Lake Powell: Merman, Mud Slide and Stick in the Mud

The mud slide was Mike's idea. And this is why MK is banned from wearing my stuff.

Escalante frog hike, minus the frogs plus more mud.

Cy takes this all very seriously...

I had to include this pic of MK as Merman on her Lake Powell trip with friends.

As soon as she was buried, they uncovered her feet and played footsie with her. If there's one thing MK can't stand it's feet on feet. Screaming, begging, dry-heaving ensues....

Lake Powell: Indoor Games and What-not

Cookie Face

(Why am I wearing eye make-up in Lake Powell??)

Driver's Ed homework in the bunker

Age Progression: Cousin Emma

Emma in 10 more years...

Lake Powell, 2012: Water Sports

Taking a break from the grief series. Our Lake Powell trip was 2 months ago, so I should probably get on that...
Here, Mia stands on the cliff and jumps vicariously.

Mia told me her secret to wake boarding is talking to herself, "You're the best. You've been doing this for years. You're sponsored by everyone. If you jump this, then you get to meet Ryan Sheckler...."

MK's trickin'

Tube War dog pile

Nek minut...

The Girls

I love that Cy's hugging Parker as hard as he can. If Cy goes under, Parker's coming too...

Wild West maneuver

Nek minut...

Richard the Lizard

MK's up to her old tricks

Night swim

Time for a campfire and s'mores.

Good Grief: Month 3

I relive images of the accident and the hospital in my mind. When it happened, I was in shock and couldn't process reality well. Three months out, I relive the hospital with full awareness, and it's excruciating. The doctors told me, "If she makes it to the end of the week, she'll spend weeks in the PICU and months on the hospital floor." IF. I didn't hear the "if." I couldn't mentally tolerate it or comprehend it. If I had heard the "if," I would've done things differently.

I regret ever leaving her side. I regret not being the one who braided her ponytail or rubbed ointment on her wounds. The nurses did those things when I was trying to sleep for a few hours or eat something or be with family and friends who came to support us. I didn't know I only had 4 more days with her in this lifetime. Her death was not a possibility, even though I asked Rob and doctors again and again, "How could anyone possibly survive this, especially a four-year-old baby girl?"

I visit her grave on my bike rides and lay face down on the grass above her and tell her I'm so sorry for the pain she endured.

I remind myself that it's over now, and I ride home.

Good Grief: months 1 & 2

Over the last five months, I've written some notes about the grief I've experienced. Just keep in mind, these notes describe the worst moments and not the times when I feel better, hopeful, even happy :) I'm convinced that grief heals, hence the title "Good Grief."

One month:
The first month or two after Elle's accident, I felt grief in waves. I was still in shock but didn't know it. Often the grief would sneak up on me and wash over me violently. But then it would retreat quickly, and I would go on trying to navigate the strange state my life was in.

In "A Grief Observed," C.S. Lewis wrote, "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness.... I keep on swallowing." I feel that and a sense of profound dread, like in nightmares, when I "remember" she's gone.

Two months:
I feel the grief settling in on me and moving in for a longer stay. I no longer feel it in waves; I am standing neck-deep in a flood of longing for my baby girl who was just here, and who I won't ever see again in this life. The sadness lives with me and weighs heavily on my heart and holds a thousand tears behind my eyes. The tears leak out whenever I'm alone—in the car, washing dishes, in the shower, on my bike, lying in bed late at night or before I get up in the morning. I hear myself make sounds I never made before I lost her. Moans that hurt my chest and come from somewhere so deep inside it is primal. I often think The loss is too great.

Life goes on, so I fight to stay in a space where I can function normally. I fight because it would be so easy to let the grief consume me, and I won't be a shell of a mother for my kids.

I'm profoundly disappointed. I don't get to have her. Not in my entire lifetime.

The kids at their young ages have to face the harsh reality that someone you love deeply can suddenly disappear from your life.

I thought Heavenly Father would never take one of our children. That He knew I was not the kind of person who could emotionally survive a loss of this magnitude. I realize I've been feeling betrayed.

But just as suddenly as that realization hits, I know I'm wrong. Heavenly Father is the last Being who would ever betray me. And the Savior has experienced my loss through my eyes and heart. I know They will heal me.

Jenga Memories

I asked the busy elementary school counselor to meet with the boys whenever she could, so they met every other Wednesday for a couple of months until school got out. One day the counselor played Jenga with them. With each block the boys removed, they told something they missed about Elle.

Getty: I miss doing spider with Elle on the swings


Another block: I miss when Elle would sneak into my bedroom at night and lay by me. I'd say, "Did Mommy say you could lay by me?" She'd say, "Just can I lay by you?"

Cy: I miss the loudness in our house

Cam: I miss playing with her in the mornings

Cy remembered that a couple of hours before Elle's accident, he had left the house to go to Luke's. Elle opened the door and called to him in the garage, "Don't forget the Hug Rule!" Cy told her, "I'll do it when I come back." But she insisted, "No!" and ran to him and hugged him :)

Emily sent me this photo and said she'd remembered that Elle and Sienna were playing dress-up the day of the accident. Elle's clip-on earrings fell off like 20 times, and Emily put them on over and over again, while Elle explained how much she wanted her ears "peered."

When you come back to me, we'll go and get your ears peered (just as soon as they can peel me off of you—it may take years :)