Good Grief: month 4

I don't have nearly as much control over my life as I thought I had. This is news to me.

I figured, get your education, you'll have some security. Work hard and be careful with money, and you'll be self-sufficient. Work on yourself and your marriage, and you'll be happy. We wanted to have several kids, and we were able to get pregnant easily. If I could have, I would have chosen the exact gender order I got. I understood these things didn't always work out for people, but they did for us. Not that I thought we were more deserving (probably less!), it was just our experience. In reconnecting with friends and college roommates I haven't seen in years, many learned this lesson ages ago through infertility, divorce, unemployment, wayward kids, health problems, etc.

At dinner with high school friends. We ate dinner at 4 
(with the senior citizens :), and four and a half hours later, 
finished up. I guess we had a lot to catch up on?

Soccer friends and college roommates

So, we have either no control or very limited control over some of the biggest factors in our lives: Life and death. Health. The economy. Husbands (luckily I got a good one!). Genetics. The job market. Teenagers :)

This is life.

I signed up for one more low-functioning pregnancy with Elle. She was born in November, a tiny 4 lbs. 12 oz., so I kept her home from church for 6 months because of the threat of RSV (she got it anyway at 6 months).

I would take pictures of her sleeping and couldn't get over how cute she was when she sucked her thumb.

I called her Puddin' because her cheeks looked like they were loaded with it. When I had fed her enough, she'd turn her head.

I potty-trained her, read my favorite childhood books to her, immunized her, and made sure she didn't have too much sugar or screen time.

I would dress her up for photo shoots around the house.

I loved hearing her awesome laugh as she slid down the front stairs or down the hill in the backyard in sleeping bags with Cam.

I would give her piggy-back rides to bed and taught her to pray at bedtime (mostly she would beg me to pray for her so she could suck her thumb and smell her blankey tag). I figured how to work around those two chunks of hair choppings while they grew back in—one where her bangs should be and one underneath in the back.

I would put her in time out and then watch her familiar tantrum—dumping the stair basket out on her way to her room and then kicking her door shut. I would wrap and re-wrap my scarves around her like sarongs because she wasn't satisfied that they were modest enough. On her bedroom floor, I would pick up 3 or 4 outfits she changed out of almost daily. I would watch her dance in her pink gymnastic suit or swimsuit costumes year-round.

I would crack up when she did her mean-girl growl and her ninja fight moves at the boys yelling "hi-YAH!!"

It was all a privilege, and I got that. I raised her for 4 years, 3 months, and 2 days. But that's where my mothering has to stop. And there is nothing I can do to change that. I put in all the effort and love and thought and time I could to be what I considered to be a good mom, but I don't get to raise her. That will have to wait until another lifetime.

"We're not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be."—C.S. Lewis

I'm reading a book about a family whose 5-year-old daughter was run over by her older brother in the driveway. Their father is a successful Christian ministry songwriter and performer. He wrote these words following his daughter's death:

"This is not how it should be
This is not how it could be
But this is how it is
And our God is in control

This is not how it will be
When we finally will see
We'll see with our own eyes
He was always in control

This is not where we planned to be
When we started this journey
But this is where we are
And our God is in control

Though this first taste is bitter
There will be sweetness forever
When we finally taste and see
That our God is in control"

—Steven Curtis Chapman

This is not how it will be. How I love that line.

Ultimately, I know we have control over the biggest factor in our lives—how we choose to respond to those events and circumstances. I just hope I can follow this counsel:

"Therefore, dearly beloved... let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed." —Doctrine & Covenants 123:17

A Fab Dinner and a Favorites Luncheon

Going back, um, 3 months ago...
The Fab and the parents had dinner at PF Changs to celebrate graduation.

Cara's mom special-ordered necklaces, and the parents pitched in.

On one side is etched "5," and on the other "Forever."

The Fortunate parents

A few days later Liz had a luncheon for the Five and moms, and we exchanged our favorites, under $10. I wrapped up a blender bottle, and MK wrapped an iTunes gift certificate in paper she custom printed with "hot" men :)

Which reminds me, MK's first friend just announced her engagement—y-y-y-yikes.

Who's next?...

Our predictions: Kaitlyn after Freshman year ("NO!!"), then Sara, then Cara and MK (waiting for a certain missionary??), then Kim, who insists on being last.

Go Kart

I call it the Deathmobile.

But, I'm not a guy, so I have to defer to Rob's jurisdiction. He took Cam and Trent and picked it up on the sly to surprise the boys.

Suddenly, Cy comes racing in the house yelling, "I see a go kart outside!"

Getty says, "If you're lying, I'm going to kill you."

I've never seen Getty so excited over anything—and his hyper is off the charts to begin with.

Cy's still in shock

Getty, stop freaking out—you're making Cam nervous.

Dancing in his seat to "Getting Jiggy with It" playing over the speakers.

"Check it. Just watch how I handle this beast."

As if Rob needed brownie points with the kids. His hero status has officially left the stratosphere.

Volleyball Nationals in Salt Lake!

Photo of Sweet Yams and Brazil, over 40 division.
Rob is 2nd on left, back row. Per tradition,
they traded jerseys after the 4-day tournament.

They called themselves the "Sweet Yams." When I saw Rob in that sexy black jersey, I had to agree.

The kids were amazed at Rob's super powers on the court. Me? I'd seen it all before—same old, same old. We heard Mike Daniel (UVU volleyball coach) was calling Rob a volleyball icon. That kind of flattery is just wasted on Rob. Call me an icon, and I'll love you forever :)

The last day of the tournament, single-elimination Saturday, Sweet Yams lost to Brazil, a team they'd beaten twice. It was all Rob could do to get over the loss the rest of the day.
On the upside, he gets to keep that black jersey ;)
And—we got to eat lunch at Cheesecake Factory.

For Family Night, we happened to play on the sand court next to Arik and the other firefighters. Arik was at the scene of Elle's accident and visited Elle at the hospital more than once and attended her funeral (people are awesome).

Ouch.

Stuff Elle and I did together...

I'm working on a blog book called, "Elle's Edition," to give to each of the kids for Elle's birthday in November. It will contain all of the Elle-related posts in more detail and a bunch of our favorite pictures and memories of her. I think when the kids get older, they might appreciate having access to exactly what happened at this time in their young lives. I also wanted to include a post of some of the things Elle and I had done together during the month(s) before the accident:

Elle and I gathered up all of her Barbie's (about 10) and all the nail polish we had in the house and painted bikini's on her nude Barbie dolls with nail polish. Elle picked out the color and chose the Barbie, I polished, then she flipped the Barbie over for more paint and critiqued my work (she liked being in charge ;)

Elle had such great hair for a four-year-old, and she would let me mess with it most of the time. My favorite new do was a bubble braid. After her hair was done, she'd admire herself in the mirror, talk to her imaginary fans, pose, and then kiss herself on the lips.

I had spent some time looking up a bunch of hairdo ideas for little girls and typed up several to refer to in the mornings when I would do her hair. (Don't laugh—list-making is my curse.)

When the kids were all at school, we'd get our aprons on, and she would help me make dinner, adding ingredients and stirring.

We would play "Go Fish" and "Old Maid" with her Disney Princess decks of cards in the afternoons. She would scream in mock terror whenever she got the Old Maid Ursula card and then laugh hysterically when I got it.

When we ran errands, she'd hold my hand in the parking lot and would be interested in whatever shop we were in and not get bored. I preferred to take her with me than go alone on most errands, which is saying something for a 4-yr-old. She was fun to be around and didn't cause problems.

And she was so darn cute.

Elle's Above Us

Just a few weeks before her death, Elle drew this picture of herself above the rest of our family. She labeled herself, and Cam labeled the rest under her direction. Hmmmmm.


One night I was crying too hard to not be overheard, so I crept down into the unfinished basement and sat in our papasan chair. After a little while, I looked to my right and saw this wooden beam—it was covered in Elle's signature. Most of the time she drew her E's with multiple lines (to make her point :). I had never noticed those basement drawings before. I like to think it was her way of telling me she's nearby.

I love that girl so much.

On the other side of the beam, Cam had drawn a smiley face. It seemed to say, "Be happy!"

Cam is a pretty wise kid, so I decided to take his advice, and then headed upstairs to bed to escape into sleep.

Sometimes Elle comes to play with me in my dreams. We are always so happy to see each other. I crouch down to her level and hug her tight for a long time. Then we giggle and play. One time, after we had played for awhile, she told me she had to go home. I knew she meant Heaven.
I waved good-bye, knowing I'd see her again soon.

Lake Powell: Getty's Hair Series