Good Grief: Month 11

Last Christmas was the happiest of my life. This is what I wrote then:

"I have to say my reaction to this Christmas vacation surprised me over and over again. I can't remember enjoying myself so much for such an extended period of time. It was a total escape from schedules, and Rob was able to take extra days off to be home with us a lot.... I had time to play around and do whatever sounded good at the moment. And one of those was definitely to just relax at home. We all slept in every day, I read "A Thousand Splendid Suns," shopped with the girls, went to the gym together at any crazy hour of the day or night, Rob took the younger kids to the church gym to play basketball a few times, we played Bananagrams, watched movies, and ... I found out that is my version of bliss at this point in my life."



As it turned out, it was the calm before the storm.

This past Christmas was busy, last-minute, and disorganized. Rob had surgery on his elbow to repair years of volleyball wear-and-tear and couldn't lift any weight while he recovered, which meant I had to be the resident Hulk as well as the Christmas decorator/shopper/wrapper. Then, we had the two weeks of snowfall and single-digit temperatures, and our snowplow was broken. MK and her college friends came and went into the wee hours of the night/morning, so we didn't get much sleep. My grief crept closer and closer to the surface, because I was busy and avoiding it. One night about 1 a.m. I took a drive to decompress... and quickly noticed a cop following me around the dark, deserted roads. Pffffff.

But, death puts the "dang dailies" in perspective like nothing else. Big whoop I have to take the trees down and haul them into storage. During the holidays I would clear the kitchen counter every time I turned around. Oh well. I got a parking ticket before the Justin Bieber concert for parking perpendicular instead of parallel on a snowbank at the end of a dead end street. Whatever.

We're heading out of our first year of grief, and that is a big deal. Life keeps moving. Other challenges have cropped up, ones that require my full attention and a good dose of energy. Are these gifts in disguise? I find myself moving toward those challenges and away from my grief. At these times, Elle is a comfort, not the worst part of my life (now I have other worse parts of my life, ha!). She was so innocent, so happy. And I was irreplaceable to her. She needed me and trusted me like a 4-year-old does. Our relationship was frozen in a good place. That's a comfort to me.

I've also realized that just as death loses its sting when you put it in perspective, challenges that would have "devastated" me prior to this past year have lost their intimidation factor. Life is what it is. Problems are temporary. You do your best. You exercise faith. You work the problem. We're here to learn.

Dangit. 

Bieber Fever

Elle's best friend's family gave us 3 tickets to the Justin Bieber "Believe" concert for Christmas in honor of Elle's and Sienna's crush. MK and Getty's first ever concert!

Walking along Gateway looking for a quick bite to eat before the concert (along with a hundred moms and their pumped up little daughters).


A couple little girls kept staring at Getty and whispering to each other. Could it be?... Is it him?? haha

After dinner, I dropped them all off at the concert and went to a friend's house downtown to visit.

I wonder what it would be like to be a rock star whose major fan base is girls under age 12.

JB's thumbs-up pose looks strangely familiar...

And this pose...

Maybe next time he'll try this pose...

Or this one...

Or this one...

Good Grief: Month 10

Dad

Mom and Dad

Dad and me

Twelve years ago, my dad died suddenly of a massive heart attack at age 56 in a grocery store on a Saturday morning. His was the first funeral I'd ever attended. I knew he would die before I would, but I didn't know. His death was a tremendous blow to our family. Our identity seemed to be compromised. Our back-up was gone. He was the mountain, the foundation. We were left to ourselves, vulnerable and unprotected, and everything changed. Our family dynamics shifted and slipped, grief overshadowed personalities, we all had new roles to fill. The adjustments took several years.

But, something early on helped me through that grief. A few months after his death, I realized that for some reason, I had expected him to live into his 70's, but no longer. My perspective changed. I would grieve the loss of about 15 years. Being the oldest of six and at age 30, I'd had him longer than any of my siblings, but I couldn't expect to have him the rest of my life. These adjustments would have come sooner or later. I'm not one to procrastinate. I'd rather get the awful overwith. In this case, I would have put his death off as long as possible, but straining for perspective, I could appreciate the fact that his death and those ramifications would be an inevitable part of my life.

What helped me significantly with my dad's death is one of the roadblocks in my grief for our 4-year-old. It was realistic to expect her to be with me for the rest of my life, maybe 50 years. Perhaps the fact that she is the baby of the family and a girl would have made her role throughout my lifetime even larger. Mourning 50 years of loss is overwhelming. It's longer than my entire life so far. Those 50 years will look very different than they would have. How can I think they will be better? Impossible. Better than having the daughter I love more than my own life? It's ironic that in some ways knowing she is a Celestial person makes my regret deeper that she can't stay here. She wouldn't have been trouble. She would have been her awesome self. And now, without her, I'm diminished. My future is diminished.

When I get past the next 50 years, my future promises more joy than I can comprehend, and I trust in that. But 50 years is a formidable length of mortality. I can try to live a day at a time, but it feels like denial.

I can always hope for the Second Coming. Maybe I'll only be 56 when He comes again.

People Are Awesome

It's been 11 months now since the accident, and yet many people have gone out of their way to let us know they are thinking of us and still keep us in their prayers.

One of the twin huge planters on my porch crumbled one day when I was trying to turn it. Two days later, I pulled out of my driveway and drove past my house and noticed these two gorgeous tree pot replacements on my porch!!

Our sweet babysitter from Riverton had this pink angel bear made at Build-a-Bear in Elle's honor. I love that halo.

Over the months, Elle's best friend has brought her flowers, drawings, little rocks, pinwheels, colored pumpkins, and Christmas ornaments and gives her a big hug when she visits her grave. Love that sweet thing.

My Relief Society President, a floral designer, dropped by this personalized floral arrangement with a note, "The color of her soul—'the Lorenne.'" 

Then at Christmas, my porch trees and door were decorated with ornaments and angels.

People have hugged on us, shared their memories and photos of Elle, invited us to lunch, and given us very helpful contacts to other grieving parents.

I have also recognized that some people avoid us, but I'm convinced they worry about what they could say and feel they help most by giving us our space.

All of this leads me to believe that people care. Not just about us and our particular trial—people care about fellow human beings who are suffering and who need love or support.

Although I've tried to avoid hearing details about the Sandy Hook elementary school incident, I love hearing about the support being given to the families of those 20 children. It's an example of the pure and abundant love people have for children and a witness of great hearts in everyday people.

"As a thief in the night...."

Rob walks into Smith's grocery store one Saturday with his headphones on, and suddenly he hears the intro to U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name." It's an eerie other-worldly sound that starts very softly and then gradually becomes louder and louder. He searches the sky, confused and thinking, "Where is this sound coming from? What does this mean??"

He thought it was the Second Coming.

True story.

Christmas Day, 2012

After watching "Luke II," I picked up a poem someone gave us called, "Merry Christmas from Heaven." Without trying to read it, I passed it to Rob to read, Rob passed it to MK, and MK passed it to Getty, who thought he could get through it:

"I still hear the songs,
I still see the lights
I still feel your love on cold wintery nights

I still share your hopes and all of your cares
I'll even remind you to please say your prayers

I just want to tell you, you still make me proud
You stand head and shoulders above all the crowd

Keep trying each moment, to stay in his grace
I came here before you to help set your place

You don't have to be perfect all of the time
He forgives you the slip, if you continue the climb

To my family and friends,
Please be thankful today
I'm still close beside you,
In a new special way

I love you all dearly,
Now don't shed a tear
Cause I'm spending my Christmas with Jesus this year"
—John Wm. Mooney, Jr.

Pretty somber. But then, Mia started laughing and holding her neck, because "my throat tickles when I laugh!" (physical complaint of the day—check.)

MK's gift to Mia from Hawaii

Cy's favorite Oregon Duck's hat.

Cam's Santa gift: Kirby's Anniversary 20

Beats knock-off headphones from China did the trick.

Cy trying to hug on Getty

If I know Cy, he's saying, "Beast!"

M&M's umbilical cord. (I always knew they had one.)

Cy's Santa gift:

A camera for MK's Santa gift

For Getty's Santa gift, we sent him on a hot/cold hunt. He's telling me, "I have no idea what this is..."

It's his first phone. He doesn't get excited—much.

(He had to sit back down again to take it all in.)

A very Merry Christmas morning! And we're off to Grandma's for Christmas breakfast and more family fun and gifts.

At Grandma's watching Luke II (again). Time well spent.

Cousin Clint got the boys U of U footballs and is having them signed by the team. (I know, Jen!!)

First throw

Grandma has terminal cancer, so we're hoping this isn't the last Christmas we get to spend with her.

"Pops, will you do Superman for me?"

Over the river and through the woods to Granny's house we go for Christmas dinner and more family fun and even more gifts.

I got awesome gifts this year, like this from my mom:

and this from Marie to remember her by:


and this from Elle's best friend to match her own charm bracelet, along with Justin Bieber concert tickets (!!!), row 1.
No biggie.

and this heart-melter from Britt:

On the way home, we drove to Elle's snow-covered grave and wished her a Merry Christmas. Because it was.