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

A Mother's Love

I am home from church with the Little Guy today. We both have been having some health issues of late that have prevented us from going to church the day of the Primary Program. Blast.

I have been thinking about my last days with Bennett this morning. As in, my last days with his body. We were blessed to have a lot of time with him after his passing. That was a gift. Simply a gift.

After we learned that Bennett had passed away hours before we found him, we were told that the medical examiner would be arriving shortly and that we would have 15 minutes to spend with our boy before he was taken away for an autopsy.

That was simply not okay with me.

I immediately pulled our Investigator aside and told him that though I knew I couldn't do anything to bring my son back, I knew that I HAD to handle this in the a way that would promote healing for my family.

And so, I asked for Time.

Time to hold him, time to caress him, time to bring his siblings in and tell them what had happened. And time for David to give him a final Father's blessing. The investigator heard this Mother's plea and kindly relented.

What happened in the next four hours was heartbreaking, harrowing and nothing short of sacred. I wrapped him in the blankie I had made for him before he was born. I held his body close to mine. I kissed his sweet little cheeks. I ran my fingers through his hair. I gently pushed back his eyelids to once again see his lovely baby blues. And I told his brother and sisters that Bennett was called Home. That is, to his Heavenly Home. And that - though at times we would feel him close - he wouldn't be living in our house anymore. That is one of the hardest things I have ever done. E V E R. No mother should ever have to have that conversation with her children.

After four beautiful hours together, the medical examiner arrived and I was told it was time to take Bennett away. I refused to put him in a body bag so instead I opted to wrap him in a beautiful white blanket and personally "tuck him in" the car. Fastening him on the gurney was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I experienced firsthand what it feels like to have your heart break. Literally. Break. As they closed the door, I stood outside the vehicle with my mother. My nose pressied against the glass as I took one last look at my boy. I couldn't get enough. I just needed more. More time, more kisses, more cuddles, more giggles. More bedtime stories, more holidays, more birthdays, more memories. Just. More.

I received a call from the mortuary Monday night notifying me that Bennett's body had been received. They needed time to prepare him to be seen. I don't know if I was prepared for the trauma of an autopsy. Even though I could feel no life in my child, no mother wants to see their child in that condition. That said, the Spirit fell on us and we were able to see him as our son. We held him, touched him, kissed him, dressed him and whispered sweet sentiments in his ear. I knew he heard every word because I knew he was with us. There is no where else he'd rather be.

In the next few days, we spent every moment possible at the mortuary. In fact, it was on the couch holding Bennett that David and I penned our joint funeral address. Our children LOVE story time - Bennett included - and so we decided to share our thoughts in the format of a story. I'm sure it was Bennett's idea. ;0)

During one of our visits at the mortuary, our tender mortician asked us if we would like Bennett to spend his last evening before burial in our home. We tearfully replied yes. We thought it would be a perfect opportunity for our little family to say our final "see you laters."

After our first viewing Thursday night (that was five hours long . . .), we retreated to our home and Bennett followed us shortly. With tender love, the funeral directors carried his little casket in our home and asked us where we wanted him to be. The Family Room, of course. For the next hour, we held him, caressed him, did our family cheer, had a family prayer and sang some of Bennett's favorite songs. While we did so, a gifted photographer that kindly offered her services to us captured every moment. During our time, Ashton (who had been quite reluctant to see his brother's body) took his car and kept driving it up and down Bennett's chest. "Wake up, Bennett! Wake up! Let's play cahs!" he kept saying. My heart smiled and broke all at once.

As time quickly passed, we soon realized that we had to get at least a few hours of sleep before the viewing and funeral the following day. And so we sang Bennett's song (a tradition every night before he went to bed), tucked him in, and even left a light on in the hallway for him. Just because. And I couldn't help but steal an extra kiss or two from my boy. Time was short. I knew it. And I had to take advantage of each moment.

I awoke hours later, unable to sleep. I snuck downstairs and picked up my boy, trying to take in every moment in the quiet hours of the morning. With the dawn would come new realities. Like burying my boy. While each moment spent with him confirmed that he was not with us, each second was a treasured gift. My heart took a picture. I knew it would not last forever. And I knew that I would look back on these moments for years to come, trying to remember every. little. detail.

How right I was.

Awhile later, David stumbled downstairs. He too wanted to share some quiet moments with our son. Within minutes, the girls joined us, each wanting to cuddle, hold and create "a moment" with their little brother. Their ease and affection amazed me. They loved him in death as they did in life. It was such a lesson to me. How blessed I am to be their Mother.

Around 7 or 8, the funeral directors arrived. When they walked in the home, we both knew that my time with Bennett's body was nearing an end. Though I could touch and caress him in his casket at his viewing, I knew my moments to hold him in my arms were over. I held him close one last time, cupped his fingers in my hand, kissed his sweet little face and whispered tender reassurances in his ear. And then I tucked him in and they took him away.

The viewing that morning was far different than the one the night before. The previous evening, I had our time with Bennett at home to look forward to. We were strong, we were comforted and we wanted to share our peace with others. But the morning of his burial, all I could feel was loss intermingled with heavy doses of God's love and peace. A chapter in our family book was closing. One that's story had just begun. And one I was not ready to finish.

After emotionally greeting many loved ones at the viewing, family and close friends gathered as the doors to the room closed. My Father offered a beautiful blessing on Bennett and on our family that gave me the strength I needed to do what was ahead. When his prayer was over, one by one, family members approached his casket to say their final goodbyes. Many members of my family had written love notes to Bennett that would surround him with love until we were reunited. I loved that.

And then it was our turn.

As I approached the casket, I longed to hold my baby again. In hindsight, I wish I had. That perhaps is my only regret. But instead, I caressed his hair, I covered his face with my tears and kisses and I even took off his socks to kiss his sweet "toesies" (something he loved) once more. David joined me and did the same. Together we stood, learning over the body of our son, holding each other up. We would make it through. We would tread this path together. And - with the Lord - we would do whatever was required to be together again. THAT was for certain.

And then, we closed the casket.

Why am I writing about this now? Because my arms have been aching - ACHING - to hold my little man this week. And though it would be ideal to hold him in life, I would even settle for holding him in death. Though not the same, it was so precious to be with him. To hold him, caress him and shower him with all the love and adoration we have for him. He was adored. And he knew it. And I pray that after looking down on how we continued to care for him after his passing, he knows that more than ever.

So for now, I reach my arms heavenward. Whenever they are feeling extra empty, I ask God to fill them with Love - His Love - for me. Sometimes that comes in holding one of Bennett's siblings. Sometimes that comes in holding another little child. And often it occurs in the form of putting my arms around another who is in need of peace, love and comfort.

Because as I help other's feel God's love and grace, I feel a little bit of Heaven in my home. In other words, I feel my Bennett. And I'm one step closer to being with him again.

And heaven knows there's no where else I'd rather be.

Recognising Miracles

After the kids were in bed tonight, I decided to peruse Netflix so I could watch a flick while I cleaned up the post-Christmas decoration mess (yes, it's up). While flipping through the numerous options, I happened upon a 13 minute story entitled "In the Arms of Angels". The short film relayed the story of a Pioneer brother and sister and the heavenly intervention that took place that saved their lives.

*PAUSE BUTTON - I must note - in full disclosure - that "faith promoting" stories have not always comforted my heart since Bennett's death. Oft times when I hear tales like "I was backing out of the driveway and felt prompted to check behind the car and discovered that I almost ran over the garbage can", I feel conflicted, torn and - at times - even angry. Why was their seemingly inconsequential prayer answered before it was even uttered? Why didn't I hear my son - whose crib I could see across the hallway - while his life slipped away? Why did I not receive a prompting that may have saved his life?

Perhaps some of you flinch as you even read those questions. I have as I've asked them. At times they have tormented my soul. But they are raw, they are real and they are legitimate. It is what it is and it's part of the journey.

Okay, back to our story.

So the older sister makes a decision that puts her and her brother's life in danger. Then, in the midst of disaster, angels lift and save them from sure death. They are rescued and live to tell the tale.

So how does this apply to me, you ask? I will tell you. It's all in the application.

There were a few lines written in the narration that cut me to the core.

Life is lessons.

Life is troubles.

Learning obedience may be Life's hardest lesson of all.

I would add that accepting God's will and going forward IS the highest form of obedience. It's dang tough. But necessary.

Another . . .

There are times in everyone's life that you feel that you've been given the short end of the stick. I believe that at those times we need to accept the situation, pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and move on.

Move on. Hmmm . . .

That principle echoes in my soul. I may have worded it differently ("go forward" would be my phrase of choice) but there is truth in the concept.

So what was my take away after watching this 13 minute film? Did I walk away feeling guilty, cheated, or abandoned? Hardly. I was inspired. And I'll tell you why.

I was reminded that miracles come in all shapes and sizes. Sure, there are those that are immediately recognised as such. And then there are the other kind.

Like the death of our sweet Bennett.

Did the word "miracle" EVER cross my mind in the moments immediately following our horrific discovery? Uh, heck no. But in the days, weeks and months following this realization, I have seen God's grace first hand.

I have witnessed the goodness of humanity.

I have felt God's all consuming love so intimately in my "midnight moments."

I have been carried by a Loving Father in Heaven and His Angels. Both on Earth and in Heaven.

I have experienced a "peace that surpasses all understanding."

I have met so many beautiful human beings around the world that have supported, lifted and comforted me in my loss.

I have felt my belief and faith strengthened while living one of my greatest fears.

I have known Hope in Heartache.

And I have been directed in how to help my precious loved ones as they grieve the loss of their brother and son.

All things considered, God IS a God of Miracles. THAT I know. They happen everyday, be it in the Good or the Growing. It is simply up to us to recognise His hand. Is it easy? HECK NO! But it is what we were sent here to learn. Tough things are going to happen. After all, Fair is where they show the pigs. But what we BECOME from it is entirely up to us.

So I choose to see Miracles.

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.

Break

I think it's time for a break.

Tomorrow my hubs and I are flying out of town for a long weekend (sans kids). David's sister is blessing her beautiful Baby Girl and we are joining her for the blessed event. We are flying in a few days early to have some much needed R&R before the Main Event on Sunday. We have just experienced six of the craziest months of our life. It's time to refuel.

And so we shall.

And so tomorrow, I shall be looking out my window at this view. Pretty spectacular, eh? I think so. I can hardly wait.

So ta ta for now! I will be blogging once more next week relaxed, refueled and refilled. And heaven knows this Mama needs that.

Have a great weekend!

Bad Dream

It's strange how your mind takes facts from your life and twists them into a storyline in your dreams. They may or may not make sense when you wake up but when you are sleeping, they are oh-so-real.

My dream began last night on some kind of a home tour. We were preparing to build a home (which we are) and I was checking out homes for building ideas (like I have). I was at some kind of a luxury estate, perusing the grounds and checking out the lush, manicured landscaping. The oversized french doors opened immediately into a large, opulent pool in back. It looked stunning. I added "pool" to my wishlist.

As I continued to explore the grounds, I got swept up in my intrigue. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes to hours. Soon I looked around. Where were my children? I quickly looked around me. To the right. To the left. OH! There was Emma in the distance. And was that Gracie with her? Yes. Yes, it was. Now where could the boys be? My heart started to thump loudly within my chest. I ran toward the hedged pathway. There was Ashton, playing happily in the dirt. But where was Bennett, I asked?

"I no know," said Ashton.

Panic started settling in. Where was my baby? Then the thought of the pool came to mind. Fear pulsed through me as I ran toward the pristine turquoise waters. There . . . there on the cool, crisp surface was my baby, floating face down.

What happened from there is a blur.

I awoke this morning in a panic. I had sweat pulsing down my back and my breath was quickened. Though the circumstances were different, the feelings were the same. Panic, helplessness, disbelief, shock and grief. All feelings that hit a little too close to home.

Sometimes I'm mad at my mind. I'm mad at it for continuing to play tricks on me. To make me relive the feelings of this indescribable nightmare time and time again. Isn't enough enough? Sometimes its just too much.

So today, I need to go to my happy place. I need to focus on things that bring me joy, peace and healing. I can't control what my brain purges in my sleep at night, but I DO have control of how I think when I am awake. And so I'm going to do every thing I can to spend my time and energy on thoughts and feelings of Light, Progression and Joy.

Bennett would want it that way.

My Dream by Emma

Last night, I had a dream. A plane crashed and I came out of the plane and saw Bennett my little brother. He was dressed in white but when I saw his face, I knew it was him. I ran over to him and I hugged him and started crying. I stayed with him for awhile and kept holding him close. After awhile, Bennett went into a stream that was like a gateway and disappeared. He did not drown. He just went away to another place.

After my dream, I felt like Heaven really is real. I miss him more than ever and really want to go back with him.

I love you, Bennett Boy.

Meltdown

Tonight was an interesting night. The evening was spent taking a family excursion to Costco to purchase David's Father's Day presents. Then home to put away the loot and enjoy one of Daddy's surprises (Vitamix 5200 Blender . . . LOVE IT.). Fresh orange sorbet . . . it. was. divine.

So, after putting away groceries and finishing our refreshing treat, we headed up to bed. All was going well until Gracelyn came into our room, suddenly breaking into a torrent of tears.

"Mom, (sob) I (sob) really miss Bennett (sob) tonight," as she fell onto the bed in my arms.

What? Where did THIS come from?

But I know better. I am learning myself that the reality of it all hits you at moments when you least expect it. So often, you don't even see it coming! Tonight, it was our night time routine that reminded Grace of the gaping hole in our family. After the kids would get in bed, Bennett (if still awake) would make his rounds to each of his siblings, taking turns cuddling with each one of his beloved sisters and brother. They adored him and he knew it. And they could feel his love for them in return. It was a beautiful little tradition they shared and one that made for a tender remembrance tonight.

"I wish Heavenly Father would have taken me," Gracelyn whispered as I held her. "Bennett was the best thing that ever happened in my life. My heart hurts so much."

As Gracie lay in my arms sobbing, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, I quietly said a prayer to my Father, asking Him what I could do to help this little girl's broken heart. It was then that the impression came. Pray for her. Okay. I do that all the time. Pray with her. Well, I can do that, so I asked her if I could offer a prayer. She feebly nodded her head.

There I was, late at night, with my little girl melting down in my arms, praying to the Heavens in my daughter's behalf. I summoned the Spirit to come and comfort her and - if possible - to let Bennett speak peace to his big sister's heart. I asked that she would be able to feel the loving arms of her Heavenly Father enfold her as her heart was hurting and that she would feel that He was aware of her and that He loved her. And then I closed the prayer, thanking the Lord for all our children, both here and in heaven.

I felt peace. I felt comfort. But the sobs continued.

As the tears and the accompanying body convulsions continued to increase, I knew my faith and prayers alone might not be enough, so I called in the "big guns." David - my sweetheart - is a man of purity and virtue and has the faith to move mountains. I believe the Lord pays special attention to his pleas because of the man he is in public and in private. It was time to cash in his brownie points. We needed all the help we could get.

So David took a sabbatical from Ashton's storytelling time to come and share a special prayer with Gracie. In our faith, we refer to it as a Father's Blessing. As I held her, David stood above her, put his hands on her head and began to plead to the Lord in her behalf. He blessed her with peace, comfort and the reassurance that she would see her brother again. He reminded her of the promise of forever families and how those relationships continue beyond death. And then he expressed his love and the love of her Heavenly Father for her. And then he solemnly and humbly closed the prayer.

Something happened after that. It wasn't sudden, but it occurred gradually. Bit by bit, Grace's body began to let go of the tension that accompanies deep emotional pain. The tears slowed, her breathing began to regulate and her grip loosened on my neck. "Can I sleep in your room?" came the request. I consented and we tiptoed into the room to "make her bed."

Now she lays by my side, cuddling my arm, tired, calm and collected. Did she just wear herself out? Maybe. But I think it was also something much greater than that. I believe that tonight - a night that was average in nearly every sense - the Heavens opened and sent us down a blessing that was a tender mercy for Grace and her parents. A Loving Father and Savior made possible a miracle that Mommy could not fix. No band aid or neosporin could take care of this owie. This was not going away (anytime soon, that is). But He knew her heart and knew just what to do to "make it feel better."

And mend it, He did.

Did Bennett come back? Is our heartache gone? Is everything "back to normal"? Hardly. But the Lord is aware of us. He is getting us through it.

One meltdown at a time.

A Birthday Gift from Heaven

Yesterday was a hard day. A really hard day. No one ever thinks they'll be commemorating their baby's 2nd birthday in a cemetery but - hey - it is what it is. Lots of people went out of their way to make it a meaningful day for us though. From flowers to gift cards to homemade gifts to a statue of the Savior holding a little boy . . . everything just warmed our hearts and made us feel oh-so-loved. We feel so blessed.

Along with those gifts, we received an unexpected surprise. A weeks or so ago, I received the oil painting of Bennett from Elspeth Young. I was in awe at the way she captured my boy whom she has never met. It was truly a miracle.

The day I received the painting in the mail, I took it to be custom framed. I was told that the painting would not be returned for another 2-3 weeks. And so I waited.

I awoke yesterday morning feeling melancholy. I can't possibly put into words all the emotions that went through my heart yesterday morning. How I ached to hold him, to see him run across the floor and throw his tiny little arms around me. And his smile. Oh, that smile. It lit up the room! How I longed to feel the warmth of his light.

And then it happened. My phone buzzed announcing an incoming call from the framing gallery. The painting had mysteriously appeared on an earlier shipment. It was completed more than a week ahead of schedule. Was this unusual? I asked. Yes. It was indeed. This is no accident, I explained. It was my baby's birthday. This was a gift from both him and a loving Heavenly Father that knew this Mommy's heart. The framing sales associate and I wept. It was meant to be.

So miracles DO happen. They do indeed. God - at times - allows hard things to happen. Things that will break our hearts. But in the madness and heartache of it all, He sends messages reminding us that He is aware and is ever present in our lives. Yesterday, that message arrived in the form of a framed oil painting. It was perfect. Simply perfect.

Just like the Givers.

Many have expressed interest in obtaining a print of our Sweet Bennett. He has become a symbol of Hope, Love, Light and Faith to so many. To purchase a print of this fabulous painting, click here.

Just A Few Things

Man. What a weekend. So many things happened that were significant to our family.

1. We received the oil painting of Bennett in the mail friday. And, Holy. Wow. I can't even put into words how glorious it is. Elspeth has such a gift. The portrait seems so real I just expect him to start babbling and giggling at any moment. It's amazing. After unwrapping it with my mother and weeping for a time, I rushed off to get it custom framed. It should be ready in about two weeks. I cannot wait to hang it on my wall in a central part of our home. What a gift. What a gift. What a gift.
2. Bennett's headstone was installed this weekend. And - I must say - it turned out even better than I imagined. When we were looking at headstone designs, I told the memorial company that I wanted something different, one-of-a-kind and uniquely Bennett. Well, BINGO. We've got it. I'll take pictures this weekend of our Memorial Day/Birthday Celebration and post them later. It really is fantastic.
3. On Sunday, we reached our 4 month mark. Man, it seems so much longer than that. So much has happened and our lives have been changed forever. Most days don't drag on as much as they did at first but it still feels like forever since I've kissed his irresistible little neck and been held by his adorable little arms. Man, I miss my boy.
4. We are in full investigation mode in search of the perfect living arrangement for our little family. We are walking through homes, looking at building options, visiting congregations (referred to as "wards" in our faith) and neighborhoods and setting up rental/storage options just in case we need somewhere to stay for a time. We are still showing our home but are nearing the time when - once the money goes hard - we will be able to focus more on simplifying, organizing and packing for our move in a month. What a summer it will be. What a summer. We trust the Lord is in charge and will lead us where we need to go. And - because of that - we feel excited, comforted and grateful.

Well, today we have another showing, Gracie's program at the elementary school and a meeting exploring building options this evening. It's going to be a busy day so I guess I better get ready.

Have a fantastic day, all. God Bless. God Bless.

Eagles Wings

But they that wait upon the Lord

shall renew their strength;

they shall mount up with wings as eagles;

they shall run, and not be weary;

and they shall walk and not faint.

(Isaiah 40:31)

Yesterday, I had a friend stop by and visit me after I had had a particularly hard morning. I was just getting off the phone with my mother - crying over the heartaches and challenges of the day - when she knocked on my door. During our visit, she shared with me a beautiful thought that I KNEW was mana from Heaven.

Just a little background: After Bennett's Life Celebration (aka funeral), we proceeded to the cemetery for his burial. Upon arriving at the beautifully appointed spot (I'm seriously in love with our burial sites . . . does that sound funny?), we got out of the limo, hearts heavy with the thought of burying our baby. But Heaven knew our hearts and sent a little gift. Actually, a flock. Right above our Bennett's grave site were 8-10 bald eagles, circling the very spot where we were preparing to bury our child. Now, I grew up in this town (as have my entire extended family) and I must tell you that I NEVER remember seeing ONE bald eagle, let alone an entire FLOCK in the entire surrounding area! But they were soaring above, circling the grave, as if to send a message that Someone above was aware of what was going on below. Aware of a Daddy, a Mommy, two sisters, a best friend and brother and an entire host of loved ones whose hearts were breaking. They soared during the prayer, they circled while we wrote love notes on hundreds of yellow balloons and then - as peacefully as they came - they silently flew away as our bright, love-filled balloons enveloped the sky. It. Was. Spectacular.

Ever since that day, my friend has been contemplating the appearance of eagles at Bennett's grave site. In her research, she found this information (based on American Indian beliefs) that she shared with me:

The Eagle represents spiritual protection, carries prayers, and brings strength, courage, wisdom, illumination of spirit, healing [and] creation. The eagle has an ability to see hidden spiritual truths, rising above the material to see the spiritual. The eagle has the ability to see the overall pattern and the connection to spirit guides and teachers. The eagle represents great power and balance, dignity with grace, a connection with higher truths, intuition and a creative spirit grace achieved through knowledge and hard work.

Isn't that just lovely? I would like to think that all those attributes and gifts are what that flock of eagles symbolized to our family. I have always been awe struck at an eagle's strength, breadth and majesty. I just never sat down to think what they may signify.

I'll tell you what that flock of bald eagles really mean to this Mama, though. It means that I have a Tender, Loving Heavenly Father that loves and holds my heart in Life's most tender moments. It means that there is no such thing as coincidences, just God leaving His signature authorizing that He is aware and active in our lives. And it means that we WILL get through (not around) this, we WILL prevail, and that He doesn't expect or want us to do it alone. He is with us - even in the details - and is watching over Bennett until we will be reunited again. THAT is what that flock of bald eagles mean to me.

And with that knowledge, I too can "mount up with wings as eagles."

Time to soar . . .

He Lives

On this beautiful, peaceful Easter Sunday, here's a tribute to what this day is really all about.

He Lives. He Lives. And because He lives, WE can do hard things and rise triumphant. Death is not the end. Bennett will be in our arms again. All because a tender and loving Father provided a way for it to be so. We can hardly wait.

Happy Easter, friends. Happy Easter.

Sweet Dreams

Last night, I had a dream. A vivid dream. A dream of Bennett.

Bennett was back in my arms. I knew he had passed away but he had miraculously returned and I - appreciating him more than ever - held him closer and kissed him more than ever before (and THAT is saying A LOT). Things were better than ever and everything was back to normal.

Except for one thing. He didn't have any arms.

In the dream, I remember trying to give Bennett a dum dum sucker (one of his favorite treats) but not knowing whether to just put it in his mouth or hold it for him. This was a whole new challenge.

But I was eager to take on this challenge. Willingly and happily. Having him - in any form or condition - was better than not having him at all. I was grateful to hold him in my arms and cuddle him all the more. My heart felt whole once more and all was well in the world.

Since I awoke this morning, I've been thinking about (what was unfortunately just) my dream last night. Though it was a bit strange in hindsight, it seemed quite realistic at the time (aren't all dreams like that?). Though I don't believe ALL dreams have meaning, I believe that this one held particular significance for me.

Since his birth, Bennett has touched many with his amazingly loving, gentle and generous spirit. I remember one of my dearest friends coming to see him when he was only a few months old. When she held him for the first time, she began crying. "He is so special!" she said. "I can just feel the strength of his spirit as I look at him!" I knew this and his father had felt it as well. We knew this was an incredible human being with an amazing mission ahead but it was quite surreal to hear it from someone who had no previous experience with him. He was THAT powerful.

As Bennett's Mother, I would often wonder what the Lord had in mind for this little boy. What would he bring to the world? What was his mission? And what could I do to prepare him for his journey? I felt humbled and honored to be called to the task and to be a part of his precious life.

Enter January 22, 2011. Bennett suddenly passed away to the stunned amazement of us all. It was as if the air was completely knocked out of our lungs. What? When? How? It just didn't make sense! And to this day - almost three months later - we don't have a lot of answers. A lot of physical answers, that is. And I don't know if we ever will.

But this is what we are finding out. Bennett did have a mission. Both here and on the other side. And he fulfilled it here and is continuing to fill it there. But there is a part of his mission that continues to involve us, his loved ones that - for a time - have been left behind. We have been called to carry on his legacy and tell his story. His is a story of Love. His is a story of Light. And His is a story of Laughter. Now we are here to write the remaining chapters.

What will they be? Will they be filled with Hope, Faith, Gratitude and Joy? Or will they tainted tales of Bitterness, Anger and Resentment? Right now, we are his hands. We are here to tell the story he cannot tell. And we are hear to spread the message his sweet lips will not utter in this life.

But tell it we will. And we will not stop until everyone knows our story of Hope, understands our reason for Joy and is comforted with the news that Death is NOT the end. We WILL see our sweet children again. No goodbyes, just see you later's. That's our motto. And Later won't come soon enough.

So tonight, I recommit to telling our Sweet Bennett story once more. I have not chosen this path. It was chosen for me. And I feel called to share this message.

And share it I will.

I will be Bennett's hands and I will share our sweet story of Faith, Hope and Joy despite heartache, despite loss and in the face of profound grief and sorrow. And we will prevail. We will. And as a team, we will do what we need to do to be together again. Cause there ain't nothin' better than that.

Time for bed. 'Nigh 'nigh (as Bennett would say). And Sweet Dreams.

Spring Break

Spring Break is here and we could not be more ready for it. We have been hangin' on, puttin' one foot in front of the other, waiting for some rest and reprieve from the rigors of life. So this week long spring break is just what the doctor ordered. We will be playing, laughing, eating, sunbathing, swimming and doing all-things frolicky and fun. What a blessing. What a blessing.

In other news, wasn't General Conference fantastic!?! Holy cow. I couldn't believe how many addresses were tailored to our family. I am so grateful that inspired leaders got the memo on what our family needed ;0) Some of my favorites were from Jean A. Stevens and Richard G. Scott. Wow, could we relate. What a teacher Adversity can be.

My goals for today? Hold hands as much as possible, Wink at my sweetheart, Laugh even more, Snuggle each one of my babes and tell them why they are such an important part of our family and Capture as many of these moments as possible with a camera. I have learned (the hard way) of the importance of capturing life's images. They may be all you've got to remember the most tender everyday moments in your life.

Have a fabulous day, friends! xoxoxo

Weekend of Inspiration

When David and I were dating, I told him that he better be good to me because I was one of my Heavenly Father's "favorite girls." I hope everyone feels this way. As I have gotten older, I continue to feel His love and awareness through all the events of Life. I am a lucky girl.

This week was hard. Super hard. And I don't see the feelings we are feeling going away anytime soon. That said, Heaven knew this and has showered many blessings on me this weekend.

• Last night, David and I went with some of our dearest friends to see the musical "A Tale of Two Cities." Though a huge fan of Dickens, I was unfamiliar with the storyline of this particular show. HOOOOLY cow! What an amazingly moving story with complex twists and turns. In many ways, it mirrored "Les Mis" with themes of the French Revolution, loss, darkness, light, tragedy, hope, forgiveness, heartache, sacrifice and redemption. It was amazing. I must say - being unfamiliar with the storyline - that I was a bit unprepared for the small boy that was run over and killed by an Aristocrat carriage. Seeing his lifeless body carried by his father across the stage and put in a casket was a bit much for me (given our recent experiences). It unfortunately hit a little too close to home. But I am choosing to remember the themes of Hope, Light, Sacrifice and Redemption. It was truly a well done production. Bravo.
• This weekend, we have the privilege of hearing inspirational and faith promoting thoughts from inspired leaders. As a Mormon, we have a religious gathering broadcast around the world called General Conference. Twice a year (April/October), our leaders teach us principles of Faith, Hope, Forgiveness, Charity and Love. It is truly "living water" for this parched mommy's soul. I am looking forward to General Conference now more than ever. I so need to feel the Healing and Peace that comes only from a Divine source. I will be tuning in all weekend and praying to be in tune to the messages my Loving Heavenly Father will send me. (click here to join me)
• As my children begin their spring break, we have planned a week of family fun and memory making. I can't wait to let go of some of the cares of the world and turn our focus to the simple things: Laughing, Running, Playing, Tickling, Swimming, Eating and Loving together. We so need this time to replenish our souls. What a blessing.

Wishing you an inspiring weekend as well, sweet friends. xoxoxo

Angel Lullaby

Like many, our family has developed a night time ritual. After family prayer, David typically reads to the girls (they are finishing the "Chronicles of Narnia" series) and tucks them in bed while I take care of the boys bedtime routine. Most of the time, that involves a story or two (mostly of the car variety) while cuddling. It also ALWAYS involves a song. For Bennett, it was "His Song" and with Ashton, it typically was "The Wheels On The Bus" (not the song that I would choose but - hey - it should be HIS choice, right?).

After Bennett's passing, our family was reeling with the consequences of our "new reality". Though all of my child are grieving differently, Ashton has had the most difficult time. I think that is partly due to his age (3), the fact that he and Bennett spent every moment of their lives together and that they are only 16 months apart. He doesn't know what life is like WITHOUT his brother. Thus the dramatic adjustment.

Immediately following Bennett's passing, Ashton would not enter their room. Not to play, not to nap, not to sleep. After a few weeks of having him sleep with David and I, we knew that this could not continue. NO ONE was getting any rest!!! So out with the old, in with the new. As the crib and toddler bed came down, a new twin bed went up. As the heavy navy comforters were packed away, fresh tailored bedding was introduced. And as Bennett's clothes were put in storage bins and his favorite things were lovingly laid in a hope chest, the car table was moved into the room for Ashton's entertainment. Though difficult, it was therapeutic for all to give the room a fresh new look. It helps us remember the good memories and forget the more traumatic ones. That's a blessing.

As we started creating our new routine, we wanted to balance old traditions with new ones that would include Bennett in a new way in our family. Here's what we came up with:

• We still call our family to prayer with the song that would bring Bennett running and dancing to the ottoman. And - I am glad to say - we often remember his dances with smooth moves of our own. Smiling and laughing is always a good thing.


• After we say our family prayer in the morning and evening, we immediately follow our "Amen" with blowing a kiss to Heaven, a token of our love for Bennett. And I believe he catches every one.


• We also have continued to follow our family prayer with our family cheer, something that Bennett looked forward to every day. He loved feeling like part of "the team."

As time passed and Ashton got used to his "new room", we started creating a new bedtime routine, as well. I started singing him a song that has become his favorite while cuddling in bed at night. It is fittingly entitled "Angel Lullaby" (click title to hear song):

You came from a land where all is light
to a world half day and a world half night.
To guide you by day, you have my love,
To guard you by night, your friends above.

(Chorus)
So sleep, sleep, till the darkness ends,
guarded by your [Bennett Friend].
So sleep, sleep, till the darkness ends,
guarded by your [Bennett Friend].

There's one stands softly by your bed
and another sits close with a hand on your head.
There's one at the window watching for the dawn,
and one waits to wake you when the night is gone.

Every night when I sing this lullaby to Ashton, he looks around the room and up at the ceiling. I pray he is able to feel the presence of his little buddy and that - at that tender time - he is able to feel a special outpouring of our Heavenly Father's Love. While Bennett is not with us for a time, he will be part of our family unit forever. And just because we cannot see him does not mean that he is still not actively involved in our family's events and activities. Is it the same as having him here? No way. But is this new arrangement part of Heavenly Father's plan for our family? We believe so. And as we cling to those beliefs and rely on a Loving Father who IS aware of us and blesses us with His Love and Mercy every day, we find the Hope, Strength and Faith to move forward. It doesn't get better than that.

And so tonight, I'll hold the little boy I have on Earth and sing him our "new song", praying that his brother is somehow able to listen in on this Mommy's lullaby. And that - for at least a few moments - it will be like he's in my arms again.

Good Night, my Angel Boy. Good night.

Grieving Can Be Messy

Shortly after Bennett's passing, our 3-year-old Ashton replaced his playtime with his brother with playing with his cars in my plants. Though it wouldn't have been MY first choice of "therapy", it has worked. He finds joy in getting his hands dirty and - though it can cause a mess on my carpet and couch - it is worth the clean up for now.

Bennett's passing has been our family's first experience dealing of profound loss. In 2008, my husband lost a brother to cancer and my grandfather passed away, but both situations we could see coming from a distance. In their cases, Death was a friend, releasing them from the prisons of their sick and weakened bodies. Yes, we missed them and Yes, no one will take their place but we acknowledged that our prayers were answered. They were no longer in pain and they felt peace.

Bennett's passing was of a different variety. He was 100% healthy - rarely getting sick - and then was gone. No labored breathing, no lethargicness, no discoloration, no incoherent behavior. And in oh-so-many ways, that was a blessing. We had him 100% for 19 3/4 months. Every. Single. Second. And yet, his death side swiped us in a way I can't even put into words. To say it rocked our world would be the understatement of the century. And yet miraculously, it has not made me question my faith. Not for a minute. But it HAS brought up questions regarding my faith and our family's healing. What more can I do to bring a feeling of Peace in our Home? What changes do I need to make in my life to be worthy of seeing Bennett again? How can I best meet the needs of my children who - in their own ways - are reeling from the loss of their brother? When do I let things slide and when do I follow up with natural consequences when my children are acting out? So many questions, still finding answers.

What I HAVE found is that grieving can be messy. It doesn't follow a timeline and it happens differently with everyone. While my toddler has struggled from the get go and has digressed in many ways, my older girls have been more resilient and open with their grief. And yet, in the last week, there have been changes in one child that I don't know how to handle. I am learning that Grief is not a destination but a road. A long road that we will continue to walk for the rest of our lives. Our family needs to find constructive and healthy ways to deal with these big feelings we are feeling. Feelings that - at times - seem bigger than ourselves. And yet, as we learn how to deal with them appropriately, we can progress down our pathway of healing.

I have also learned that Grief and Mourning are work. Hard work. And can be very exhausting. While wading through its strong current, we have found it important so simplify our lives in any way possible. Taking a few months off from a church responsibility, postponing dance lessons until this summer or fall, canceling harp lessons for a time, picking our social situations carefully and not letting ourselves feel obligated or pressured to do anything. Our focus is Healing. End of sentence.

However, that can be easier said than done. Many people give you a month or so to grieve and then - after a time - expect you to be 100% back. "Are you feeling better now?" some have asked. "Do you feel like you are over it?" Over it? How can I be OVER it? Do you EVER get over people you love? Do you outgrow your need or your love for your children? NO! We are learning how to go forward. How to continue to find Joy, Happiness and Laughter without Bennett. And - at times - that is hard. Really hard. In fact, as time has passed, the reality of our sitution is beginning to sink in. This IS real. This IS our new life. And this ISN'T going away.

Breathe.

And yet, he IS with us. We feel him. No, it's not the same as holding his sweet little body in our arms or seeing him shuffle across the kitchen floor with the broom, trying to sweep it for Mommy. But - for now - it will have to do. And we're holding on to the promise of eternal families to fulfill the rest.

So, for now, we'll laugh, we'll cry, we'll remember, we'll play, we'll talk, we'll walk, we'll cuddle, we'll find the help we need and we'll dream of the day when we'll all be reunited again, knowing that it WILL happen. It will.

And Healing will come with time. Messy or not.

Bring Him Home

The other night, my husband and I watched the 25th anniversary celebration of the opening of "Les Miserables" in London. It was an awe-inspiring performance, to say the least. I can't imagine what it would have been like to have seen it live at London's 02 Arena.

While every song was a masterpiece, one particular song really hit home. Literally. At the end of the performance, four of the actors that had played Jean Valjean approached the front of the stage and sang "Bring Him Home." As I listened to their epic performance, it was as if the world stood still for a few moments. I had not heard that song since Bennett's passing and I don't think I will ever think of that song the same way again.

The song is a prayer. The prayer of a helpless parent pleading with a God he knows well. "In my need you have always been there." And what is he praying for? Himself and his own needs? No. He is praying for that of a young boy. "Bring him Home," he asks. "Bring him Home." How well I know those pleas.

The only difference? I have realized that God HAS brought my boy Home. To His Heavenly Home, that is. And - in doing so - he has brought him peace and brought him joy. My Bennett is safe in the arms of the only being that loves him more than I. And I know he will rest there until these aching arms can hold and caress him once more.

Indeed, Bennett lives. And he is Home.

He is Home.

The Magic Blanket

In the last 7 weeks since Bennett's death, our family has received SO MANY kind, generous and thoughtful gifts. In fact, David and I have decided that it will take us the rest of our lives to "pay it forward". And - somehow - we're okay with that. Frankly, I can think of no better way to spend the rest of my days.

One particularly tender gift arrived in the mail just this week. It was from a mother whom I've never met who lives in another state. She too lost a child suddenly (interestingly enough, close to Bennett's age) and had to walk her children through the grief of losing their sister while she and her spouse where grieving themselves. In the box, she sent the softest, most luxurious blanket you have ever felt. It. Is. Heaven. In her note, she shared that after her daughter's death, a friend had given her a similar blanket with the insight that it was a Magic Blanket. When you were sad, lonely, hurting or missing your loved one, you could wrap this warm, soft blanket around you and - somehow - it would help you feel all the love and warmth of the memories you shared. What a Gift.

Well, this package arrived on a particularly interesting day. A day after I came down with a head cold, my girls followed suit and we were all achy and congested together. Of course, when feeling under the weather, emotions are ultra close to the surface. So, soon after coming home from school, my six year old curled up on the couch and burst into a torrent of tears. She cried because her tummy hurt. She cried because she had a sore throat. She cried because it was raining and she cried because she was missing her little brother. And - in that moment when Mommy wasn't up to par herself - there, few feet away, was the sweet package that I had retrieved from the mail that afternoon. I grabbed the velvety soft blanket and wrapped up my crumbling little girl, testifying to her of its "magic powers" while praying that she would feel the comfort she needed to get through that tender moment. And do you know what? It worked. It didn't change our situation and it didn't bring back her little brother, but - somehow - she felt better.

I've been thinking about the "Magic Blanket" ever since and have been trying to identify what exactly it was that made my little girl feel better. And I think I know the answer.

Last August, our oldest daughter Emma was baptised into our church. At her baptism, my mother shared a story that she also shared at my baptism years ago. In that story, a mother explains to a little girl why the Holy Ghost is referred to as The Comforter. As an object lesson, she grabs a soft, fluffy comforter from the linen closet and wraps it around her daughter and has her describe what she feels. Warm, protected, soft, loved. All adjectives of Comfort. Then she related those feelings to those felt from the Holy Ghost, our Heavenly Father's messenger of Comfort and Peace. THAT is how He sends us His love and lets us know that He is aware of us, loves us and is there to comfort us in any way we stand in need.

Our "Magic Blanket" is a physical reminder of a spiritual Gift given to us by a tender and loving Heavenly Father. He knows of the gaping hole in our family. He sees our broken hearts. In fact, I think there have been many times where He has wept with us. And yet, AND YET He loves us enough to allow these things to happen so we can grow. Can you imagine that? For this mother who wants all-things happy and wonderful for her babies and cringes at their every pain, I cannot. But HE is all wise and all knowing. Omnicient. And HE has a plan for our family. And - despite the difficulty of this path we are on - THIS is part of His plan. And we have made the choice to trust Him. Knowing that - in the end - all will be made whole again.

We recently ordered Bennett's headstone and are finalizing the images and wording that will be engraved on his memorial. On the back, there will be the final verse to a song played angelically on the harp (by his Aunt Sharla) at his funeral:

Be Still My Soul:

The hour is hastening on

When we shall be

Forever with the Lord.

When disappointment, grief and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, Love's purest Joys restored.

Be Still, My Soul:

When change and tears are past,

All safe and blessed

We Shall Meet At Last.

I believe in every word of that verse. I know those promises are true. And I cling to every one. I WILL hold Bennett again. This grief and loss we feel will not last forever. And our family will once again be made whole.

But for now, my Magic Blanket will have to do.