A Grief Observed: The Mind and Body

I would be true, for there are those who trust me;
I would be pure, for there are those who care;
I would be strong, for there is much to suffer;
I would be brave, for there is much to dare.

(Howard Arnold Walter)

Remember this post? I wasn't kidding when I said that that Grief and Stress can greatly affect the body.

In October, I learned of some health issues that I was experiencing that were likely brought on by the overwhelming stress caused by multiple and major Life Changes last year. So I began treatments and started to simplify my life. I thought I had everything under control.

And then November hit.

One evening, I was sitting in bed, going over the digital files for our Christmas Card before we sent them to print. I remember looking over the content with David, shaking my head that this was REALLY our card this year. I couldn't bring myself to sign our individual names and not include Bennett and so I opted for signing our surname. Who would have thought these little things would be so hard?

Awhile later, the kids were tucked in their beds, long asleep, and David had drifted off into Dreamland. I had just switched off my lamp and laid my head on the pillow when the world began to cave in on me. I started choking, I couldn't breathe, my entire body was shaking, my heart was going crazy and I felt like I was going to black out.

In short, I felt like I was dying.

In fear of passing away in my sleep without David knowing, I shook him and muttered that we needed to get to the hospital. Fast. I was dying. I could feel it. I looked at the clock. It was 1 am. I picked up the phone and called my parents. I awoke them (of course) and begged them to come and watch our kids while David took me to the emergency room.

To be honest, I didn't know if I'd be coming back. I felt Life slipping from me. I have never been so scared in my Life.

Actually, I take that back. January 22nd takes the cake.

Now, a little clarification here. I am not afraid of Death. Quite the contrary. In a healthy way, I quite look forward to the Next Life. But right now, my family is in a vulnerable position. My kids need their Mommy and my Honey needs his Sweetheart. I knew that. And so - for their sake - I knew that it couldn't be my time to go. It just couldn't.

As my parents spoke to me on the phone, David pulled out the lap top. We started typing my symptoms into google. The results were not promising. A heart attack, Aneurysm, or Acute Anxiety Attack. The symptoms were hauntingly the same.

Ugh. Options, not good.

My Mom and Dad told me to get in the bathtub and see if if the symptoms subsided. If it was an anxiety attack, they would gradually diminish. If not, I probably should get to the hospital. Stat.

So I did.

Over the next hour, the symptoms DID subside. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep in my husband's arms, promising that I would get to the doctor sometime that week.

Well, that was #1 out of 4 attacks that occurred in the next 7 days. Each episode happened at different times, triggered by the unknown. Nothing overly emotional, upsetting or troubling preceding each one. They arrived unannounced, paralyzing me without a moment's notice. It. Was. Hell.

By the end of the week, I knew I had to see a Doctor. And fast. I made an appointment for that morning and was soon sitting knee to knee with our family practioner. As I discussed my symptoms, he asked me a series of questions surrounding my current Life Situation. When I gave him the Readers Digest version of this year's happenings, I thought he was going to fall off his chair. He just stared at me wide eyed.

And then we began to discuss options.

Side Note - At Bennett's viewing/funeral, I had multiple people recommend that we get on medication to help "numb the pain." I thought that was crazy. I felt it important that - as a family - we all be on the same page in our Grief. If we were going to walk this path, we were going to walk it together. That was my opinion.

That is, until the attacks began.

So my Doctor told me that a few things were necessary.

1 - I had to simplify. Everything. And I. Mean. EVERYTHING. That calling that I had just accepted to Chair our Congregation's Christmas Party? It was a no go. Wow. For Little Miss "Sign me up for it", this was going to be hard.

2 - I had to learn how to relax my mind, body and spirit. My Doctor suggested Meditation. I prefer prayer. I needed to find a way to take my mind to a Peaceful Place when I could feel Anxiety coming on. Hmmm . . . this was going to take practice.

3 - Medication WAS necessary. This would take care of itself in time but - until then - I had to be functioning. For Myself, for my Children and for my Sweetheart.

And so it goes. I've been on anxiety meds for two months now and I am happy to say that I am fully functioning and coherent. I am not numb and I completely feel the ups and downs of Life and Grief along with my family. The difference? I am not paralyzed with Anxiety and Fear. We have had to make changes and I have had to develop skills. Skills that I will use for the rest of my life. I don't know what triggered the attacks 10 months into our experience. It was probably more of "the straw that broke the camel's back" scenerio. But it is what it is. And we're dealing with it. Together.

Is my battle with Anxiety over? Hardly. I know I will deal with anxiety - to one extent or another - for the rest of my life. Especially when I have another babe. But I am not willing to let Fear get in the way of the greatest Joys in life. I will not. I will choose to Love. I will choose to have Hope. I will choose to keep Believing. And I will continue to Live.

The moral of the story? There are many things in life that you have no control over. And - at times - that sucks. But what you CAN control is the way that you deal with it. And taking care of yourself is the LEAST selfish thing you can do.

That's what I know for sure.

Real

So, I've been out awhile. The cause? A combination of things. The health issues of a child, an upcoming move and simply the fact that I didn't feel like writing.

So, I didn't.

So where am I at?

I am sad.

I am grateful.

I am nervous.

And I am hopeful.

In a few weeks, we'll be moving. Again. And with that move will come a wave of emotions. I'll be unpacking items that I haven't seen in over a year. A crib, a carseat, bins of clothing, bedding and items that were oh-so-special to a precious little blonde, blue-eyed boy. And - in all honesty - I'm scared.

I'm scared of going back to a really raw place. I'm scared that I may not be ready to deal with some very real feelings. I'm scared that I won't want to use the crib my son died in. And yet, I'm scared to get rid of it. And I'm scared of moving on to this new chapter without my son.

I'm grateful for new begginings. I'm grateful for a home that is customized to fit the needs, lifestyle and tastes of our family (particularly me ;0). I'm grateful for a fantastic new neighborhood, congregation and friends that have already blessed my life. And I'm grateful to God who is the Great Giver of all these Gifts.

I am nervous for what's ahead. I am nervous that I will deal with infertility again. I am nervous about the anxiety I will feel when having another baby. I am nervous about my baby sleeping . . . period. I am nervous about what the core of another child's health concerns are. I am nervous about my ability to adapt to even more change. And I am nervous that my children will grow up with a worry wort mother.

But I am hopeful for our future. God loves me - He tells me daily - and has a plan for our family. He has led us this far, guiding us every step of the way, and will not leave us comfortless. We don't have all the answers but we are closely connected with The One who does. Will hard times come? You can count on it. But are there good things ahead? You. Bet. And we'll celebrate it all. The Good AND the Growing.

Because that's who we are. And that is who we will continue to be.

Lessons Learned from Death

Last night, my Grandfather passed away. He is quite an amazing man. I could write chapters on all that he accomplished in life but - for now - that will have to wait.

I want to write about what we have learned from Death.

Saturday morning, we received a text from my Mother telling us that Grandpa was going downhill quickly. This came as rather a shock. Though his body and mind were aging, we didn't necessarily think he was at Death's door. That all changed last week. It quickly became evident that his time was at hand.

As soon as we heard that hospice had been called in, we hurriedly dressed our little crew and took them up to see Grandpa Saturday morning. When we arrived, we were surprised to see him in a hospital bed in his room. He had been medically sedated for the past few days to control the pain he was experiencing. However, when we came in the room, he responded to each one of us. He is famous for calling each one of his daughters/granddaughters "dear" while referring to every male posterity as "son." And so it was. We each received our term of endearment and he kept looking around muttering "oh boy. oh boy." He was so happy to see his grandchildren.

As he drifted in and out of coherency, we stood by his side, telling him all the things we loved about him. As we stood together, I looked at my children. I was amazed how comfortable they were with Death. They knew what was happening and they weren't afraid to witness it. Given our alarming discovery and circumstances, that is a miracle.

I watched with amazement as my Gracie cupped Grandpa's weak hand between her own as my Emma rubbed his feet. They were administering to him with so much love and tenderness. My mind immediately took me back to almost exactly a year ago.

Despite the shock and terror of finding Bennett cold and stiff in his crib, David and I felt divinely inspired in how to handle our situation. Even in the early hours of realization, we knew we could not change the situation. We felt - however - that the way we dealt with it would mean EVERYTHING to our family.

How right we were.

Because of that, we as a family spent as much time with Bennett's body as possible after his Death. In that time, my children became very comfortable and familiar with the effects of Death on the body. We told them that - though this was Bennett's body or shell - the Bennett we knew and loved was in Heaven. They needn't be alarmed that he was cold, stiff and unresponsive. Because - when they would see him again - he would not be. He would be the same Bennett they tickled, cuddled, knew and loved.

They listened. They heard. And they believed.

And so - not even a year later - when their great grandfather who they cherish passes away, they are not alarmed by this change. They have walked this road before. They love him in Death as they did Life. And they know we will be together again.

And - until then - Grandpa will be playing catch with our Bennett.

Dear Me

Dear January 2011 Me,

Something is about to happen. You don't know what and - quite frankly - it's best you don't.

Right now, you are just getting the kids back to school, trying to keep the house tidy enough to show at a moment's notice (p.s. it WILL sell) and starting to get into a practice routine for Emma on the harp. So many new beginnings. Though not perfect, Life seems charmed. And you know it.

But soon, something will happen that will shake you to your core. It will make you redefine what Life is about and will make you reevaluate who you are and where you are going.

Because of this, I want to tell you a few things.

First of all, I want you to know that you WILL survive. No. Matter. What. Just keep taking one breath after another and trust that the Lord will provide the next. Believe it or not, there will come a time where you won't have to think about breathing. It will become automatic once more. But - for now - just take it one moment at a time. That's all.

Second, know that there are Angels in Heaven and on Earth that will hold you up. You are about to experience a wave of Love, Compassion and Charity unlike you have ever encountered. People will come out of the woodwork to serve you, weep with you and offer their prayers and support in your family's behalf. And - more importantly - the Heavens will open and encircle you with a Love, Peace and Comfort that is more powerful than you have known. Know from whom these Angels come. You are not alone.

Next, it is entirely up to you what you Become. Period. So much in Life is out of your control. But you CAN control how you act and react. This is your opportunity to show Yourself, your Family and your God who you are and whose you are. That is the real test. Don't forget it.

And lastly, in the depth of your Grief, you will be prompted to do something. Something that you would never consider on your own. When that impression comes, follow it. No matter how scary it may seem. As you follow that impression, you will be blessed beyond your wildest imagination. You will widen your circle of friends, you will find a support system that stretches around the world and - in sharing your story - you will find Healing. In the end, it will save you.

In closing, I just want to wrap my arms around you. I want to encircle you with all the Love, Peace and Perspective you will need to get through the next twelve months. It will be the roughest of your Life, to be sure. But - with the strength of the Lord - you can do ALL things. Even the Thing that may break your heart.

Remember this.

Bless you, Mother Heart -

Love,

The Woman You Will Become

My Thoughts this New Years

This is a picture of our last New Years Eve Celebration. My sister and niece joined us and we had a rip roarin' party. So fun.

This morning, this was my Facebook Status:

While I am eager for New Beginnings after the most difficult year of my life, I am also melancholy today as I close the book on the last year that bore my son's breath.

But I am changed. Changed for good.

And - though at a high price - we are more fit for truly LIVING, loving, learning and giving while we "live in the moment." In other words, we are more prepared for moving Home with Bennett.

So thank you, 2011. Thank you.

That about sums it up. There's not much more to say.

Happy New Year, friends. Happy New Year.

Of People, Pinwheels and Promises

I am feeling sad today. Maybe tomorrow I will write of the Peace, Joy and Comfort we felt on our first Christmas without Bennett. But today, I just feel sad.

And that's okay.

This afternoon, after leaving a family activity early with a melting down Ashton, I buckled my boy in and just drove. My car (that is in great need of a post-holiday detail) drove all over the city. Passed our framed new home, through our new neighborhood, passed the home that we shared with Bennett and on to his grave. It seemed that my car knew the direction that it needed to go. I just sat behind the wheel and took it in.

The tour concluded as we pulled into the hollowed ground of the cemetery. As I pulled to a stop near the curb, bright colors that contrasted against the black granite of Bennett's memorial caught my eye. I parked the car and walked over to his grave. Sprinkled around My Boy's memorial was a handful of handmade pinwheels. A note was left from a dear friend and her family sharing that they had come on Christmas Eve to remember our sweet son who reminded them of the precious Christ Child. I fell to my knees on the wet grass, bowed my head and just wept.

I wept for sweet friends, both near and abroad. I wept at their sacrifice, charity and thoughtfulness to share such a tender evening remembering our Angel and our family. I wept for the son that I'd prefer to be chasing around the house instead of memorializing in granite. And I wept out of gratitude for that Precious Mother and her tiny Babe.

And then I wept for the Pinwheels.

Pinwheels? you might ask. Why pinwheels?

Well, there is a story there.

A few months after Bennett's death, I realized that I needed to do something healing with Bennett's clothes. It was just too excruciating to see them laying unused in his drawers and Rubbermaid bins. I didn't want to give them away and see them on another child. I didn't want to store them in the closet. And I didn't know if I'd want to have a future sibling wear them. I wanted to find a way to turn them into something that symbolized comfort, love and healing.

And so we decided to make a blanket.

Better said, two dear friends volunteered to make Bennett Blankets FOR us.

One of our sweet friends - a gifted quilter herself - asked what we wanted her to create. I shared with her the image of a Pinwheel Quilt that another Angel Mother had shared with me. It seemed perfect. Cheery, Hopeful, Child-like and packed with meaning. Some have asked if I still think of Bennett every day. "Only on the days that I breathe," I respond. And so this pinwheel represents the movement of my lungs. Whether that movement takes me forward or backward is up to me. But there WILL BE movement, nonetheless.

So pinwheels have come to symbolize our journey. The Joy, Faith, Hope and Movement. Some days it may be 2 steps forward, 3 steps back. But every day we move. Because we must.

Did this sweet friend know of our Precious Pinwheels? Who knows? But I know One who did. And that simple gift was such a tender mercy to me. A reminder that I am not alone. That in moments good and growing, I have One that is watching over me, weeping alongside me and - if needed - carrying me through these harrowing moments. What will the future hold? I know not. But I know where I will be. Moving forward. Will there be fear? Yes. Will there be adjustment? Yes. Will there be loss? Surely. But I'm not doing it alone. That, He has promised. And a Tender Father in Heaven will put in my path all that I need to succeed. Be it Precious People or Pinwheels.

That is His Promise.

And I'll hold Him to it.

Merry Christmas from Heaven

Two of my angels stopped by today. They were with me within hours of discovering Bennett and did many things behind the scenes to keep my family afloat while we navigated the treacherous road of grief.

One of my Angels - an Angel Mother herself - shared this poem with me. She said that she reads it every Holiday Season to remind her how much her son is still involved in their lives.



MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM HEAVEN

I still hear the songs
I still see the lights
I still feel your love
on cold wintry nights.

I still share your hopes
and all your cares
I'll even remind you
to please say all 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 the time
He forgives you the slip
if you continue to 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.


Merry Christmas, Sweet Bennett. Enjoy your White Christmas in Heaven. xoxoxoxo

The Spirit of Giving

'Tis the season of sharing. I have been so blessed by this blog this year that I have decided to give back. Each week of December, I am going to share with you a treasure. Something that is very close to my heart. And I hope that you recognise each gift as such.

The first is something few of you have seen. I posted it on my blog for a day awhile back and - after some derogatory comments found online - I removed it. It was too sacred to me to be cast before swine. But time has past and I think my readership has changed as well. No longer is it a blog someone found via a large or popular blog. But - more often - my readers come via word of mouth. They or someone they love have experienced a loss. A poignant loss. And they come to share, to grieve and to understand. In that way, I am so fortunate. I have the best blog readers in the world.

So here is my first gift to you. I hold it sacred. This video documents some of our final moments with Bennett. Moments that - as you know - I now ache for. Longingly.

But this also documents the Hope, Faith and Gratitude our family feels. Our relationship with a Kind and Loving God has made ALL the difference in the world. Is it still tough? HECK YEAH! I wouldn't recommend this experience to anyone. But sometimes I wonder if I could learn the lessons I'm learning without experiencing the heartbreak I feel. Heaven only knows.

And I think It does.

So as you watch this short documentary of my heart, please remember this Mother. Remember my story and my faith. And remember that - with the strength of the Lord - YOU can do ALL things.



*If you are interested in having this gifted photographer document your most precious life moments, you can contact her here.

The One

Have you ever heard something that just made your stomach turn? I have. Last night. And it took me back to the early moments of my grief and the thoughtless things some people would say.

Let me explain.

While perusing the latest postings of a private facebook group, I read the leader's emotional post about the suicide of her 14 year old daughter's best friend. My. Heart. Broke. While my child passed away in a much different manner, my heart ached for the sweet Mother, Father, siblings and community affected by this tragedy. I can only imagine what they were feeling. My whole soul just heaved for them. Oh, the heartache.

What began as a heartfelt "live in the moment" post quickly turned into a soapbox rant on health and nutrition. Among other things, this woman (a dietitian) stated that "eating soda and junk food was no different than shooting yourself in the head." When I read those words, my stomach just flopped. Did she REALLY just compare this girl's tragic suicide to eating junk food and drinking soda? I. Was. Sick. I prayed that that Grieving Mother would never read that post. I can't imagine what she'd feel.

I too have had people innocently say things to me that acted as a sucker punch to the stomach. Words that left me reeling and only added to the overwhelming pain in my soul. That's an awful place to be.

I wish I knew this grieving family. I wish I could show up on their doorstep and just wrap my arms around them and cry. I mean really, really cry. It's amazing how much shared mourning can comfort the soul.

I speak from experience.

Bennett passed away on a quiet Saturday morning. The following Sunday, I was a mess and decided I wasn't quite ready to go to church and be approached by throngs and throngs of people. So we stayed home, held one another close and tried to eat enough to sustain life (we had no appetite) while we visited with countless friends, family members and neighbors that came to our home.

Minutes after our church meeting ended, we received a knock at the door. A moment later, a dear woman I had worked with in church entered the room - tears streaming down her face - and just swallowed me up in her arms. We both. just. sobbed. She cradled me as we wept together for what seemed a really long time. No impromptu speech was given. No rehearsed cliches were rendered. We just mourned together. And when we felt like we couldn't cry anymore, she gave me one more hug and simply walked out the door.

That's all.

I have said many times since that this dear friend TRULY did the perfect thing. She didn't stay away, not knowing what to say. She didn't avoid the subject when in my presence. She didn't share all the blanket statements you hear so often after losing a loved one. She just came to be with me and - together - we wept.

Sound familiar?

In the last year, my heart has changed. A lot. While I've always tried to be a good person, something inside me has just switched. In essence, the Light has turned on.

I have learned what compassion, charity and true service is at the feet of angels. Both in heaven AND on earth. And I am learning what it means to "mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort." I have tried to do that all my life but it's all different now. I have received quite the education. The tuition has been high, but the wisdom that I'm gaining is life changing.

Because I have been the One.

I have been the One to experience tragedy.

I have been the One that could scarcely breathe.

I have been the One that has known what it physically feels like to have a broken heart.

And I have been the One that has looked to the heavens, wondering if my Life would ever be the same.

But I ALSO have been the One to know comfort.
I have been the One to feel enveloped by a Peace that only God can give.

I have been the One to be the recipient of more love, prayers and quiet service than I could document in a lifetime.

And I have been the One who has come to know God in my extremities.

So my prayer is that when the opportunity presents itself, that I will act as my dear friend. I pray that I will not use the moment to philosophize, offer opinions or dwell on the "woulda coulda shoulda's".

But instead, I will embrace. I will weep. I will listen. I will share my love. I will do whatever can be done to lighten their load. And I will let them know that I will be there. For the long haul.

Because I too have been The One.

Aching

Missing my Little Man tonight. What I wouldn't give to hold and caress his little body again.

Someday. Someday.

Love you, Sunshine Boy. To the moon and back.

(Bennett @ 4 months)

The Flower Bush

So, our extended weekend away was really quite wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered.

Here's a summary of our favorite things:

• The girls pampered ourselves with an afternoon of mani/pedis.
• We laughed as we splashed and played at the Aquatic Center.
• We cuddled up on a FABULOUSLY comfy sectional for family naps everyday.
• We thoroughly enjoyed Tuacahn's production of "Little Mermaid" (seriously love it).
• We made many memories at Snow Canyon hiking and playing trucks in the "big dirts" (aka Sand Dunes).
• And we savored creamy frozen frozen custard at one of our favorite shops. Delish.

All in all, the rest, relaxation, and recreation refueled and refreshed our souls. It. Was. Divine.

While playing in the "dirts" Saturday afternoon, I was taught a lesson by The Great Teacher. As I watched my children play in the sand with their adoring Daddy, my heart ached. I just. felt. empty. We weren't complete! Someone was missing! Ashton wasn't supposed to be playing cars by himself. Granted David and I were by his side but - let's face it - a parent is just NOT a brother. Period.

Anyhoo, as my kids were building sandcastles and I circled around snapping pictures, I literally stumbled upon this Flower Bush. Small, tender and budding yellow, it was quite the surprise juxaposed against the red desert sand. Where did it come from? How did it get there? How did it sustain life? It was quite the mystery.

And yet there it was, standing tall, acting as reminder of Life amid the toughest conditions. As beautiful as the red rocky landscape was, the contrast of the yellow made it all the more breathtaking.

Curious.

I thought about our Sunshine Boy. I remembered all the bright, sweet, joyful times that we shared. I remembered all the laughs, giggles, snuggles and songs.

And then I thought about the last 9 months. The Desert of our lives.

We have been nourished by the rain. We have learned to build sandcastles in the most arid conditions. And - through it all - our Little Flower Bush has stood by, looking all the more beautiful against the harshness of the conditions. How grateful we are for his immortality.

And so I will remember. I will rememeber all the "fun things" but - above all - I will remember the dramatic beauty of the desert. I will remember playing in the sand. And I will remember the sweet, unexpected Flower Bush that brought so much meaning on a tender afternoon.

Tender Mercies. Tender mercies.

Inseparably Connected

They say that "the spirit and body are the soul of man" (Doctrine and Covenants 88:15). I couldn't agree more. What affects one affects the other. They ARE inseparably connected.

There are only two times in my life when my body has gone into shock: 1) When I was eight months pregnant with our third child and was told that our three year old daughter was critically ill and might not make it, and 2) After Bennett passed away.

For those who have not experienced physical shock, it is interesting to find out just how your body responds. Some throw up, some scream, yell and throw things and others may faint. For me? My whole body went into convulsions.

After Bennett's death, bedtime seemed to be a trigger for me. Both when I went to bed at night and when I awoke in the morning. For a moment I would forget. Then I'd look across the hall into his empty crib.

Where was my baby? Why was his crib empty? Why wasn't he calling for me in the morning?

And then it would all come back to me. My body would begin to shake as my teeth chattered.

And then the sobs came.

All the trauma, emotion and shock would hit me like a crashing wave all over again. I was reminded what that empty crib meant to my heart and how that changed our family. And my sweet husband would just hold me until the shaking subsided.

The shaking stopped just in enough time for the investigation to begin. For nearly three months, there was an open investigation into Bennett's death. During that time, we were questioned while awaiting the test results conducted during Bennett's autopsy. When they DID come, we were told they found no physical reason for Bennett's death. I asked the State Medical examiner how often this happened. His answer? Less than 1% of the time.

Lucky us.

I thought the worst was over. Then one day, nearly three months after Bennett's passing, I received a knock at the door. It was the investigator assigned to our case.

"I just wanted to stop by and give you some good news."

Okay. Maybe they found the cause of death? Maybe they had found something amiss in our home (i.e. carbon monoxide)? I don't know . . . not a lot of good news in this situation.

"I just spoke with the County Prosecuting Attorney and he feels comfortable not press charges against you and your husband."

No words. No words.

Then the self talk.

Keep your mouth shut, Amanda. Keep your mouth shut. He means well and it won't change anything.

Now time has marched on. Nearly 9 months, in fact. SO many things have happened. Both related and unrelated to Bennett's death. But - in the end - it has ALL taken its toll.

A few weeks ago, I decided to see a Doctor. I wasn't feeling right. Something was just "off." So I made an appointment.

After a TON of blood work was drawn, the results came back. The circumstances had waged a war on my spirit and body. My soul was a wreck.

As my spirit suffered, my body responded. They were, indeed, connected. As shock and grief hit, hormones reacted, deficiencies resulted and body systems quit doing their job. What my doctor suggested? It was time to simplify and chill out.

Now, one thing that is DANG HARD for this lady is simplification. I love to give my children lots of building opportunities. I love to attend fun events. I love to say Yes. I love to help those I love. I love to serve in my church. And I love to write and maintain this little blog. But - for the sake of Myself and My Family - I needed to take care of Me.

So we made a list. What were the nonnegotiables? School. Family Scripture Study and Prayer. Family Dinners. Harp. Piano. Then date night, Family Home Evening, weekly church attendance . . . And - hey - we might as well finish up the soccer season. But that about sums it up. Everything else became Negotiable.

So we withdrew from tennis. We didn't sign up for dance this fall. I pushed the pause button on a new demanding church calling. We canceled a family group therapy session that would be taxing on our time, emotions and resources. And we are just Being. Can we remove all the stresses of life? Heck no! But in simplifying, we have made them manageable.

Because we all know that every life situation is an opportunity to learn, what have I learned from this experience?

• I have learned that when Mommy suffers, the whole family suffers.
• I have learned to take care of Myself like I take care of others.
• I have learned that it's okay to say "Not right now."
• I have learned that life can be very rich with very few things.
• And I have learned that the most important things in life are not items listed on a calendar or to do list. They are relationships to be made, strengthened and cherished.

And that my Spirit and Body ARE Inseparably Connected.

This Time Last Year . . .

This time last year, I took four little kiddos to the pumpkin patch for our annual Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This time last year, Bennett couldn't get enough of the little red wagon.

This time last year, Bennett went from one pumpkin pile to another, trying to find the pumpkin seat that was just the "right fit."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This afternoon, I'll be taking three kiddos to the Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This afternoon, I think I'll feel a little melancholy as I pull around the little red wagon.

And this afternoon, I think I'll be looking around the Pumpkin Patch for that little blond boy that so loved being part of the Fall Festivities with his siblings, cousins, aunts and Grammie Lu.

You are in my Heart today, My Boy. Your Mommy loves you.

To the Moon and back. xoxoxoxo

Pay It Forward

I've entered a new phase. It's time to "Pay It Forward."

Last Wednesday, I received an email from a friend. She asked me if I would go and visit with a family that had tragically lost their little girl that morning. The child's unexpected death had left their family and neighborhood in shock and overcome with grief. I was asked to visit this Sweet Mother and offer her words of comfort given our recent loss of Bennett. I was humbled to be called and more than willing to offer whatever help I could.

I knew the gist of their schedule so I waited a couple of days. I knew there would be a heavy influx of family, friends and neighbors that would offer love, support, hugs, tears, gifts, food and words of comfort. I also knew that there would be those few that would offer unsolicited commentary on the scenerio, the "what if's" and the "could have beens."

Been there, done that.

There would also be much time spent at the mortuary picking out a casket and burial site, carressing and rocking their baby's body and preparing her for burial. Those moments are ones I'll cherish forever. I consider every moment I spent with Bennett before AND after his death a Gift. And those moments are no exception. Those tender hours that I was blessed to hold him after his passing were an opportunity for me to hold him close while my mind and heart came to terms with this unexpected circumstance. Was he there? No. That is, not in his body. He looked much different in Death than he did in Life (his body weight doubled after his autopsy). But I felt him close. Almost like he was standing next to me with his chubby little fingers on my knee.

Perhaps he was.

After much thought, I thought it would be appropriate to go over on Sunday. We knew that - due to the sacred nature of the Sabbath - much of the "to do's" would be put on a shelf and that perhaps the family would be more likely to be home. However, contrary to my "plan", Saturday evening came and I felt an impression (which I believe was from God) to pay them a visit.

As I approached the home with a gift in hand, I felt the oxygen leave my lungs when I saw a pink tricycle and mini car in front of the house. As this little girl was the only daughter in the household, I knew who those toys belonged to. My heart ached to the point of breaking for this Mother. I knew where she was now but - more poignantly - I knew what was ahead. More aching, questions, peace, gratitude, hope and grief than she could now imagine. A journey that I would not wish on anyone but one that has changed me all the same.

After three soft taps, the door opened and I was lead into the entry of the home while the Mother was called to greet me. Upon her entrance, I gently introduced myself as the Mother of Bennett, a fellow Angel who was called Home in January. When I shared his age, we quickly figured that our babes were born just two months apart. What a great year 2009 was for both of our families.

During our conversation, we spoke of many things. We discussed our broken hearts, the healing of our families, our empty arms that ached to hold our babes and the support we could be to one another. Then - before I left - I shared with her a book that has become a favorite in our home (A Promise Is A Promise). Without explaining the entire storyline, on the last page of the book is depicted a visual reminder of an eternal promise. A promise that I cling to. The promise that ALL that has been lost WILL be made whole. Not only our reunification with our Sweet Bennett, but the fulfillment of ALL the joys, experiences, memories and moments that we missed in this life. I don't how God will make it happen but I trust that He will and that it WILL BE.

What have I learned from this experience? I have learned that I have been called. Called to Comfort. Tragedy has deepened us in ways that only God can understand. And - in that understanding - we have gained a deeper level of empathy and compassion than we have ever known. Once you've gone to that place of I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-to-me, you are changed in an instant. Changed in a way that whenever you hear of another circumstance in the world, it becomes real to you. Each story has a human aspect. You know because you've been there. And behind every tragic story is a Person, Family and Heartache that is just waiting for your love, compassion and understanding.

And so you go.

Is it difficult? At times, yes. Our memories and emotions are still ultra close to the surface. And sometimes you wonder if you are prepared or if you are even jumping the gun when it comes to your own healing. But when I am following His promptings and trying my best to "mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort", I know I am where He would have me be. And that's all I need to know.

And during those moments, I can almost imagine two little blond haired, blue eyed toddlers running around our knees, so grateful that their Mommies have found each other.

And THAT is why I Pay It Forward.

Just Because

I am really missing my little buddy this week. Like, achingly so. So I thought I'd post some pictures of him. It's a cheap alternative to cuddling him but - for now - it will have to do.

Mommy loves you, sweet Bennett. More than you'll ever know.

Hugs and Keeses . . .

A Day of Contrasts

Ten years ago today, America experienced a tragedy that took too many of its own.
Ten years ago today, I married my best friend.

Ten years ago, the world stood around televisions, staring wide-eyed, not believing the tragedy that was unfolding before them while I waiting in the Bride's room in the Salt Lake Temple, waiting to hear if they would keep the Temple open for our wedding.

Ten years ago, nearly 3,000 lives tragically ended.
Ten years ago, our family's life had just begun.

When we were married, the clergy that married us (called a "Sealer" in our faith) referred to the day as "a day of contrasts." He reminded us that - in the future - when we experience turmoil, loss, stress or tragedy, we could should return to the promises made that day and remember where we can turn to receive true peace.

And, oh, have we experienced those kinds of days.

But this year I feel the loss differently. I ache in a whole different way with these families because I too have experienced a bone-chilling loss. I HAVE become "well acquainted with grief" and I know what it's like to have your life change in an instant. To have the wind literally knocked out of you and have to literally labor through every breath.

The good news? There is Hope. There is Goodness. There is Light. And there is Joy. Though there will be moments of Darkness and - at times - they can feel suffocating. But the Morning will come. It will. The Sun will continue to rise and it will continue to warm, nourish and feed your soul. Will things ever be "normal"? No. But that can be a good thing. You are changed forever. Heaven is in your Home because part of your Home is in Heaven. And that is a very lovely thing.

In a 1864 letter to a Mrs. Bixby, a Mother who lost 5 of her sons in the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln penned these words:

"I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom."

May I add my prayers to that of that wonderful, inspired man. May our prayers penetrate the Heavens in behalf of all the heartbroken and those looking for hope.

It will come. It will come.

My To Do List

As of last night, I am the proud owner of a Home Management Binder. It holds ALL - and I mean ALL - of the info our family needs. I. LOVE. IT. With so much going on in our family right now, I can't leave it to this brain to remember everything. This binder will be my salvation.

As I am looking at my "To Do" list for today, this weekend, this month and this year, I am reminded how ordinary and how extraordinary our situation is. Along with "buy metronome and theory books for Grace" is a jotted note to start Bennett's life history. And this for a boy that only lived a mere 19 3/4 months on this earth. I have the goal of completing it before his "Angel Day" in January. In preparing to start this process, I think I know how sweet, tender, difficult and healing it will be. I just pray that my meager words can do this little man justice. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I'll have to include as many as I can.

As my thoughts have been turned to this new project, I have been reminded of the fragility of life. How Life can change in a split second. Since Bennett's death, it seems like I hear of deaths around every corner that are somehow connected to me or people I hold dear. And - as a new member of The Poignant Loss Club - I feel a responsibility to pay it forward. Whether it be through loving words, shared tears, a heartfelt gift, a written note or a quiet act of kindness, I know firsthand what a difference those things make. We have received over a thousand letters since Bennett's loss and I have kept every one. When I am feeling weak or incapable of dealing with this heartache, I return to the words of others that believe in me, are praying for me and who grieve with me over the loss of my son. Now it is my turn - even while I'm neck deep in Grief - to Pay It Forward. And, in doing so, I believe that I will find companions in Healing and Purpose. How much I need them.

While thinking about the relationships that really mean the most to me in this life, I came across this video on YouTube. Perhaps some of you became acquainted with Chris Medina on American Idol (I personally have not followed the show since Clay Aiken). Medina's story is one of Enduring Love and Heartfelt Compassion following a car accident that tragically disabled his fiance just two months before their marriage. He is now caring for her along with her Mother and trying to find the help his fiance needs to make a full recovery. His is a loyalty rarely seen in this world. What a noble man. And what a blessed woman.



And if you feel like "Paying It Forward", click here to donate to the foundation to aid Julianna's recovery. I did.

Prayers for Peace, Strength and Healing, Julianna and Chris . . .

Straight Up

Have you noticed I haven't been posting as frequently? Well, I feel like I'm currently stuck between a rock and a hard spot. And - since I pride myself on being open and honest on this blog - let me share where I'm at.

I'm already feeling like many expect me to move on. Heck, it's been seven months! Get over it already! ;0) Uh, wrong. I am still experiencing "firsts" around every turn. It's a big adjustment. And a heartbreaking one at that. Sometimes I still can't believe this has happened to us.

And yet, I feel Hope. Our family is optimistic about our future and we laugh and play and cuddle. A lot. It seems that our knowledge of the fragility of life has made us appreciate each other even more. Heaven seems closer because it is. And we feel firmly resolved to do whatever it takes to be with our Sweet Bennett again. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

So I feel torn between these feelings I have. My Grief and Loss are juxtaposed against my Gratitude, Hope, Faith and Joy. And - oft times - I don't know if I have the ability to communicate the feelings of my heart adequately. I want Sunshine Promises to be a place of Faith, Hope, and Light - and yet - Reality. I have never been one to sugarcoat things. But I don't want to be perceived as "dwelling" on our loss either. Is that as clear as mud?

But I won't be what I am not. I promised myself when I started this blog that I would be real at all times. I wouldn't write for readers or for comments (though I love both ;0). I would simply try to put into words the state of my heart. Sometimes I feel that has happened while at other times, I have felt that I have fallen abysmally short. But I have kept writing. And I hope the Great Inspiration for this blog gives me props for that.

And so bear with me, friends. I am not prolific. I am just an ordinary person doing a really hard thing. Perhaps you can relate. And I will keep telling our story so that perhaps - maybe years from now - when my remaining babes go through their "hard things", they will be able to read back on the tender thoughts and feelings of their not-so-perfect mother who tried her darnedest to BE and LIVE what she BELIEVED. Even when her heart was breaking. And if - in that moment - what I write is of ANY value to them, I have succeeded.

And so I will keep writing.

Broken Record

When I was a girl, my mom would put me on her lap, hold my hands and "giddy up" like a pony. While I bounced up and down on her knee, she would chant this phrase to the rhythm of the clopping:

Smoooooothe Road, Smoooooothe Road,

Bumpy Road, Bumpy Road,

HOOOOOOOLE in the Road! (as she dipped me)

Right now, I feel like I am living this childhood chant. One moment I am doing fine. Healing, even. And then there is a bump. Sometimes expected and sometimes not. And then - right as I am regaining my footing - I get broadsided. And back I am at square one.

This week has been interesting. This afternoon, I retrieved the mail to find a reminder from our Medical Coverage Company reminding me that it was time to immunize Bennett. Ouch. Sucker punch to the stomach. All at once, I missed him all over again.

And then the girls started at their new school this week. I was so excited for them. They were so ready for it. But - after they left, donning their new threads - Ashton and I were left. Alone. Ashton starts preschool in 1.5 weeks and - to tell you the truth - I am not looking forward to it. If I didn't think he needed the socialization so much (Mommy just is not as fun to play with as a fellow child), I would keep him home. But it's the CHILDREN'S needs we're trying to address right now. Not just keeping Mommy in her comfort zone.

Some try to kindly reassure me that it will be so nice to have a few hours a week to myself. I guess that would be true under "normal" circumstances. But mine is not. Seven months ago, I wasn't expecting to have all my kids out of the house - for any period of time - any time soon. I had a little guy. Then not even two. He was my little shadow and would follow me anywhere I went. Whenever Ashton would have a play date with Grandma or play trucks with a friend, Bennett would happily stay with me, never drifting more than a few feet away. I wasn't planning on being alone anytime soon. And - quite frankly - I'm not ready for it.

So my Mom has advised me to hyper plan my "free time." Run errands, work out, have lunch with a friend or peacefully peruse the library. Anything to keep my mind off the emptiness, the "should have beens" or the obvious void in my day.

Do I sound like a broken record? Let's hope tomorrow's a smoothe road . . .

Your Perspective, Please . . .

Tonight I am missing Bennett so very, very much. In my aching, I decided to pull up his obituary. As I read through the words I wrote six months ago, sitting alongside his painfully empty crib, a fresh wave of anguish washed over me. I felt all those overwhelmingly raw sensations all over again.

Here's part of what I read:

On Saturday, January 22, 2011, a Loving Father in Heaven tenderly took home one of His own. Bennett, born May 31, 2009, brought more joy, light and love to the world in a mere 20 months than many experience in a lifetime. It was a privilege to call him our son.

Bennett spread love and laughter wherever he went whether it was smothering his mommy with kisses, falling asleep on his daddy's chest for a nap, calling out to his sisters, Emma and Gracelyn, for morning bath time or playing "cahs" with his best friend and brother, Ashton. He was eager to smile, anxious to love, quick to laugh and ready to forgive. We will smile whenever we remember his obsession with all-things handles and the way his little body shuffled around the kitchen trying to sweep the floor for mommy. He was a gift. Simply a gift.

We will forever cherish the scribbles left on our walls, the handprints placed on our windows and the etching he engraved on our hearts. He was here but a moment but will be ours forever. And with Bennett, forever won't be long enough . . .

We'll love you forever, We'll like you for always Forever and Always Our baby you'll be. No goodbyes, just see-you-laters . . .xoxoxoxo

In reading this, I am reminded why I haven't listened to his funeral recording in awhile. I am reminded why I haven't watched video of him. I am reminded why I don't go through his hope chest on a regular basis.

Because I cannot.

The pain and the loss are still too fresh. My heartache is right at the surface. It doesn't take much for me to melt into a puddle of tears. And things that bring back remembrances of that freshness remind me of the gaping hole in my heart and family. In a moment, I can be transported to a very painful time. A time that - even now - seems like a dream.

For those that have walked the path of Profound Grief, what has been your experience with Time? I know that it - paired with Divine Mercy - can heal if I allow it to do so. But does the passing of time distance you from the pain? Or do you just learn how to better cope with it? I am new on this path so there are still soooooo many questions I do not have the answers to.

So share, friends. Please share. This tired heart needs some perspective.