The Grief Journey

Michael,

My darling!
As the journey keeps rolling forth, you always stay in my mind and heart.
I've been remembering some more good times--

You remember the first U. game you went to with my family? You were working at ARUP and you walked down to the game in those clogs you had. You remember those? They were black leather, and you totally complained about them after that little journey.

You remember when I miscarried and after I woke up from that fun little procedure, I grabbed you and my mom's hands and said, "You guys are my best friends." Even though I totally meant it, it was the drugs talkin'. You guys just smiled and kept me safe in the wheelchair. Later that day as we drove home, I totally threw up in your van. When we got home you kept telling me I'd better not eat, but I was starving and begged you to go get me some rice krispies. That's all I wanted. So you did, and sure enough, I threw them all up...and more. ha ha

And it's crazy it took me this long to remember this, but I can't forget "Fort Knox." Each time we'd leave the house we'd always say to each other, "Fort Knox!" which meant alarm system on, lights on, radio on, windows, doors, and deadbolts locked. We weren't going to make the same mistake twice of allowing ourselves to get robbed again.

Another funny memory came to mind the other day after a big meal with my family. Scott was saying how full he was and I remembered your common phrase after such moments: FOOD COMA. Sometimes you'd get so mad to have eaten too much, but sometimes you'd tell me how you were in a "food coma" and you just needed to go sleep it off.

I got the hiccups the other day and thought of the millions of times you scared the crap out of me in efforts to get rid of my hiccups. You'd abruptly yell right in my face. Scared me so badly I'd almost cry. Your voice could be so deep, loud, and scary, that you got rid of my hiccups every time.

Anyway, one of my fondest memories is when we'd tell each other about our days. In efforts to do the same thing, here's what Andi and I have been up to the past while:

We went to our last sacrament meeting in Ogden last month. Got enough gumption to achieve my goal of bearing my testimony on that last Fast & Testimony meeting. I wasn’t sure I’d make it through without falling down at the pulpit for my shaky knees. They’d shake terribly each time I attempted to swallow my emotion with each new sentence. Sometimes “swallowing” all the emotion is more than my frame can take. With Andi in my arms, though, somehow that strengthened me. Very symbolic of all this.

Still been working a lot on paperwork and financial stuff. Budgeting without you is weird. At the end of each budgeting session, I miss writing my post-it notes that tell you how much you need to deposit in my account for the month. I miss having someone to ask about how much we should plan to spend for things like gifts or car expenses.
It sure is nice having someone to bounce stuff off of, whether it be about finances or about my bad hair day. Just miss it.

I’ve spent some good time getting things settled at the house.
I hung up our favorite pictures, like your Chinese-symbol sign, or my Farmington painting. I felt I was taking over your desk and felt each tinge of guilt as I placed another “Lisa” item on it.
I put the dishes, pans, silverware, and food in the cupboards just the way I like it—Neat and orderly, but stress-free. --Sorry, Babe, there’s just not gonna’ be any more freak-outs about the proper placement of our cutlery and Tupperware. 
I kept up the African bathroom theme for the guest bathroom—Just like we did in Arizona. We still needed to buy stuff to add to that bathroom décor that you so loved—Like animal print towels or bamboo accessories. But I’m getting there. I don’t want to rid myself of the stuff we do have, though….It’s just you. The African bathroom is you. (But I must say it’s a good thing I don’t have a shower in that bathroom, or I’d have to use your cheesy African shower curtain, which you know I loved.)
I spent some good time putting our bedroom together. Yep. OUR bedroom. Our bed, our wedding pictures, our night tables, our comforter, our sheets and pillows. I adorned it all with memorabilia to remind me each and every day of our union and unbreakable connection. I now wake up each morning and see your face when I open my eyes. I look at the quote you had in your office that says, “Nothing can stop a man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal.” I look at the bear you gave me when we got engaged. I hold your pillow with the pillowcase on it that I refuse to wash.

Another thing I did was seal the basement floor with Dad. Before we did that, though, we had to use our ShopVac on that cement floor to get rid of all the dust. Kind of a funny experience I don’t think I’ll forget. While doing so, Dad and I inhaled way more cement dust than I’m sure is good for you. Didn’t take us long to figure out the vacuum needed a good filter, but by that time, the entire house had an extra layer of dust in it. Ha. Dad sure has been my angel of service these days, and this is certainly one example of that.

Anyway, once the cement sealer dried, I was able to organize some of the basement and make room for me to work out. I put your UFC posters up and that running poster I made you. So, then, of course I can be more inspired as I beat the anger out, work hard (hopefully), and listen to your killer work-out tunes. --All things that remind me so much of you.

I still walk the dark stairway of that house at night and wonder what the hell I’m doing there as I stare out at the stars. But then I slide in bed, turn on one of your favorite shows, and wait for sleep to come.

Besides working on the house, Andi and I have been up to our usual stuff—Thank goodness, because if there’s anything we need these days, it’s “usual”:
We go to the library’s storytime each week and pick out new books. I must say that the Ogden library’s storytime lady is phenomenal compared to what we have in Farmington. Miss that library a lot.
We go to playgroup in our new ward that they have at the church or the park. That’s a new thing, and we like it. Both Andi and I say to each other after we leave each week that “we had fun.” Usually it’s, “Wasn’t that fun, Ands?” And Andi says, “We have fun, Mom!...Church!”—She likes to say “church” a lot.












We’ve started regular attendance at our new ward. Each week as we go I think about how you’d often say, “I may not be perfect, but one thing I am committed to is going to church each week.”
I’ve really enjoyed the people in our new ward so far. Great lessons last week. Often I sit and privately fight tears as each lesson teaches and helps me. Church has a whole new meaning now. No longer am I going through the motions.
Andi has enjoyed her new nursery. The first week I took her, I was a little emotional as I dropped her off and walked out of the room. I didn’t know if she could handle another change, but unsurprisingly, I’m the one with the change problem. She’s been really sweet and social as she goes to nursery. I know because I frequently stick my head in the door window to see what she’s up to. As I stare at her innocent little self playing with toys and doing activities, my soul can’t help but cry in gratitude for her as well as my sadness to watch her without you at my side, taking the joy in along with me. I just gotta’ believe you are here, though, watching her too. It’s not you NOT to.

I go to Weber once or twice a week to read essays, ya know, but lately I’ve been doing a lot of tests on Saturdays and evenings. A good out for me, I guess. One conclusion I’ve come to the past few weeks is that I’m going to need to get OUT. I’m also going to need to find some new friends. I honestly didn’t anticipate this need. The vision I’ve had for myself in this new life has been one of independence and devotion to two things: Andi and my goals for both her and me. I still very much have this vision, but with each new step, I’m begrudgingly realizing that my life is going to need a social aspect. I have a lot of wonderful friends that I’m lucky enough to be around, but under these new circumstances, I think I’m going to want to be around other people who perhaps have somewhat similar of circumstances. Hope and pray I can be blessed with that. I have most certainly been blessed so far in many other areas. I know God is mindful.

Halloween came and went in a blur.
Andi looked so great in her “Supergirl” costume and I pray you were able to see her in it. It was all for you, Babe.















We needed yet another way to bring you in with us, and having her be Supergirl seemed a good way to do that. On the night of Halloween, I took Andi to your mom’s first.
Then we went to Lori’s. All the family gathered there for soup and treats (and Beth and Jess came too!—complete with costumes and all) and then we took the kids out for some trick-or-treating.
Lori’s neighborhood is great for Halloween—So many festivities going on. Gabe mowed the face of a pumpkin onto his lawn. Andi got like two donuts, three full-size candy bars, a hot dog, and any other extravagant treats you can think of. I was so grateful for Scott that night because Andi kept asking him to hold her as we made our way through the neighborhood. I hope so badly she can keep feeling comfortable with her uncles as she’s going to need that male influence in her life. I must admit that as we trudged through the neighborhood with the kids on that very rainy Halloween, I had to battle the tears with each step. All of our cute nieces and nephews were escorted in the rain by their daddies, and our little girl was once again stuck with me. Pity us, I know. But the tears can’t help but come as I watch Andi begin this journey without her daddy. And from my own selfish perspective, I also want to cry, scream, and yell that I don’t have my husband here with me. Sometimes I really just need your help, ya know? More than that, I just need you by my side. I miss laughing at crap with you and sharing our life’s moments together.

Spencer was baptized last month and that was such a neat thing to watch. As the priesthood circle gathered around Spencer to confirm him, I felt your presence and know that you very much wanted to be a part of that.




All the adults in my family went to the TCU game a couple weekends ago. Mom even came! I know you would have been so proud…and were. I loved being there with the family, and I thought of you the whole time. I know you loved last year’s TCU game. You for sure didn’t like this year’s, though. It was a sad day for the Utes.

That same night Lydia came home with Andi and me. We made a gift for Mom and Dad’s anniversary…their 40th! Fun times. Sure do love Lydia. She’s so sweet to Andi.





Andi and I went to an assembly at Lydia, Spencer, and Connor’s school. All three were in the school choir and performed in this assembly. They were awesome. The program was about America and it once again reminded me of you as I thought of your true devotion to our country and the patriotism you felt. I want Andi to feel of those same things. I’m also really excited for when she gets old enough to be in little singing groups—She’ll love it! She sings with me as we’re around the house everyday, and she can’t be in the car without her “Caillou” or “Signing Time” CD’s playing. As she sings along, I always hope you’re hearing her….It’s so adorable.


She’s also been quite the dancer lately. She’ll wrap blankets and towels around her and dance all around the house, asking me to join her. (“Mama, dance!”) She loves dancing along to her Strawberry Shortcake movies, and she’ll even dance in front of the mirror when she knows she’s lookin’ cute.






She calls my dad “Pa” lately. They’ve started to build a bond I’ve been so grateful to observe.
Oh, my dad. No words can express my love and gratitude for him. Both he and my mom have been Andi and my angels. I know you’ve watched and seen it, and I know you’re grateful and unsurprised.

Dad said something to me the other day that I don’t want to forget. He told me he’d been thinking about his own situation—how he lost his father at the age of 3, and how the hardest part about that life’s circumstance is that it left him with no one to play with him, no one to hug him, love him, touch him, reassure him. He said he wants to be that for Andi. It then incited a conversation between us about how parents should be that for kids—a safe place. Not a place of criticism, but a place of unconditional love. Parents should show their children that they’re “perfect no matter what.”
That’s what I hope to give Andi. Unconditional love, safety, acceptance. I will never be able to do what you could have done for her—You would have been her best playmate and would have provided that physical love she desperately needs. But I’m going to do everything I can to give her that in her life.
Speaking of finding safety in others, thank you for being my safe place, Michael. I hope you found that in me, too.

I registered for a class at Weber next semester. I hate going back to that place, but it makes the most sense for me right now. I’ve gotta’ get these prerequisite classes over with within the next year and a half so I can get in the School Counseling Masters program at Utah State. Hoping to enter the program in the fall of 2012. I’ll just need to take those prereqs, apply for the program, and pass the graduate school exam. Going back to school was not something I anticipated for at this stage of my life, but I’m not going to let the time waste. I’ve wanted to get my masters for a long time, as you know, and I know it to be the next step. I think about how badly you hated school those last years and how you vowed to never go back because you were so dang sick of being in the classroom. You definitely put in your time. I don’t blame you for it.

I still go to that grief support group, which I have really come to appreciate. It’s just so good there are people out there I can connect with and that I know understand me. There’s this one guy in it that’s totally cynical and that doesn’t mind crossing the lines of social norms. At first I wasn’t sure how to take him, but now I totally appreciate the guy. I know you’d totally dig him too, ‘cuz he’s just so authentically himself. He’s not out to prove anything to anyone.
There’s been a lot of profound insights for me that have come to mind while participating in that group. I’ve also been writing down some other insights that have come to me as I listened to General Conference and as I’ve been at church. I seem to thirst for little bits of wisdom these days, like these:
The Lord is in control, even though he allows accidents to happen.
Even though this is perhaps one of the “winters” of my life, I can still find joy.
I did not choose this. This isn’t my fault.
Through this experience, I now have a low tolerance for “bull shit,” as my fellow support group member put it. (As I was trying to express this idea, he filled in the blank for me.) In other words, life’s stupid details and people’s inability to decipher what really matters is something I now find hard to be around.
God did not give us the Spirit of fear.
A great motto—“I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.”
Serve.
Be grateful.
In my times of despair I have felt such a negative force. The best way I know to describe it is darkness. I believe I heard a talk in General Conference that said “Light drives out darkness.” May seem simple, but it’s a profound message for me to remember as I confront the daily battle against this darkness of despair. And Michael, thank you for helping me fight against it. There have been times I have felt your presence in those moments, and I consider them to be nothing less than sacred and a perfect illustration of our love and connection.
Confess His hand in all things.
I can receive God’s guidance and revelation…I must seek it.
There’s a plan.

I’ve also been reading a book called The Message (by Lance Richardson) and there was a part that really spoke to me. It says, “For some time I had felt as if my world had collapsed, and everything I had worked for destroyed. It took great effort from deep inside to pull myself together and realize there would be other dreams. It was a most difficult trial to endure…but God used it as a teaching experience for my future…..The stretching of my soul had seemed so unpleasant…I was learning to [live] with pain, [but] I had no idea how important this lesson would be for the future.”
I often think those things, hope for those things, and even look back on past lessons of my life and realize those lessons helped prepare me for this terrible heartache I now face. I suppose it’s good we don’t always understand God’s purposes in our trials.

Anyhow….
Andi got her first haircut last month. It was adorable—She saw Leslie cutting Lydia’s hair and she just had to have a haircut herself. So I took her home that night and trimmed it up. It looks so cute. It reminded me of cutting your hair and how I kind of like doing it.

As I’ve begun the housework routine again, I’ve found that nothing is the same without you. I don’t cook the same foods (no need to, with just me and Ands), I don’t do the dishes…pretty much EVER. You’d often help with that. And I’m really bad at getting the laundry folded, but I don’t need to tell you that. You were always so good at helping me tackle the endless piles that I’d put on our ledge in our bedroom. You used to always watch movies and fold clothes for me.

As disoriented as I’ve felt, I know that where I’m at and what I’m doing are where I’m supposed to be. I’ve gotten that impression a number of times throughout all this, and I’m so grateful for that. I have also felt your blessing a lot as I’ve walked the halls of this home. You’ve made it clear that this is home.

I can’t bring Andi up to Ogden much anymore…or at least for a good while. Each time we do, she gets really agitated and ends up crying all the way home to “Go back! Old house!” It probably sounds like I encourage this or prompt this behavior, but I totally don’t. She’s more aware of all this than I think I’ve even realized. It’s other moments like yesterday in church (keep in mind it’s now November) when she asked for you as I picked her up from nursery. She knows you. She tries your hats on and says, “Dad’s hat!” She points at your pictures and says, “Daddy!” I promise you, Michael, that I will always keep you alive in her life. As much as I possibly can. I want her to know you. I hope and pray you can help me with that.

When we went to Ogden last week, I had another look at the flagpole at the church that was put in on your behalf. The plaque beside it that displays your name also reads the scripture, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
I have thought much about that scripture these past few months and how much you applied it in your life. I will never forget how in each daily prayer we said together, you’d ask God to help us magnify our callings. I’ll never forget the continual conversations we’d have when you’d constantly emphasize how important it was to serve and to make that one of your life’s goals. In recalling all of these memories, I couldn’t help but read your patriarchal blessing that has one main theme: How important it was for you in your life to serve God. It says it over and over again. I also can’t help but remind myself you were doing just that when you passed on.
Good job, Babe. You followed God’s counsel and took it to heart…I have no question of that.

Each of your family members have been a part of Andi and my days lately. Isaac came to see Andi a few weeks ago, and I was so glad to see them play together.
Andi and I have been able to visit with Ron and Joann on several occasions, and Andi has been so loving towards them.












Bethany, Jesse, and Jack visited our home. Your mom came over to dinner last Sunday. While I feel nothing but pure heartache when I live out these times without you, I am also very grateful for your family, and know you are too.

You know, I’ve come to a bit of a realization the past week or two—
I am beginning to taste a bit of comfort and contentment as life is beginning to settle again. I am finding some familiar satisfaction in my home, my goals, our Andi. I have immediately noticed these feelings of contentment, because they have been long lost friends I have desperately wanted back. While these feelings of contentment are nowhere near the joyful contentment I felt with you around, and while these positive emotions are also laced with much sorrow, I am so grateful to feel some measure of comfort again. And to find my body beginning to physically relax a bit more.
Along the same lines, something that losing you has taught me is that all too often do we as human beings place value in fleeting things—We find safety in worldly pursuits. It isn’t until we face something like a death of a loved one do we realize that God truly is the only “safe place”—the only place to put our “treasure” in and find safety.

Your friend Rex called last week. He just barely learned the news of your passing. I felt bad I hadn’t called him, but wasn’t even sure how to handle that. Oh, Michael, the compliments he gave you. He ranted and raved about how hard of a worker you were. How you’d stay late at his house to get the projects done. He told me how smart you were and that you gave him really valuable advice regarding his home’s remodel. He said you were integrous and that you could have charged him more, but never did. (Remember our constant conversations about integrity?) He said you were obviously a faithful LDS man and showed that time and time again as you refused his offers for coffee and as you often expressed your belief in your faith. I know you liked that man a lot, and I can see why. You obviously became good friends.

I had a dream the other night that you came back and told me it was all a fluke. That your death wasn’t at all what everybody thought—That you had escaped the water and just ended up getting lost in the wilderness, and that’s why you’ve been gone this whole time—You’ve just been trying to find your way back to me and Andi.
I love when I dream about you, because the vision of your face is once again so very clear. You always have this deep, emotionally-filled expression that you often showed me in heartfelt moments. I picture you with that same expression as you observe us in our daily lives. I know you care. I know you wish that dream really was the truth. I know that you’re working your way to getting back to me. And I you.

Happy Thanksgiving, my darling. I am eternally grateful for you, for our family and friends, grateful for our God, for our Andi. Grateful for how much we’re learning in all of this. Grateful to know that someday I will hold you again. Grateful to know that nothing else truly matters.

I love you “in the morning sun and in the evening moon.” 