking of the childhood chant of "can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go through it." That's how I feel about my grief. I can't run from it or maneuver around it. I must go through it, this soul-swallowing piercing pain. I have to accept that this is what happened in my life. It's the way my life is going. I can't fix or change the past. Oh, Curtis. We love you so much. We think about and wonder where you are, what you can see beyond the veil, who you are with.
Even thought I've touched the "final" stage of grief, acceptance, I know I'm far from being done with grieving. Acceptance doesn't end the grieving process. I'm not sure I'll ever be "done" grieving the loss of my little brother. And that's okay.
Caught up in my memories of his final moments and the pain of this tragedy, I thought "this isn't how I wanted my life to go!" The gentle but firm answer was "but it's the way it is."
In our culture we're not crazy about the concept of acceptance. If you don't like your job, go back to school! If you don't like your significant other, get a new one! If you don't like how you look, change it! If you're unsatisfied with your experience, see a manager.
Everyone on Earth has something the're unsatisfied with about their life. Everyone experiences disappointment, heartbreak, and opposition. Sometimes there is no quick fix and acceptance is the only remedy. That's universal in the process of grief.
I don't feel like I experienced much of the anger stage of grief. I didn't feel angry at God. God didn't do anything wrong. He didn't take Curtis away. Curtis wasn't mine to keep here. It's still hard to let him go. I feel like I'm letting him go over and over and there's still a strand that I'm holding fast to. I love him. So much it hurts. It breaks my heart over and over to think about it. To look ahead to a life without him physically present. During the early days of our loss I kept thinking of the childhood chant of "can't go over it, can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go through it." That's how I feel about my grief. I can't run from it or maneuver around it. I must go through it, this soul-swallowing piercing pain. I have to accept that this is what happened in my life. It's the way my life is going. I can't fix or change the past. Oh, Curtis. We love you so much. We think about and wonder where you are, what you can see beyond the veil, who you are with.
Even thought I've touched the "final" stage of grief, acceptance, I know I'm far from being done with grieving. Acceptance doesn't end the grieving process. I'm not sure I'll ever be "done" grieving the loss of my little brother. And that's okay.
Tuesday, February 11, 2020
Breaking Free
I had an amazing counselling session this morning. I feel like I'm getting to the bottom of my underlying internal issues. A cage deep in my heart has sprung open and a trapped dove is soaring to the top of my soul.
I suffer from a dangerous cocktail of depression, anxiety, obsessive compulsive thought disorder, and a dash of bipolar disorder (and probably other things that don't have a name yet.) I've felt broken for years. Irreparable. Garbage. Unlovable.
Before last night I hadn't made dinner in several days. There were four loads of clean laundry on my bed. We could hardly see the table and counter top because of all the clutter. A school art project to work on with Quin. Moving prep to do. And a million other things that need to be taken care of around the house.
It bothers me. It bothers me that I can't get it all done. I never feel like I'm good enough.
I've realized that "good enough" for me means perfect. Toxic perfectionism has been poisoning me for years. I'm so afraid to make a mistake I feel like I've spent most of my life tiptoeing across a field of eggshells. When I inevitably make a mistake, I ruminate on it until it feels like there's bile in my mind.
I felt bad for Michael for having a lousy wife. Painful guilt stabbed me as I thought of the psychological damage my depression would have on Ruby. I felt helpless knowing there was nothing I could do to fix my broken-ness. I've tried! Since I was 15 I've been trying to minimize depression's effect on my life.
I told Michael about my feelings. He was really confused that I could feel less lovable because of my failures. He expressed his unbounded love for me, regardless of how the house looks. He loved me when I felt unlovable and that helped me feel more comfortable in my skin.
What I learned today is I am worth loving. I am worth saving. It's important to try my best and forgive when my best falls short of perfect. And to extend the same benevolence to others.
As I drove home from the counselling session, I recalled an experience I had recently. A friend did something that bothered me. I did what I normally do to deal with these types of issues: I neatly tucked the grudge away, far from the surface but easy to access when needed.
I thought about all that we had talked about that morning in counselling in the mercy that Michael had extended to me by loving me when I couldn't love myself. Feelings of love swelled within me. I know that she is worth loving. She is worth saving. I know she is trying her best. As I thought of her with compassion and forgiveness, I could feel the tiny grudge slip into the breeze and evaporate in the warmth of peace.
Thank you Michael (my husband), Mark (my counselor), and Jesus (my savior) for helping me see that I am worth loving.
I suffer from a dangerous cocktail of depression, anxiety, obsessive compulsive thought disorder, and a dash of bipolar disorder (and probably other things that don't have a name yet.) I've felt broken for years. Irreparable. Garbage. Unlovable.
Before last night I hadn't made dinner in several days. There were four loads of clean laundry on my bed. We could hardly see the table and counter top because of all the clutter. A school art project to work on with Quin. Moving prep to do. And a million other things that need to be taken care of around the house.
It bothers me. It bothers me that I can't get it all done. I never feel like I'm good enough.
I've realized that "good enough" for me means perfect. Toxic perfectionism has been poisoning me for years. I'm so afraid to make a mistake I feel like I've spent most of my life tiptoeing across a field of eggshells. When I inevitably make a mistake, I ruminate on it until it feels like there's bile in my mind.
I felt bad for Michael for having a lousy wife. Painful guilt stabbed me as I thought of the psychological damage my depression would have on Ruby. I felt helpless knowing there was nothing I could do to fix my broken-ness. I've tried! Since I was 15 I've been trying to minimize depression's effect on my life.
I told Michael about my feelings. He was really confused that I could feel less lovable because of my failures. He expressed his unbounded love for me, regardless of how the house looks. He loved me when I felt unlovable and that helped me feel more comfortable in my skin.
What I learned today is I am worth loving. I am worth saving. It's important to try my best and forgive when my best falls short of perfect. And to extend the same benevolence to others.
As I drove home from the counselling session, I recalled an experience I had recently. A friend did something that bothered me. I did what I normally do to deal with these types of issues: I neatly tucked the grudge away, far from the surface but easy to access when needed.
I thought about all that we had talked about that morning in counselling in the mercy that Michael had extended to me by loving me when I couldn't love myself. Feelings of love swelled within me. I know that she is worth loving. She is worth saving. I know she is trying her best. As I thought of her with compassion and forgiveness, I could feel the tiny grudge slip into the breeze and evaporate in the warmth of peace.
Thank you Michael (my husband), Mark (my counselor), and Jesus (my savior) for helping me see that I am worth loving.
Wednesday, February 5, 2020
Big News
We’re moving to Monmouth in March.
This was probably the toughest decision we’ve had to make in our marriage. Part of it was financial. We simply can’t afford the gas for Michael’s commute. He’s not making as much as we had hoped. But a big part of it is: our family needs Michael to be closer. We searched for jobs in Lebanon, but this one in Monmouth is the right one. He loves it and it’s great experience for his computer science career.
The hardest part is moving an hour away from my parents. We’ve enjoyed seeing them almost every day for the past two years. My mom does so much for me. My parents have been wonderful, generous landlords. I’m heartbroken to leave behind the play structure that my dad built for Ammon last summer. I was looking forward to watching my kids grow as they played on it, holding secret meetings and racing toy cars down the slide. I’m going to miss this house. It’s been perfect for us. I’ll especially miss the garage, fenced backyard, walking path and creek behind our house, and the beautiful acoustic piano that I’ve been teaching piano lessons at. We’re moving into an apartment that won’t have any of those. It feels like quite a downgrade to go from a house to an apartment, even if the apartments are brand new.
Right now we’re in an awkward limbo state. A paralyzed suspense as the move is both far away and just around the corner. The future looks especially foggy in my crystal ball. Do I go ahead and schedule appointments? Will we even be able to see the same dentist in Albany when we move to a different county? (Which affects our insurance). What about the logistics of Quins school dropoff/pickup?
I hate moving. It’s like having a baby. An exciting idea, but there’s a lot of pain and hard work during the labor/moving day part. Every time I move or have a baby I swear to myself that I’ll NEVER do this again. And then a few years later I forget and do it again.
But something that has helped me a lot is practicing gratitude with Michael. We take turns saying things we’re grateful for together in the evening. It buoys me up and helps me clean up the negative thoughts that bite during the day. So I’m thankful for the years we got to live in the same town as my parents. I’ve wanted that ever since we had kids. I’m thankful for the time and love my dad put into the play structure and all the fun times I’ve had playing with the kids on it. I’m thankful that we were able to find excellent doctors here in Lebanon. I’m thankful for the loving ward family who were patient with me as I learned how to accompany a choir at the piano and a congregation at the organ. I’m thankful that I got to serve in nursery while Ammon was 3. I’m thankful for the many friends who have made life so sweet here. I’m thankful to Tracy for taking Quin to school in the morning. Im thankful for Quins teacher who has been patient and supportive as Quin navigates kindergarten. I’m thankful for music makers and the opportunity I had to lead it for a while. I’m thankful we got to experience the quirky turkey pageant, hike Peterson butte, and enjoy downtown music and Christmas lights.
This was probably the toughest decision we’ve had to make in our marriage. Part of it was financial. We simply can’t afford the gas for Michael’s commute. He’s not making as much as we had hoped. But a big part of it is: our family needs Michael to be closer. We searched for jobs in Lebanon, but this one in Monmouth is the right one. He loves it and it’s great experience for his computer science career.
The hardest part is moving an hour away from my parents. We’ve enjoyed seeing them almost every day for the past two years. My mom does so much for me. My parents have been wonderful, generous landlords. I’m heartbroken to leave behind the play structure that my dad built for Ammon last summer. I was looking forward to watching my kids grow as they played on it, holding secret meetings and racing toy cars down the slide. I’m going to miss this house. It’s been perfect for us. I’ll especially miss the garage, fenced backyard, walking path and creek behind our house, and the beautiful acoustic piano that I’ve been teaching piano lessons at. We’re moving into an apartment that won’t have any of those. It feels like quite a downgrade to go from a house to an apartment, even if the apartments are brand new.
Right now we’re in an awkward limbo state. A paralyzed suspense as the move is both far away and just around the corner. The future looks especially foggy in my crystal ball. Do I go ahead and schedule appointments? Will we even be able to see the same dentist in Albany when we move to a different county? (Which affects our insurance). What about the logistics of Quins school dropoff/pickup?
I hate moving. It’s like having a baby. An exciting idea, but there’s a lot of pain and hard work during the labor/moving day part. Every time I move or have a baby I swear to myself that I’ll NEVER do this again. And then a few years later I forget and do it again.
But something that has helped me a lot is practicing gratitude with Michael. We take turns saying things we’re grateful for together in the evening. It buoys me up and helps me clean up the negative thoughts that bite during the day. So I’m thankful for the years we got to live in the same town as my parents. I’ve wanted that ever since we had kids. I’m thankful for the time and love my dad put into the play structure and all the fun times I’ve had playing with the kids on it. I’m thankful that we were able to find excellent doctors here in Lebanon. I’m thankful for the loving ward family who were patient with me as I learned how to accompany a choir at the piano and a congregation at the organ. I’m thankful that I got to serve in nursery while Ammon was 3. I’m thankful for the many friends who have made life so sweet here. I’m thankful to Tracy for taking Quin to school in the morning. Im thankful for Quins teacher who has been patient and supportive as Quin navigates kindergarten. I’m thankful for music makers and the opportunity I had to lead it for a while. I’m thankful we got to experience the quirky turkey pageant, hike Peterson butte, and enjoy downtown music and Christmas lights.
Monday, January 20, 2020
Almost One
Ruby took her first steps on December 26th, by the light of my parent's Christmas tree. Since then she would only take a few steps if we prompt her or if she was holding toys in both hands. Yesterday at grandpa Dodge's birthday she was playing with the bone toys at great grandma Olsen's house. She had a femur in each hand and happily walked all the way across the room with them. She has been more courageous and has done a lot more walking since then.
She held up a box that a power ranger toy came in and kept saying "go go!"
She loves stuffed animals and tenderly hugs, pats, and pets them. Cats seem to be her favorite. She meows when she sees one.
She does a lot of pointing. She loves to share what she is discovering and experiencing. She will point at interesting things and babble or bring us a toy and place it in our hands.
She recently discovered the fun of putting things in things. The first time she did it, I was eating an orange at the counter and she was opening and closing a cabinet beside me. I handed her a section of orange to eat, but she surprised me by throwing it in the garbage. I gave her the orange peels one by one to throw away. Today grandma Dodge made a game out of throwing blocks and toys back in their boxes.
Quin loves to play with her and is very good at making her laugh.
Ammon says "I love you coochie coochie bebe" as he tickles her.
I had a really bad day today. Quin noticed and asked "what can I do for you, momma?" Michael trained him to ask me that and to help me during the day. Quin kept checking in on me and Ruby asking, "how's it going, momma?" and "how's Ruby doing?" It helped me feel better to know that he cares about me.
She held up a box that a power ranger toy came in and kept saying "go go!"
She loves stuffed animals and tenderly hugs, pats, and pets them. Cats seem to be her favorite. She meows when she sees one.
She does a lot of pointing. She loves to share what she is discovering and experiencing. She will point at interesting things and babble or bring us a toy and place it in our hands.
She recently discovered the fun of putting things in things. The first time she did it, I was eating an orange at the counter and she was opening and closing a cabinet beside me. I handed her a section of orange to eat, but she surprised me by throwing it in the garbage. I gave her the orange peels one by one to throw away. Today grandma Dodge made a game out of throwing blocks and toys back in their boxes.
Quin loves to play with her and is very good at making her laugh.
Ammon says "I love you coochie coochie bebe" as he tickles her.
I had a really bad day today. Quin noticed and asked "what can I do for you, momma?" Michael trained him to ask me that and to help me during the day. Quin kept checking in on me and Ruby asking, "how's it going, momma?" and "how's Ruby doing?" It helped me feel better to know that he cares about me.
Sunday, January 5, 2020
Death of a loved one
(December 20, 2019)
Yesterday I watched my baby brother draw his final staggering breath.
I've always wanted to be in the room while a person died. That seems like an odd wish, but I was curious. People talk about how thin the veil is when someone passes through it.
It was a very spiritual experience, but I don't ever want to experience anything like it again.
It's uncanny how similar birth and death are. In both cases, no one knows the exact timing or how long it will go on. Loved ones and trained professionals are typically there to support, but cannot take away the burden that the individual must pass through. You get to see the person in their most raw, vulnerable, human state. The love in the room is so strong you can almost taste it.
Here's the story:
December 18 I got an urgent call from my dad at 11:30 PM. The hospice nurse had called and reported that Curtis was agitated and his breathing was raspy. She believed he would pass on soon. My parents wanted to know if I wanted to come with them to the hospice house. I was just finishing up nursing Ruby and was about to head to bed, but I had a very strong prompting; an urge, to go with them. I packed my bag of yarn, crochet hooks, and games and we drove over there. Being at the hospice house brought back the memory of the night three generations of women sat at my grandpa's bedside, playing games and talking. Grandpa passed a few hours after we left. I wondered if I would be there when Curtis passed.
Shock overcame me when I stepped through the door of room 12. His skin was wrong. It was purple-ish and pale. He always had such healthy pink skin, even in the hospital. His mouth was open and I could tell it was very difficult for him to breathe. His breaths were rattled and shaky, as if he was gasping with each one. I hadn't been very emotional until that point. It felt like the events that were taking place were part of a distant story, not my actual life. When I saw him in the active dying phase, it was like a splash of ice water to my brain saying "Wake Up! This is real!"
I rushed to take his hand. All of the tears I had wanted to cry came rushing out. I held his soft, motionless hand and sobbed into a pillow for what felt like an hour. My mom held his other hand and murmured words of love to him between the questions she directed at me (and the world at large) like "what are we ever going to do without him?"
He continued to gasp for air, the intervals between breaths stretching longer and longer. Eventually there was a space of about 30 seconds and I thought he had gone. But a desperate gasp surged suddenly, as though he had been underwater too long.
Exhaustion and grief overtook me and I had to lay down on the couch. I tried to sleep, but his loud raspy breaths grated against my soul. I sat up impatiently and fished for the notebook and pen in my purse. I felt that God was inspiring me to write these lyrics to a song:
"The fragments of my heart somehow beat on.
There’s a gaping wound the shape of you, shadowed by grief and despair.
You were ripped away from me in mortality.
But Jesus has the pain I feel engraved upon his hands.
When life’s unfair I turn to him and find peace in prayer.
He has felt the depth of this despair.
Through every heartache he is there.
I lift my sorrow up to heaven and put it in his hands. “
I wish I hadn't had to go through the pain of watching Curtis die. I wish he was still here to make us laugh. But I know that God will sanctify this painful experience. I know it will help me when I need to understand, mourn with, and comfort others.
In my soul I could feel my entire essence screaming "No! Curtis! No, not Curtis!"
The sensation of icy fire still wells deep within me and catches me off guard. It feels like the rug has been pulled out from under me, but under the rug was nothing. Sometimes it feels like there is a bottomless pit in my soul. I feel myself falling into it when feelings of despair creep up like ivy, choking me.
But I've learned that life is a trust fall, not an uphill battle. I am falling into the scary, dark, unknown experience of losing a brother. I know God is there to catch me. "The Son of Man hath descended below them all." D&C 122.
Another hour passed and Curtis' condition continued to decline. His rattling breaths were interspersed with eerie long pauses.
I didn't realize it would be his last breath, but as my mom grew more agitated and quietly called out to me I knew I needed to take his hand once more. I told him how much we love him. And no more breaths came.
Knowing he was gone, I gave his hand one more squeeze and sat back down on the couch.
Emotion choked my dad's voice as he quietly said, "oh, Curtis. We're going to miss you so much." He tenderly laid his hand on Curtis' head and gently closed his half-open eyes. I had the urge to kiss his cheek and felt guilty that I hadn't done it moments before. I got up and kissed his pale cheek, trying to transmit all of my love into him.
I hope he got to see how much we loved him, during his whole life and those final hours and moments. I hope that from where he is he can see how much we love him still.
We sat in the room on the couch, my mom on my left and my dad on the right. The gentle nursing staff occasionally came in to talk to us or give my parents paperwork. We waited in that room with Curtis' body for at least two hours. I was desperately exhausted and wanted to curl up and sleep for the entire day. Eventually I learned that we were waiting for the funeral home to take his body.
At around 4:30 AM the people from the funeral home arrived. We stepped out of the room while they transferred his body to a gurney. It was heartbreaking to watch them wheel it out with his face covered in a dark blue quilt. While we could see his face it seemed he was still with us. A light drizzle and sharp frigid breeze sent a chill through me as we watched them gently load his body in the back of a black Grand Caravan, close the door, and drive away. I felt numb. Empty. Shattered inside. I watched the hearse until it slipped out of view, then stumbled to the car with my parents.
On the ride home it felt like someone was sitting next to me in the back seat of the Nissan. It felt like Curtis was there. I had been hoping for a spiritual experience in all this, but I wasn't sure if I was just making it up. Because of another experience I had after the celebration of life, I believe Curtis really was there, sitting beside me in the car.
The cheerful Christmas lights on my home seemed unaware how much sadness could fill a soul. I sometimes look at young adults, with their faces aglow and futures bright before them. And I think "you don't know. You can't understand." But it's good that they don't know or understand yet. I don't want them to feel the pain that I feel.
It was 5 AM. I trudged up the stairs physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. I laid down next to Ruby and Michael and was able to sleep for about 3 hours.
That day it seemed as if the world was mourning his loss along with us. The rain poured down in a torrent, filling huge puddles in the road.
Michael and I saw Ammon's preschool Christmas program. It was refreshing to feel a whiff of joy waft through me. He sang songs like "I'm a Funny Little Puppet Clown," and "I'm a little snowman," and "Jack in the box." There was a little girl who sang louder than all of the other kids combined. I loved listening to them sing "We wish you a merry Christmas" at the end. Then Ammon gave us a calendar full of artwork, photos, and quotes from the year. It was wrapped in paper that he had painted.
As I walked through the rain to pick up Quin from school, I had the shocking realization that someday I would have to pass through what Curtis just did. It was as if ice crystallized through my blood. My soul squirmed in horror, searching for any possible way to escape that fate. My fate. The fate of every living thing on Earth. Death, with it's coldness, stiffness, leached color.
I had never really feared death that much before. In fact, I had foolishly welcomed it with a total of 3 emergency room stays due to suicide attempts/ideation. I know better now. During Curtis' final moments I tried to find words to express my regret that I had ever attempted to take my life. I could see now the depth of the sorrow I would have forced my parents to pass through if they had lost me 12 years ago. I thought I could never have another suicidal thought again after watching death take someone before my eyes. But in the lonely, hopeless hours of caring for 3 very little kids on a super tight budget, those unwanted thoughts have crept back in.
(January 5, 2019)
Today I was playing the organ for Sacrament meeting. I felt prompted to play from a prelude book that I don't use very often. I was nervous about doing that because I don't have much experience or practice at that particular book. I played "Sweet Hour of Prayer" and then turned the page to "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." When I play a song I almost always hear the lyrics float through in my mind. I came to the part that says "He lives and grants me daily breath. He lives and I shall conquer death." I was shocked by those words. It made me think of Curtis and how frightening death looked on his young body. I now know that death is very scary. Four years ago I had lost an uncle in a tragic car accident. A year ago, grandpa passed away after months of pain and discomfort from his cancer treatments. I saw grandpa a few hours before he died. I was relieved that death had mercifully lifted his soul out of his broken, bleeding, exhausted, body. But for Curtis, who was 59 years younger, it felt like death was robbing us.
It was horrible to have nothing I could do but watch as he passed through the active dying phase. Death came. And it felt like death won. How frightening it must have been for Jesus' disciples and followers to helplessly watch him die! Then to hurriedly lay his pale, lifeless body in a tomb.
Having witnessed a death, I have a greater appreciation of the marvel that Jesus "seized the keys of death" and was the first to conquer the grave. How powerful he is to break the bands of death! How sweet to draw upon his mercy and be saved from doom. I know that Jesus died for us. A truly amazing thing, considering how ugly and awful death is. That he would go through that for me! Oh, it is wonderful. I know that he rose from the grave. His spirit once again inhabited his perfect body, marred only by the marks in his hands, feet, and side. I know that his victory over death assures a glorious resurrection for Curtis, Eldon, and Carl. And that his mercy assures a marvelous future after death for those who believe and follow.
Yesterday I watched my baby brother draw his final staggering breath.
I've always wanted to be in the room while a person died. That seems like an odd wish, but I was curious. People talk about how thin the veil is when someone passes through it.
It was a very spiritual experience, but I don't ever want to experience anything like it again.
It's uncanny how similar birth and death are. In both cases, no one knows the exact timing or how long it will go on. Loved ones and trained professionals are typically there to support, but cannot take away the burden that the individual must pass through. You get to see the person in their most raw, vulnerable, human state. The love in the room is so strong you can almost taste it.
Here's the story:
December 18 I got an urgent call from my dad at 11:30 PM. The hospice nurse had called and reported that Curtis was agitated and his breathing was raspy. She believed he would pass on soon. My parents wanted to know if I wanted to come with them to the hospice house. I was just finishing up nursing Ruby and was about to head to bed, but I had a very strong prompting; an urge, to go with them. I packed my bag of yarn, crochet hooks, and games and we drove over there. Being at the hospice house brought back the memory of the night three generations of women sat at my grandpa's bedside, playing games and talking. Grandpa passed a few hours after we left. I wondered if I would be there when Curtis passed.
Shock overcame me when I stepped through the door of room 12. His skin was wrong. It was purple-ish and pale. He always had such healthy pink skin, even in the hospital. His mouth was open and I could tell it was very difficult for him to breathe. His breaths were rattled and shaky, as if he was gasping with each one. I hadn't been very emotional until that point. It felt like the events that were taking place were part of a distant story, not my actual life. When I saw him in the active dying phase, it was like a splash of ice water to my brain saying "Wake Up! This is real!"
I rushed to take his hand. All of the tears I had wanted to cry came rushing out. I held his soft, motionless hand and sobbed into a pillow for what felt like an hour. My mom held his other hand and murmured words of love to him between the questions she directed at me (and the world at large) like "what are we ever going to do without him?"
He continued to gasp for air, the intervals between breaths stretching longer and longer. Eventually there was a space of about 30 seconds and I thought he had gone. But a desperate gasp surged suddenly, as though he had been underwater too long.
Exhaustion and grief overtook me and I had to lay down on the couch. I tried to sleep, but his loud raspy breaths grated against my soul. I sat up impatiently and fished for the notebook and pen in my purse. I felt that God was inspiring me to write these lyrics to a song:
"The fragments of my heart somehow beat on.
There’s a gaping wound the shape of you, shadowed by grief and despair.
You were ripped away from me in mortality.
But Jesus has the pain I feel engraved upon his hands.
When life’s unfair I turn to him and find peace in prayer.
He has felt the depth of this despair.
Through every heartache he is there.
I lift my sorrow up to heaven and put it in his hands. “
I wish I hadn't had to go through the pain of watching Curtis die. I wish he was still here to make us laugh. But I know that God will sanctify this painful experience. I know it will help me when I need to understand, mourn with, and comfort others.
In my soul I could feel my entire essence screaming "No! Curtis! No, not Curtis!"
The sensation of icy fire still wells deep within me and catches me off guard. It feels like the rug has been pulled out from under me, but under the rug was nothing. Sometimes it feels like there is a bottomless pit in my soul. I feel myself falling into it when feelings of despair creep up like ivy, choking me.
But I've learned that life is a trust fall, not an uphill battle. I am falling into the scary, dark, unknown experience of losing a brother. I know God is there to catch me. "The Son of Man hath descended below them all." D&C 122.
Another hour passed and Curtis' condition continued to decline. His rattling breaths were interspersed with eerie long pauses.
I didn't realize it would be his last breath, but as my mom grew more agitated and quietly called out to me I knew I needed to take his hand once more. I told him how much we love him. And no more breaths came.
Knowing he was gone, I gave his hand one more squeeze and sat back down on the couch.
Emotion choked my dad's voice as he quietly said, "oh, Curtis. We're going to miss you so much." He tenderly laid his hand on Curtis' head and gently closed his half-open eyes. I had the urge to kiss his cheek and felt guilty that I hadn't done it moments before. I got up and kissed his pale cheek, trying to transmit all of my love into him.
I hope he got to see how much we loved him, during his whole life and those final hours and moments. I hope that from where he is he can see how much we love him still.
We sat in the room on the couch, my mom on my left and my dad on the right. The gentle nursing staff occasionally came in to talk to us or give my parents paperwork. We waited in that room with Curtis' body for at least two hours. I was desperately exhausted and wanted to curl up and sleep for the entire day. Eventually I learned that we were waiting for the funeral home to take his body.
At around 4:30 AM the people from the funeral home arrived. We stepped out of the room while they transferred his body to a gurney. It was heartbreaking to watch them wheel it out with his face covered in a dark blue quilt. While we could see his face it seemed he was still with us. A light drizzle and sharp frigid breeze sent a chill through me as we watched them gently load his body in the back of a black Grand Caravan, close the door, and drive away. I felt numb. Empty. Shattered inside. I watched the hearse until it slipped out of view, then stumbled to the car with my parents.
On the ride home it felt like someone was sitting next to me in the back seat of the Nissan. It felt like Curtis was there. I had been hoping for a spiritual experience in all this, but I wasn't sure if I was just making it up. Because of another experience I had after the celebration of life, I believe Curtis really was there, sitting beside me in the car.
The cheerful Christmas lights on my home seemed unaware how much sadness could fill a soul. I sometimes look at young adults, with their faces aglow and futures bright before them. And I think "you don't know. You can't understand." But it's good that they don't know or understand yet. I don't want them to feel the pain that I feel.
It was 5 AM. I trudged up the stairs physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. I laid down next to Ruby and Michael and was able to sleep for about 3 hours.
That day it seemed as if the world was mourning his loss along with us. The rain poured down in a torrent, filling huge puddles in the road.
Michael and I saw Ammon's preschool Christmas program. It was refreshing to feel a whiff of joy waft through me. He sang songs like "I'm a Funny Little Puppet Clown," and "I'm a little snowman," and "Jack in the box." There was a little girl who sang louder than all of the other kids combined. I loved listening to them sing "We wish you a merry Christmas" at the end. Then Ammon gave us a calendar full of artwork, photos, and quotes from the year. It was wrapped in paper that he had painted.
As I walked through the rain to pick up Quin from school, I had the shocking realization that someday I would have to pass through what Curtis just did. It was as if ice crystallized through my blood. My soul squirmed in horror, searching for any possible way to escape that fate. My fate. The fate of every living thing on Earth. Death, with it's coldness, stiffness, leached color.
I had never really feared death that much before. In fact, I had foolishly welcomed it with a total of 3 emergency room stays due to suicide attempts/ideation. I know better now. During Curtis' final moments I tried to find words to express my regret that I had ever attempted to take my life. I could see now the depth of the sorrow I would have forced my parents to pass through if they had lost me 12 years ago. I thought I could never have another suicidal thought again after watching death take someone before my eyes. But in the lonely, hopeless hours of caring for 3 very little kids on a super tight budget, those unwanted thoughts have crept back in.
(January 5, 2019)
Today I was playing the organ for Sacrament meeting. I felt prompted to play from a prelude book that I don't use very often. I was nervous about doing that because I don't have much experience or practice at that particular book. I played "Sweet Hour of Prayer" and then turned the page to "I Know That My Redeemer Lives." When I play a song I almost always hear the lyrics float through in my mind. I came to the part that says "He lives and grants me daily breath. He lives and I shall conquer death." I was shocked by those words. It made me think of Curtis and how frightening death looked on his young body. I now know that death is very scary. Four years ago I had lost an uncle in a tragic car accident. A year ago, grandpa passed away after months of pain and discomfort from his cancer treatments. I saw grandpa a few hours before he died. I was relieved that death had mercifully lifted his soul out of his broken, bleeding, exhausted, body. But for Curtis, who was 59 years younger, it felt like death was robbing us.
It was horrible to have nothing I could do but watch as he passed through the active dying phase. Death came. And it felt like death won. How frightening it must have been for Jesus' disciples and followers to helplessly watch him die! Then to hurriedly lay his pale, lifeless body in a tomb.
Having witnessed a death, I have a greater appreciation of the marvel that Jesus "seized the keys of death" and was the first to conquer the grave. How powerful he is to break the bands of death! How sweet to draw upon his mercy and be saved from doom. I know that Jesus died for us. A truly amazing thing, considering how ugly and awful death is. That he would go through that for me! Oh, it is wonderful. I know that he rose from the grave. His spirit once again inhabited his perfect body, marred only by the marks in his hands, feet, and side. I know that his victory over death assures a glorious resurrection for Curtis, Eldon, and Carl. And that his mercy assures a marvelous future after death for those who believe and follow.
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