Dear Melynda,
I don't really have a story today. I just have this sad residing feeling inside of me that I miss you. I am sad for myself and I am sad for all the others who miss you, too. I know I didn't love you the most, loved you a lot, but there were others whose sorrow is deeper. Whose hole is emptier. I sorrow for it all. Tonight I just have a constant ache that has taken hold in my chest and my eyes feel a pressure that won't let go. Mostly though it is in my spirit that I feels it. A deep heaviness. I am coming to visit you in Utah for your birthday, but I won't see your smile or hear your laugh. I won't be able to lay in your bed all night long as we discuss and dissect all aspects of life...or just laugh a lot.
I just thought of one of my favorite memories: David and Chris would play video games until the wee hours of the morning when you were in Hurricane. You and I would hang out, talk, scrapbook, and eventually just go climb in your bed. Resigning ourselves to the fact that they were in another world "saving the universe" and that we should just enjoy our selves while they are away. We would talk and talk and talk until one of us would be mid sentence and fall asleep. That is how we would stay until we were rustled awake by one of them apologetically telling us they were done. I would mumble a confused "goodnight" and we would leave our ritual until next time Star Wars beckoned them.
Flip to a few years later to this summer. You had slept in that morning so after David left I shyly cracked the door to see if you were okay. You said "ya come in". I walked right in and made my way right over to your bed and laid right by you and we fell right back into our old selves. Laying there chatting, laughing, and just having fun together. I was surprised by how comfortable I fell right back into and by how much I had missed it. It was one of my favorite places. Plus it was one of the softest beds I have ever laid in and I made a point to tell you so every time I was there.
When I think back to some of our most private and special conversation many took place laying right there on those pillows. I really yearn to just crawl back in your soft bed and talk over all the cares of the world. Back to easier times when things were clearer to me.
I know that is not why we are here. While I do wish to carry on our amazing traditions and I feel incredibly cheated for everything that has been taken away I don't wish you back. There is not one ounce of me that doesn't knows you are in a good place. There is not one part of me that doubts that you, me, all of us are in Heavenly Father's hands. He cares for us and he keeps us. I know he will help us. His ways are not mine. His are so much more eternally focused and I am grateful for that. I rejoice that after the trials of this life we may resume all these fond rituals and traditions and I am sure we will have time to make more. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Day 16
Dear Melynda,
I can think back to so many happy times in your life. You are a generally very happy person. You love to be happy and I often remember hearing you say, "life is good". This always brought me relief in your latter years to hear this because superfically life wasn't good. It was really, really hard for you, but I knew during those moments of "life is good" that you could see the sunshine through all the gray. There was gray but there was so much good. I think the most good you have done is with your girls.
Memory takes me back to the happiest time I think I have ever seen you. You and David had come up to Northern Utah to visit. You were about to pop with another baby girl, or at least in my memory you looked like it. I have this vivid memory of you walking from the kitchen to the couch and you were almost bouncing and filled with a vibrant glow. You had your huge smile across your face and all was right with the world. You had wanted another baby so badly and it had taken you longer than you thought. If there is one thing I know you did right it is being a mom. You are a wonderful mom. You cherish that position above all else, except for being a wife. As Dave put it, you considered it a "fine art". I think that is a great way to put it because fine art takes one part talent and two parts work. You worked hard.
I remember one particular Sunday when Maya was three. She had been really naughty at church, so you came home and sat her on a chair. When it was time you told her she could get off. Well, she got off that chair walked straight over to the fridge, opened it, pulled out a jug a milk and dropped it on the floor spilling it everywhere. She then looked at you with her most defiant look and went and sat back on time out with out a word said. You did so well. I know you lost your cool sometimes but I also saw you show great love and compassion when it was difficult to summon.
Last night with a group of ladies we were discussing how we can show better patience with our own children. I couldn't say it out loud, but I think that is one of the most important things I have learned from you. When I get mad, and I definitely do, I go to a memory of you talking calmly, probably to Maya, and I try to mimic that voice and calmness.
I'm grateful that I was able to see you raise your girls. They were almost exactly the same age as my own kids. I feel it is a special blessing that I was able to spend so much time living under your own roof. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
I can think back to so many happy times in your life. You are a generally very happy person. You love to be happy and I often remember hearing you say, "life is good". This always brought me relief in your latter years to hear this because superfically life wasn't good. It was really, really hard for you, but I knew during those moments of "life is good" that you could see the sunshine through all the gray. There was gray but there was so much good. I think the most good you have done is with your girls.
Memory takes me back to the happiest time I think I have ever seen you. You and David had come up to Northern Utah to visit. You were about to pop with another baby girl, or at least in my memory you looked like it. I have this vivid memory of you walking from the kitchen to the couch and you were almost bouncing and filled with a vibrant glow. You had your huge smile across your face and all was right with the world. You had wanted another baby so badly and it had taken you longer than you thought. If there is one thing I know you did right it is being a mom. You are a wonderful mom. You cherish that position above all else, except for being a wife. As Dave put it, you considered it a "fine art". I think that is a great way to put it because fine art takes one part talent and two parts work. You worked hard.
I remember one particular Sunday when Maya was three. She had been really naughty at church, so you came home and sat her on a chair. When it was time you told her she could get off. Well, she got off that chair walked straight over to the fridge, opened it, pulled out a jug a milk and dropped it on the floor spilling it everywhere. She then looked at you with her most defiant look and went and sat back on time out with out a word said. You did so well. I know you lost your cool sometimes but I also saw you show great love and compassion when it was difficult to summon.
Last night with a group of ladies we were discussing how we can show better patience with our own children. I couldn't say it out loud, but I think that is one of the most important things I have learned from you. When I get mad, and I definitely do, I go to a memory of you talking calmly, probably to Maya, and I try to mimic that voice and calmness.
I'm grateful that I was able to see you raise your girls. They were almost exactly the same age as my own kids. I feel it is a special blessing that I was able to spend so much time living under your own roof. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Monday, March 12, 2012
Day 15
Dear Melynda,
Today I am feeling a little differently than usual. Tonight I was reading in a book about grieving siblings (I hate just thinking those words) and I came across this paragraph:
Because siblings are united by a common bond forged in childhood, we live with the expectation that we'll somehow always be together as we journey through life. Oh, we may divert from the common family path from time to time to pursue our own callings, but only our brothers and sisters know the way back to that original road where, together, we began our odyssey. In an uncertain world that is ever changing, chances are that your brother or sister has been a constant in your life, all your life. Losing a sibling, then, destroys the illusion of permanence in a more profound way than most other deaths....we assume our siblings will grow old alongside us. Naturally we feel abandoned when this assumption is decimated by death. (T.J. Wray)
Sometime it is hard. I feel like so many people have more a of right to be on the "sad train" that I just don't know where I fit in and why I feel this way. Tonight I was reading along and this paragraph just stuck out to me like FINALLY it makes sense.
In regards to that it brings me to a memory that has been playing over and over in my mind. Unfortunately me, Cam, Jay, and Chad have all bonded in a new way. That also includes all their spouses who, also, feel so close to you, too. We have had to rely on each other and hold one another up in a way we never wanted to and sometimes we feel like beating you up for it. None the less this is life and we have to keep going. I really started noticing this new way of bonding when you were first in the hospital and we were constantly calling each other. There were many conversation where little to no word were said. It was just comforting to having someone on the other end who you knew understood.
One of the best memories I have taken home from Utah was not with you directly but about you. The day after you died we all went to dad's house and spent the weekend there to work on arrangements and just be together. Before I left for Utah I somehow had enough of my whits together to gather as many pictures of you that I had. I frantically searched and packed all I could find. That night when everyone had started gathering in the living room, like we always do, I cracked out a stack of photos and started passing them around. It was like bees to honey and it was heaven for just a moment. We mostly laughed, we cried a little, but we all savored each memory and the love that came along with it. It was so neat to see all of us sitting around telling story after story of each picture. It helped us remember what we loved about you and it reminded us of what we would miss. That unsettling finality of it all was beginning to settle in but we had an army to battle it with. We had each other.
In my happy, little mind I imagine you being there laughing, consoling, and enjoying the time together with us, too. We all "started this odyssey" together and I don't think, even now, you are going to leave us behind. Be with us when you can. Give us guidance and strength when we need it and remember we all love you. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Today I am feeling a little differently than usual. Tonight I was reading in a book about grieving siblings (I hate just thinking those words) and I came across this paragraph:
Because siblings are united by a common bond forged in childhood, we live with the expectation that we'll somehow always be together as we journey through life. Oh, we may divert from the common family path from time to time to pursue our own callings, but only our brothers and sisters know the way back to that original road where, together, we began our odyssey. In an uncertain world that is ever changing, chances are that your brother or sister has been a constant in your life, all your life. Losing a sibling, then, destroys the illusion of permanence in a more profound way than most other deaths....we assume our siblings will grow old alongside us. Naturally we feel abandoned when this assumption is decimated by death. (T.J. Wray)
Sometime it is hard. I feel like so many people have more a of right to be on the "sad train" that I just don't know where I fit in and why I feel this way. Tonight I was reading along and this paragraph just stuck out to me like FINALLY it makes sense.
In regards to that it brings me to a memory that has been playing over and over in my mind. Unfortunately me, Cam, Jay, and Chad have all bonded in a new way. That also includes all their spouses who, also, feel so close to you, too. We have had to rely on each other and hold one another up in a way we never wanted to and sometimes we feel like beating you up for it. None the less this is life and we have to keep going. I really started noticing this new way of bonding when you were first in the hospital and we were constantly calling each other. There were many conversation where little to no word were said. It was just comforting to having someone on the other end who you knew understood.
One of the best memories I have taken home from Utah was not with you directly but about you. The day after you died we all went to dad's house and spent the weekend there to work on arrangements and just be together. Before I left for Utah I somehow had enough of my whits together to gather as many pictures of you that I had. I frantically searched and packed all I could find. That night when everyone had started gathering in the living room, like we always do, I cracked out a stack of photos and started passing them around. It was like bees to honey and it was heaven for just a moment. We mostly laughed, we cried a little, but we all savored each memory and the love that came along with it. It was so neat to see all of us sitting around telling story after story of each picture. It helped us remember what we loved about you and it reminded us of what we would miss. That unsettling finality of it all was beginning to settle in but we had an army to battle it with. We had each other.
In my happy, little mind I imagine you being there laughing, consoling, and enjoying the time together with us, too. We all "started this odyssey" together and I don't think, even now, you are going to leave us behind. Be with us when you can. Give us guidance and strength when we need it and remember we all love you. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Day 14
Dear Melynda,
Today I been thinking about such a sad story. At least on my part.
At your funeral I told a story about Abbi. You may not remember that when we were in Utah over the summer, and unexpectedly ended up staying for three months, my kids became REALLY homesick to see their dad. We had already been there a month and a half and were staying with you for the month of July. One day you and I were in your room while you were sewing and Kate came running in. She was so excited and she said, "mom! Look what Abbi gave me. I told her I missed my dad so she gave me her kitty to keep forever so I won't miss him." I smiled and was so happy to see you smiling. In my mind, however, all I thought was "she must not want it anymore because it is a very old mangy looking stuffed animal." We then went home. In September Kate was still carrying this cat around everywhere. To the store, around the house, I had to make her to leave it in the car during church. I just didn't understand her attachment to it. She had a billion (at least it feels like it) stuffed animals around the house but this one was special. Then one day I got it. She knew something I didn't. That cat wasn't old and mangy because Abbi didn't love it. It was old and mangy because Abbi did love it. She treasured it and took it everywhere with her, too. Kate understood on some level that Abbi showed a great deal of love for her in sharing and giving something that had meant a lot to her. I had been taught something wonderful by those two girls about love and what it means to really show it.
Fast forward to that same summer. I had just gotten back from Park City. I bought two things there a new shirt and a pair of sun glasses that I had splurged on. I accidently left them at your house for a couple of days and when I came back you were wearing them. I was so happy you had found them because I didn't know where they were and thought they were gone for good. Unfortuantley for me you had fallen in love with them. Silly I know but you do fall in love with clothes, hair bows, shoes, and purses on a weekly basis. You ever so gently implied that you wanted to keep them. I told you very chagrined that Chris would kill me. I remember after our quick exchange you said, "really you are going to take them?" I said, "ya, sorry!" and left.
Now for some reason I can't stop thinking about that. I realize what I should have know all along. I really think that hurt your feelings. Not in a way that you hated me for but more because I wouldn't share with you something that was important to me. It took you passing away and being left behind with all the things you have given me to see how much you loved to share with people. That was one of the greatest ways you loved. I never understood why you would put all the time and effort into creating gifts for everyone but now I realize it was the ultimate way for you to show you cared. I have always been content with what I could find at the store. It was also the greatest way for someone to show you the same. I really am a slow learner.
I remember one time in Hurricane as a newly wed walking into your garage when you had been working on all your wood work decorations and you saying, "pick out whatever you want". I felt like a kid in a candy shop. Looking at all the beautiful things that you had made yourself. I know they took hours to do. Now each piece has taken on new meaning along with all my new understanding.
I wish I had given you those darn glasses. I wish I would have reciprocated with you in a way you would understand how much I love you. Yes I will share anything. Sorry it took me so long to learn what your seven year old has already mastered.
Abbi, Macie, and Maya are the greatest thing you have given to us all. They are so beautiful inside and out. They are incredible and they have learned to be just like you. Who they are, because of you, is your greatest legacy that you have left here on the earth. I look forward to see who they become as I am sure you do. I am sorry. Please be patient with me. And as always I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Today I been thinking about such a sad story. At least on my part.
At your funeral I told a story about Abbi. You may not remember that when we were in Utah over the summer, and unexpectedly ended up staying for three months, my kids became REALLY homesick to see their dad. We had already been there a month and a half and were staying with you for the month of July. One day you and I were in your room while you were sewing and Kate came running in. She was so excited and she said, "mom! Look what Abbi gave me. I told her I missed my dad so she gave me her kitty to keep forever so I won't miss him." I smiled and was so happy to see you smiling. In my mind, however, all I thought was "she must not want it anymore because it is a very old mangy looking stuffed animal." We then went home. In September Kate was still carrying this cat around everywhere. To the store, around the house, I had to make her to leave it in the car during church. I just didn't understand her attachment to it. She had a billion (at least it feels like it) stuffed animals around the house but this one was special. Then one day I got it. She knew something I didn't. That cat wasn't old and mangy because Abbi didn't love it. It was old and mangy because Abbi did love it. She treasured it and took it everywhere with her, too. Kate understood on some level that Abbi showed a great deal of love for her in sharing and giving something that had meant a lot to her. I had been taught something wonderful by those two girls about love and what it means to really show it.
Fast forward to that same summer. I had just gotten back from Park City. I bought two things there a new shirt and a pair of sun glasses that I had splurged on. I accidently left them at your house for a couple of days and when I came back you were wearing them. I was so happy you had found them because I didn't know where they were and thought they were gone for good. Unfortuantley for me you had fallen in love with them. Silly I know but you do fall in love with clothes, hair bows, shoes, and purses on a weekly basis. You ever so gently implied that you wanted to keep them. I told you very chagrined that Chris would kill me. I remember after our quick exchange you said, "really you are going to take them?" I said, "ya, sorry!" and left.
Now for some reason I can't stop thinking about that. I realize what I should have know all along. I really think that hurt your feelings. Not in a way that you hated me for but more because I wouldn't share with you something that was important to me. It took you passing away and being left behind with all the things you have given me to see how much you loved to share with people. That was one of the greatest ways you loved. I never understood why you would put all the time and effort into creating gifts for everyone but now I realize it was the ultimate way for you to show you cared. I have always been content with what I could find at the store. It was also the greatest way for someone to show you the same. I really am a slow learner.
I remember one time in Hurricane as a newly wed walking into your garage when you had been working on all your wood work decorations and you saying, "pick out whatever you want". I felt like a kid in a candy shop. Looking at all the beautiful things that you had made yourself. I know they took hours to do. Now each piece has taken on new meaning along with all my new understanding.
I wish I had given you those darn glasses. I wish I would have reciprocated with you in a way you would understand how much I love you. Yes I will share anything. Sorry it took me so long to learn what your seven year old has already mastered.
Abbi, Macie, and Maya are the greatest thing you have given to us all. They are so beautiful inside and out. They are incredible and they have learned to be just like you. Who they are, because of you, is your greatest legacy that you have left here on the earth. I look forward to see who they become as I am sure you do. I am sorry. Please be patient with me. And as always I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Day 13
Dear Melynda,
Today has ended well. Today I tried to carry on a conversation with a friend and every other sentence I couldn't get out straight. I think I am tired. She just laughed. I have to be honest. I feel tired. I feel psychically and something else tired. I am not sure what it is. It is something inside that makes me feel like I just want to lay down and sleep. I think it is the daunting task of moving on with life. You see I don't know how. Yup, there you go. Me (who you always thought was such a know-it-all) doesn't know what to do.
Today Kate and I took our lovely time walking around Frederick. There is wonderful boutiques all along Main Street. I know you remember because while I was walking hand-in-hand with Kate I looked across the street and this pain hit me. I looked into the front windows of the shop that we spent hours shopping in. This store is filled with antiques and is deceptively, from the look of the small front door, humongous. If there is one thing you can't resist it is a good deal. We were there for awhile. So here I am walking with Kate and I had the strangest feeling wash over me. I literally wanted to curl up in a ball and just lay on the ground I was hurting so bad. There was literally a porch to someone's townhouse right next to me and I thought, "there is a nice spot". I just wanted to be mad and sit there and shout that it wasn't fair. Then I actually pictured myself doing it and it made me laugh out loud. I have never had a compulsion come over me like that before. Do see all the crazy things you are starting to make me do?
I remember that day. Literally lifting the slab of 1/2 inch thick ice off my car and you saying, "what the heck?! That is why I live in St. George." Followed up with your belly laugh. Taking my three week old baby and going to every shop and walking for hours. You could out shop me any day of the week and I was so exhausted but it was so fun. When I was telling Kate today about our time there she asked me if I bought anything and I said, "No but I am sure your aunt Melynda did. She always found something she loved." I am sure you did even though I can't remember what. I can remember scouring the city streets looking for a fax machine, for something, and you trying to charm the poor bank teller into letting you use theirs. You are shameless (and brave). That is the same day we came home exhausted and frozen and you whipped me up your wonderful biscotti while I laid in bed. It was a good day. One to always remember.
Really though things are generally good I just have this gloom hanging in my heart that I can't seem to kick. Tonight I pulled out my scriptures but decided to go for a General Conference talk instead. I had one of those "flipped to the right page" moments. I turned to this talk. I wanted to share the first story with you:
I love this story and it has stuck with me since General Conference. I thought it wonderful then when I read it tonight and it was just the answer to my prayer that I needed. I realized something. I am very much like that man. I have my "briefcase full". I am doing my business and going about my life. I am doing what is required of me and trying to move forward. However, I realized tonight that I often spend my time "look at the ground". I am just trying so hard to push through that I forget where I can receive real strength from. Not just "enough" strength to get through but the strength to live, learn and thrive like I am meant to. In one part he says,
Why is it a challenge to consistently look up in our lives? Perhaps we lack the faith that such a simple act can solve our problems. For example, when the children of Israel were bitten by poisonous serpents, Moses was commanded to raise up a brass serpent on a pole. The brass serpent represented Christ. Those who looked up at the serpent, as admonished by the prophet, were healed.4 But many others failed to look up, and they perished.5
I don't feel as though I am perishing but I also realized I am not thriving. I hope that you are watching over all of us and maybe giving me just a second of your time every now and then. Maybe you helped me find this talk that I needed so much. Carrying on our tradition.
I hope someday I can go to that store and walk those streets and it can be a place to enjoy and remember. It is difficult to have every thought of you hurt. Especially because in reality you always brought joy wherever you went.
I know that this life isn't the end. I know we have trials to learn from them and that is sincerely what I am trying to do. I know you are okay. I think you miss your girls, your husband, your family and friends, but I know you. I know your perspective is great. It was that way when you were here and I am certain it has broadened even more. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Today has ended well. Today I tried to carry on a conversation with a friend and every other sentence I couldn't get out straight. I think I am tired. She just laughed. I have to be honest. I feel tired. I feel psychically and something else tired. I am not sure what it is. It is something inside that makes me feel like I just want to lay down and sleep. I think it is the daunting task of moving on with life. You see I don't know how. Yup, there you go. Me (who you always thought was such a know-it-all) doesn't know what to do.
Today Kate and I took our lovely time walking around Frederick. There is wonderful boutiques all along Main Street. I know you remember because while I was walking hand-in-hand with Kate I looked across the street and this pain hit me. I looked into the front windows of the shop that we spent hours shopping in. This store is filled with antiques and is deceptively, from the look of the small front door, humongous. If there is one thing you can't resist it is a good deal. We were there for awhile. So here I am walking with Kate and I had the strangest feeling wash over me. I literally wanted to curl up in a ball and just lay on the ground I was hurting so bad. There was literally a porch to someone's townhouse right next to me and I thought, "there is a nice spot". I just wanted to be mad and sit there and shout that it wasn't fair. Then I actually pictured myself doing it and it made me laugh out loud. I have never had a compulsion come over me like that before. Do see all the crazy things you are starting to make me do?
I remember that day. Literally lifting the slab of 1/2 inch thick ice off my car and you saying, "what the heck?! That is why I live in St. George." Followed up with your belly laugh. Taking my three week old baby and going to every shop and walking for hours. You could out shop me any day of the week and I was so exhausted but it was so fun. When I was telling Kate today about our time there she asked me if I bought anything and I said, "No but I am sure your aunt Melynda did. She always found something she loved." I am sure you did even though I can't remember what. I can remember scouring the city streets looking for a fax machine, for something, and you trying to charm the poor bank teller into letting you use theirs. You are shameless (and brave). That is the same day we came home exhausted and frozen and you whipped me up your wonderful biscotti while I laid in bed. It was a good day. One to always remember.
Really though things are generally good I just have this gloom hanging in my heart that I can't seem to kick. Tonight I pulled out my scriptures but decided to go for a General Conference talk instead. I had one of those "flipped to the right page" moments. I turned to this talk. I wanted to share the first story with you:
At the end of a particularly tiring day toward the end of my first week as a General Authority, my briefcase was overloaded and my mind was preoccupied with the question “How can I possibly do this?” I left the office of the Seventy and entered the elevator of the Church Administration Building. As the elevator descended, my head was down and I stared blankly at the floor.
The door opened and someone entered, but I didn’t look up. As the door closed, I heard someone ask, “What are you looking at down there?” I recognized that voice—it was President Thomas S. Monson.
I quickly looked up and responded, “Oh, nothing.” (I’m sure that clever response inspired confidence in my abilities!)
But he had seen my subdued countenance and my heavy briefcase. He smiled and lovingly suggested, while pointing heavenward, “It is better to look up!” As we traveled down one more level, he cheerfully explained that he was on his way to the temple. When he bid me farewell, his parting glance spoke again to my heart, “Now, remember, it is better to look up.”
As we parted, the words of a scripture came to mind: “Believe in God; believe that he is … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth.”1 As I thought of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s power, my heart found the comfort I had sought in vain from the floor of that descending elevator.
I know when you were going through hard times I would send you links and clips from some of my favorite talks. Then you would write back about how you felt about them. I remember the last one I sent you was by Elder Uchtdorf called, "Forget Me Not". It is my favorite talk and you shared with me what it meant to you and how you had put its principles to use in your life, so I thought it was my turn to share with you.I love this story and it has stuck with me since General Conference. I thought it wonderful then when I read it tonight and it was just the answer to my prayer that I needed. I realized something. I am very much like that man. I have my "briefcase full". I am doing my business and going about my life. I am doing what is required of me and trying to move forward. However, I realized tonight that I often spend my time "look at the ground". I am just trying so hard to push through that I forget where I can receive real strength from. Not just "enough" strength to get through but the strength to live, learn and thrive like I am meant to. In one part he says,
Why is it a challenge to consistently look up in our lives? Perhaps we lack the faith that such a simple act can solve our problems. For example, when the children of Israel were bitten by poisonous serpents, Moses was commanded to raise up a brass serpent on a pole. The brass serpent represented Christ. Those who looked up at the serpent, as admonished by the prophet, were healed.4 But many others failed to look up, and they perished.5
I don't feel as though I am perishing but I also realized I am not thriving. I hope that you are watching over all of us and maybe giving me just a second of your time every now and then. Maybe you helped me find this talk that I needed so much. Carrying on our tradition.
I hope someday I can go to that store and walk those streets and it can be a place to enjoy and remember. It is difficult to have every thought of you hurt. Especially because in reality you always brought joy wherever you went.
I know that this life isn't the end. I know we have trials to learn from them and that is sincerely what I am trying to do. I know you are okay. I think you miss your girls, your husband, your family and friends, but I know you. I know your perspective is great. It was that way when you were here and I am certain it has broadened even more. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Day 12
Dear Melynda,
I think the greatest challenge we ever faced in our relationship was me growing up. When I was younger I gladly let you assume the mother roll. You cared for me and gave me advice. In some of my most desperate and hardest times I knew I could always confide in you. When I was going to junior high and high school in Northern Utah I would often become so homesick for you I would be shipped down to spend the weekend with you and Dave whenever possible. I would always come back feeling better about life in general. I can't say I remember any grandiose reception I just remember being with you, being loved and cared about, being trusted, and having lots of fun. When we were with you you and Dave's life pretty much revolved around me, Cameron, and Jay.
Then I got older, I got married, and had children. This was so hard. I actually think it is probably similar to what most mother and daughters go through in their own relationships but it was more complicated because our wasn't legitimate. It was just something we had made up and made do with all our lives. I remember one day you and I having a disagreement. Afterward I fiercely apologized but I knew that you were still upset. Well we did what all sister do when the fight and we didn't talk to each other for half the day. I was frustrated because I didn't want it to be that way between us. The big moment for me came when you came to me later wrapped your arms around me in a big hug and said, "I am sorry! I should have accepted your apology the moment you said it." I then went on to say that it was my fault and I am sorry again and again. I just remember that feeling of elation. It was the first time I had felt like you spoke to me not just as a little sister/daughter but as an equal. Like we had both finally come to a point in our lives where we were on the same page wife, mother, adults. So that day in Grandma's driveway the day I felt like you began to see me differently.
Thinking of this argument today not only brought back memories of that day in a good light but also the fact that I wasted half of that precious day fighting with you. Today has also become a day of regret. I am not above regret. I used to believe in the saying, "live without regret". Now I realize not only is that impossible but it also, in my opinion, can come with a feeling of arrogance. I live with regrets because I have made mistakes in my life. There are things I wish I had done differently. I wish I would have called more. Made you answer your phone just so you could tell me to stop calling. I wish I would have hugged you tighter that last time I saw you and made it a memorable good bye. I wish I would have understood your trials better. I wish I would have caught your zest and love for creating. Which I now feeling you are showering down on me each day. I wish I would have written down all you marvelous recipes, especially the ones you created. Now it burns inside every time I want to make something of yours but I can't call ask you for it. I wish I would have never said a word that brought you pain or made you feel less than you are. But I have done all those things and so I live with regret. I do realize that living without regret is impossible. Did I know you were going to die?..No! Did I think you had forever to teach me to sew and create and love it as much as you did?...Yes! Did I honestly believe I had a life time to learn all you secret recipes and cook just like you?...Yes! I honestly believed that we would be two old ladies with houses right next door to each other sitting in our rocking chairs talking about all our neighbors and "kids these days". I expected to have days and days of sewing quilts and cooking all of Grandma Rousell's and Grandma Smith's recipes. I think we had even agreed to do all those things. We had hoped that after spending all these years living on opposite sides of the continent that we would get houses right next to each other. We had decided if we had a life time of our hubbies moving us around. We would choose where we ended up...a very well though out argument, if they did protest, I thought.
What I do hope, and what I think you would want, is that I have learned to take advantage of the moments I am given. I do my best to relish my most important relationships and people. I know that you are...probably....not the last loved who will slip away before I do so I am trying to learn from my regrets. I am trying to cherish what I have and giving space and time to what I will miss most should that person be gone soon.
My heat squeezes at that phrase, "miss most". As I am trying to desperately discern, remember, and pull every memory of you from my mind so I can freeze it forever in words. I am learning not only that it is ginormous task but that it can't all be put to words. I can't say all I miss because so much of it is intangible. I didn't know that the mere fact of you not existing in this world would bring so much pain. That leaves everything else out. Just that idea hurts so much. With that in mind I realize I won't ever be done recording your memories because so many I can't recount in words completely or they may take time to do. I do know that you were a great person and a great sister. I feel lucky to have someone to look up to. I feel blessed that you left this life with a testimony of Jesus Christ. It brings so much peace. I know I will see you again. What a day that will be. I can't wait to see you run. That gives us all hope and something to look forward to. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
I think the greatest challenge we ever faced in our relationship was me growing up. When I was younger I gladly let you assume the mother roll. You cared for me and gave me advice. In some of my most desperate and hardest times I knew I could always confide in you. When I was going to junior high and high school in Northern Utah I would often become so homesick for you I would be shipped down to spend the weekend with you and Dave whenever possible. I would always come back feeling better about life in general. I can't say I remember any grandiose reception I just remember being with you, being loved and cared about, being trusted, and having lots of fun. When we were with you you and Dave's life pretty much revolved around me, Cameron, and Jay.
Then I got older, I got married, and had children. This was so hard. I actually think it is probably similar to what most mother and daughters go through in their own relationships but it was more complicated because our wasn't legitimate. It was just something we had made up and made do with all our lives. I remember one day you and I having a disagreement. Afterward I fiercely apologized but I knew that you were still upset. Well we did what all sister do when the fight and we didn't talk to each other for half the day. I was frustrated because I didn't want it to be that way between us. The big moment for me came when you came to me later wrapped your arms around me in a big hug and said, "I am sorry! I should have accepted your apology the moment you said it." I then went on to say that it was my fault and I am sorry again and again. I just remember that feeling of elation. It was the first time I had felt like you spoke to me not just as a little sister/daughter but as an equal. Like we had both finally come to a point in our lives where we were on the same page wife, mother, adults. So that day in Grandma's driveway the day I felt like you began to see me differently.
Thinking of this argument today not only brought back memories of that day in a good light but also the fact that I wasted half of that precious day fighting with you. Today has also become a day of regret. I am not above regret. I used to believe in the saying, "live without regret". Now I realize not only is that impossible but it also, in my opinion, can come with a feeling of arrogance. I live with regrets because I have made mistakes in my life. There are things I wish I had done differently. I wish I would have called more. Made you answer your phone just so you could tell me to stop calling. I wish I would have hugged you tighter that last time I saw you and made it a memorable good bye. I wish I would have understood your trials better. I wish I would have caught your zest and love for creating. Which I now feeling you are showering down on me each day. I wish I would have written down all you marvelous recipes, especially the ones you created. Now it burns inside every time I want to make something of yours but I can't call ask you for it. I wish I would have never said a word that brought you pain or made you feel less than you are. But I have done all those things and so I live with regret. I do realize that living without regret is impossible. Did I know you were going to die?..No! Did I think you had forever to teach me to sew and create and love it as much as you did?...Yes! Did I honestly believe I had a life time to learn all you secret recipes and cook just like you?...Yes! I honestly believed that we would be two old ladies with houses right next door to each other sitting in our rocking chairs talking about all our neighbors and "kids these days". I expected to have days and days of sewing quilts and cooking all of Grandma Rousell's and Grandma Smith's recipes. I think we had even agreed to do all those things. We had hoped that after spending all these years living on opposite sides of the continent that we would get houses right next to each other. We had decided if we had a life time of our hubbies moving us around. We would choose where we ended up...a very well though out argument, if they did protest, I thought.
What I do hope, and what I think you would want, is that I have learned to take advantage of the moments I am given. I do my best to relish my most important relationships and people. I know that you are...probably....not the last loved who will slip away before I do so I am trying to learn from my regrets. I am trying to cherish what I have and giving space and time to what I will miss most should that person be gone soon.
My heat squeezes at that phrase, "miss most". As I am trying to desperately discern, remember, and pull every memory of you from my mind so I can freeze it forever in words. I am learning not only that it is ginormous task but that it can't all be put to words. I can't say all I miss because so much of it is intangible. I didn't know that the mere fact of you not existing in this world would bring so much pain. That leaves everything else out. Just that idea hurts so much. With that in mind I realize I won't ever be done recording your memories because so many I can't recount in words completely or they may take time to do. I do know that you were a great person and a great sister. I feel lucky to have someone to look up to. I feel blessed that you left this life with a testimony of Jesus Christ. It brings so much peace. I know I will see you again. What a day that will be. I can't wait to see you run. That gives us all hope and something to look forward to. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Day 11
Dear Melynda,
At the risk of being redundant I wanted to sharing something similar today about a conversation I had with Kate. I was trying to explain to her why we can't be mean to people and how kindness is always the way. (I could write a whole post on your philosophy of kindness as well.) Well she didn't like this. We were talking about a friend in particular and she said, "mom I just have a hard time with her and it is just too hard to be nice." Well I was a little stuck I wasn't quite sure where to go with that. I am okay with my child having weakness but how do I teach her that we don't just roll over and say "die" when it is hard. Well since you are my favorite topic of choice right now a wonderful and tender story popped into my head.
I related to Kate about after you had your stroke. You were unable to use half your body and if that wasn't bad enough you were in a wheel chair because of your previous injury. I explained to her that you had a choice to make. You could either stay in your wheelchair and never get better or you could choose to get better. (I remember you telling me of one lady who went to therapy after a stroke and who was your age. She quite after a few weeks and never went back. She will always be paralyzed.) I then explained that getting better wasn't easy. It was painful, it was hard work, and it even made you cry... a lot sometimes...with discouragement. I told her even though it was hard work you did it because you knew it was worth it. I then told her the story about how you told the doctors you were going to be walking again by you 30th birthday. They said there was no way. They said you would be lucky to be up out of your wheel chair in therapy by that time. It was only 9 months after your stroke and accident. But you had made up your mind and you did it on crutches. You were so proud.
I remember two very emotional phone calls of accomplishment I received from you. The first time it is when you opened and closed your hand for the first time without help. I knew it was huge. I knew how much you had payed in pain for each nerve you had to regrow to get your hand to move again. You were elate and I took joy in the simpleness of the blessing you had recieved. I NEVER look at my hand and rejoice that I can open and close it. Now I often find myself caught up in that simple act.
The second was when you took your first step on crutches. You had wanted to be completely walking by April. We wouldn't find out for another year you would never walk on your own again. Those first steps meant so much for you. Crutches were such a blessing. You felt so free and more able to move around and care for your girls. I remember how much it broke my heart when you would go into your girls room to put them to bed but your wheel chair couldn't get in all the way so you would have to stay at the door way and tell them good night. You could never go lay by them, or help pick out their clothes and when they shoved all their dirty clothes into the corner of the room you would never know. That would be every teenagers dream though. :)
Thanks for being someone I can tell my daughter to look up. I know she loves you and she really felt your love so the stories I tell her about you really matter. You are a great sister. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
At the risk of being redundant I wanted to sharing something similar today about a conversation I had with Kate. I was trying to explain to her why we can't be mean to people and how kindness is always the way. (I could write a whole post on your philosophy of kindness as well.) Well she didn't like this. We were talking about a friend in particular and she said, "mom I just have a hard time with her and it is just too hard to be nice." Well I was a little stuck I wasn't quite sure where to go with that. I am okay with my child having weakness but how do I teach her that we don't just roll over and say "die" when it is hard. Well since you are my favorite topic of choice right now a wonderful and tender story popped into my head.
I related to Kate about after you had your stroke. You were unable to use half your body and if that wasn't bad enough you were in a wheel chair because of your previous injury. I explained to her that you had a choice to make. You could either stay in your wheelchair and never get better or you could choose to get better. (I remember you telling me of one lady who went to therapy after a stroke and who was your age. She quite after a few weeks and never went back. She will always be paralyzed.) I then explained that getting better wasn't easy. It was painful, it was hard work, and it even made you cry... a lot sometimes...with discouragement. I told her even though it was hard work you did it because you knew it was worth it. I then told her the story about how you told the doctors you were going to be walking again by you 30th birthday. They said there was no way. They said you would be lucky to be up out of your wheel chair in therapy by that time. It was only 9 months after your stroke and accident. But you had made up your mind and you did it on crutches. You were so proud.
I remember two very emotional phone calls of accomplishment I received from you. The first time it is when you opened and closed your hand for the first time without help. I knew it was huge. I knew how much you had payed in pain for each nerve you had to regrow to get your hand to move again. You were elate and I took joy in the simpleness of the blessing you had recieved. I NEVER look at my hand and rejoice that I can open and close it. Now I often find myself caught up in that simple act.
The second was when you took your first step on crutches. You had wanted to be completely walking by April. We wouldn't find out for another year you would never walk on your own again. Those first steps meant so much for you. Crutches were such a blessing. You felt so free and more able to move around and care for your girls. I remember how much it broke my heart when you would go into your girls room to put them to bed but your wheel chair couldn't get in all the way so you would have to stay at the door way and tell them good night. You could never go lay by them, or help pick out their clothes and when they shoved all their dirty clothes into the corner of the room you would never know. That would be every teenagers dream though. :)
Thanks for being someone I can tell my daughter to look up. I know she loves you and she really felt your love so the stories I tell her about you really matter. You are a great sister. I miss you. I love you!
Love, Lar
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