First I wanted to thank everyone who has been so kind to me and shown your support. I appreciate your comments, your texts and emails and your prayers. I am grateful to be surrounded and cared for by good people.
I could not do it without the verbal, tangible, emotional and spiritual support of dear friends and thoughtful family members.
Thank you all.
So.... I have always loved to read.
When I was a little girl I would spend hours reading books. I read after school, late into the night and for hours at a time on summer days. Books to me have always been a gateway to different experiences, new frontiers, and uncharted emotions. I love a good book and am usually more happy to read than to watch something on a screen.
Thankfully, our girls love to read too and will choose to sit and read after school, on the weekend or at bedtime. They love books. One of our Phoenix friends once told me a darling story. He and his wife had offered to watch the kids to Jake and I could go to a Sun's game (with their tickets) and were charged with putting the girls to bed. They followed the routine which outlined that the girls could read for 30 minutes before turning out the light. Our friend commented that when he went in to enforce the lights out rule, the girls begged to keep reading and he was at a crossroads of what to do. He knew they needed sleep, but found it unusual that they were begging to read with the same intensity as if they were begging for candy. He found it hard to tell a child "stop reading" when generally reading is a good thing for kids to do.
I love that we are a reading family.
Understandably, my ability to read over the last few years has diminished drastically. Reading is a pleasure for a more stable lifestyle and having hours to read has not been a luxury I've enjoyed as much as I used to.
So as I have found a few more free hours in the day I have been able to spend more time reading and wanted to share some of my thoughts about books.
1. I love the public library
Both Phoenix and Provo have wonderful public libraries and we try and take full advantage of them. Our Phoenix house was only a quarter mile away from a library branch and the girls and I would walk there weekly (in the winter...drive in the summer) to get books.
When at the library we check out a LOT of books.
Usually 50-60 at one time.
We keep them for several weeks and that seems to give the kids time to work through their pile. Especially when they were little and Jake and I were reading to them, we would tire of reading the SAME books over and over so we got new books often to add some variety to story time at night.
I think the same thing is true for children. If you only have a few books at home, and your kids have read them all, they will need new material or else they will get bored with reading. Since I don't want to buy a hundred dollars worth of books each month, I can check them out for free each week at the library.
I know what you might be thinking...if you check out 50 books some will get lost!
That is true and has happened to us at least once a year.
However, we usually keep the books in the same place so we know where to find them and I consider the cost of replacing one or two lost books a year to be a nominal expense for the trove of books the kids have had access to and been able to read during that time.
So even paying $50.00 a year to replace several lost books seems very reasonable to me to have had access to over 600 books in that same time.
2. I love audiobooks
This goes without saying- audiobooks are awesome and allow you to have all the advantages of reading while having your hands free.
I have a giant yard with tons of garden beds (topic for another day...not ideal for a widow) and as I've tried to start pruning I've had an audiobook going to help keep my mind occupied. Our library checks them out on a system called overdrive, but you can also get audiobooks as CDs or through subscription services such as audible.
I like to play an audiobook on a road trip as well. The kids and I get engrossed in books as we drive and Jake and I commonly checked out an audiobook for our drive to and from Phoenix to Utah. It gave us something to do with the time, taught us new ideas, and inspired great conversations about the things we listened to.
3. I love good writing
This is hard to describe but I love to read good writing. Words that move me, stories with problems to resolve, sentences with correct grammar and structure, and language that is descriptive and beautiful. Good writing.
I think good writing fits the saying "you know it when you read it."
I love finding authors who write well and find myself drawn to their stories as their words elicit my imagination, my heart and my mind in their tales. Good writing pulls you away from reality and allows you an escape into another world.
In this vein I have loved using the website Goodreads.com to share book ideas with friends and family. It is a tool that allows you to share books you've read, that you want to read and that you are currently reading with your friends and rate them and write a review. I have several friends who appreciate good writing and I can count on their recommendations to provide me with my next good read.
4. I love book clubs
I belonged to the best book club in the world in Phoenix and miss attending with those dear friends each month. It was a book club where one thing always happened- people actually read the book!
I know, surprise, surprise, but there are enough "book clubs" out there that are a disguise for a women's night out with the pretense of talking about a book where few people actually even cracked the cover. Don't get me wrong- I LOVE those kind of girls night out and talking opportunities, but in my mind calling something a book club necessitates the reading of the book.
Our book club met in the day and it was one thing I participated in that served just to fill my cup. I had to find babysitters for our kids for years to be able to attend, but it was such a boost to my mind that Jake regularly encouraged me to do whatever I needed to do to make my attendance possible.
We would start our meeting with someone giving a bio of the author and talking about their background. Then for the next hour or so another person would have a prepared list of discussion questions about the book and we would have the most wonderful conversations about the characters, plot and takeaways from that particular read. Then we'd end with a pot-luck luncheon where we had time to gab and share about our families and it was always the perfect way to spend a morning.
I have been warmly invited to attend a co-ed book club here in Provo over the last year and have really loved this new book club experience. People come prepared to discuss the book and there is usually some sort of refreshment and I enjoy the interaction and stimulation that comes from participating with this new group of friends.
Book clubs are also great because they expand your reading repertoire by exposing you to books you might not read on your own. They also ensue discussion and collaboration about the things you learned during the read and are an enriching way to connect with other people.
So that's my take on books.
I just finished listening to one of my ALL TIME favorite books.
These is my Words.
Oh it is such a wonderful, compelling, inspiring and raw story. I was in tears listening to it again and could relate SO much to the main character's feelings and relationship with her spouse.
It's a good one. I highly recommend it.
Books.
I love them. I learn from them. I escape in them. And I am so grateful for them.
Thursday, March 22
Sunday, March 11
Jesus wept
There is no adequate way to write this post.
I know from the outset that even though you will read these words and feel for their meaning, they cannot be understood until becoming a widow or a widower is your own experience. They will not make sense until you live them. I know that because it happened to me.
I thought I was prepared for Jake's death.
We knew that he had a terminal disease and for 2 years and 3 months I lived with the prospect of his passing constantly. It tortured my heart and soul and was something I had to work on in therapy, in prayer, in faith, in submission so that I could even cope with the possibility of it.
And in those years, although I dreaded his death with my whole being, I also changed and became willing to accept it if that was God's plan for our family.
You all know what happened.
In March of 2016 Jake had a shunt surgery, which afterward revealed that the cancer cells had diffused in his brain to now the right hemisphere (they had previously only been on the left side) as well as the brain stem and he would only have a few months to live.
And on April 23, 2016 Jacob died.
For the next many months I was in the honeymoon phase of grief and from different people I have talked to I think this is a common experience.
You are given an uncommon strength- a peace from heaven as you face the immediate aftermath of the passing of your loved one. You are comforted by memories with them and the love and kindness and thoughtfulness of people around you is overflowing. You are sort of in a haze and not even capable mentally, emotionally or physically of grasping the reality of what has happened to your life. It is probably that way by design.
But then time marches on and inevitably the honeymoon phase is over.
And your descent into grief begins.
For me that started to happen in earnest almost 5 months after Jake died and remained relatively constant until, for the first time, I've experienced a small reprieve these last two months. And even though I can sense the beginning of healing inside of me, it is and will definitely still be a touch and go, an up and down, a roller coaster ride sort of experience.
There are several things I hope to share about what you experience and what you learn as you mourn the passing of your spouse. I am just beginning to find the words- to find expression for the things I have been feeling for the last two years. And I imagine that the passing of time will continue to reveal more about the grieving experience and help me understand things I was going through that initially I could not even identify, explain or characterize in any way.
1. You lose your identity
I was speaking to a dear friend last week and she said that after her husband died she felt like she lost her confidence. Similarly, my experience has been that I have completely lost my sense of identity- I do not know who I am anymore, I do not know what I like, I do not know what brings me joy, I do not know what my future holds, I do not know how and where I fit in.
I have a new appreciation for all that marriage does to benefit, strengthen, define and bless two people as individuals who come together as one. Marriage is a literal coming together in EVERY possible way. And oh how Jake and I loved being married to each other. You physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually bond and blend yourself with another being and really have no idea of the depth of that relationship until it is severed and you are left as just one half of a whole.
It is upending and infuses every aspect of your way of life and functioning.
No wonder some widows/widowers go crazy. They make bad decisions. They are irreparably changed. They stop living. They are not themselves. They are lost.
This is almost impossible to see from the outside and does not make logical sense.
To anyone looking in, I usually appear to be "doing well," I have remained functional and I appear to be the Jordan I have always been to them. I think most widows retain some level of functionality during this mourning period. Especially those with small children. It is not possible to cry all the time and never get out of your bed. Kids need breakfast every day.
And there is comfort in doing things that require no emotional effort, that are innate, that are rote. So grocery shopping, loading dishes, moving laundry, and reading bedtime stories continue and are a gift of normality when your heart and mind are in turmoil.
But because I cannot be exactly the same Jordan I was when Jacob was alive, because I do not recognize this "new/old" me, because I feel like half of a whole, this feeling of identity loss that is so pervasive and diffuse has been the hardest for me to bear.
2. You go through chemical withdrawals
There was a very interesting talk I listened to in the BYU widow/widowers conference archive where the presenter spoke about the very real dopamine withdrawal you face as an individual who has lost a spouse.
He talked about how when you are married and experiencing a physically intimate relationship you receive dopamine hits many times a day through those sensory experiences. You have someone there to hug and kiss and touch and when that individual is suddenly gone you go through a real period of physical, and dopamine depleted, withdrawal.
I have never been a drug addict, nor even taken a drug in my life, but when I heard this idea it made complete sense to me. I knew what he as talking about.
Some of the effects of dopamine withdrawal are insomnia and sleep difficulties; anxiety, stress and other forms of fear; headaches and stiffness in muscles; fatigue and weakness; depression, despair and other forms of sadness; lack of focus, attention, concentration (brain fog); mood swings; frustration, irritability, annoyance and other forms of anger; flu, nausea, fever and other forms of sickness; desire to avoid socializing.
I can and have felt the reality of that dopamine withdrawal and it adds a very physical layer to the feelings of loss and pain and grief that you are already experiencing.
3. You experience a level of pain you never knew existed
One of the most startling things that I felt around the five month mark after Jake's death was the immensity of the pain- it was pain that I had no previous experience with and that was so shocking in its force, its depth and its complete control over my mind and heart.
And those first many experiences with this new magnitude of pain are terrifying.
You do not know if you will make it out. You feel encompassed about by its darkness. You do not know if it will ever end.
I was describing it to someone like this- that the hardest thing about that kind of pain is that you do now know where the bottom is. It feels like being thrown into a lake with a weight tied around your feet and you are sinking and sinking and sinking and only want to bottom out, but have no idea where (or more terrifyingly IF) there is a bottom.
I have a new friend who has said that she has rarely seen me cry. I think other people I interact with may say the same thing. I have thought about this and realized that I often don't cry- that sobbing, uncontrollable, body heaving cry in front of other people because when it first started it was so unsettling for me that I did not dare to let it out when I had no idea what would happen. How long it would go on or if I could even recover in the presence of another person. Jake saw me in that state a few times before his death and it was very hard for him to witness because he felt powerless to help. I have also learned that at times the depth of these feelings surpasses tears. It is an internal pain that sometimes cannot even be expressed through weeping or other times it takes weeks for feelings to process before they can even be cried out. It is all part of plumbing the depths of grief and pain.
I wrote about this kind of experience over a year ago. Even re-reading it brings back the reality of those feelings and the raw nature of that pain. I can say that time does help and time does heal. Not that the intensity of the experience is any less painful when it comes, but it does come with less frequency- the waves lengthen out and you start to have moments of peace in between each painful spell. You also become familiar with the pain and it is neither so shocking nor so startling as it was when it was new.
The pain is what you cannot anticipate, you cannot pre-determine, you cannot be prepared for even if you know your loved one will die. My mom lost her father when she was 28 and was acquainted with this sort of pain. I remember a conversation with her shortly after Jake died where she expressed her sorrow at the pain me and the kids would experience. At the time I could not understand that she was talking about. I did not know what that sort of pain felt like. Only after having experienced it can I understand why her heart was sorrowing for us. Why we all sorrow for those who have lost a loved one. The pain is unimaginable.
4. You understand the finality of death.
In the honeymoon phase of grieving you are incredibly comforted with the knowledge that the spirit of your loved one is still there, that they continue to exist and that you can live as a family unit with them again eternally. This doctrine is an especially comforting assurance found in the LDS church. If you want to learn more about these beliefs CLICK HERE.
I can say that overarching my grief is the knowledge I have gained through the witness of the Holy Ghost that because of Jesus Christ, the resurrection is a reality for Jacob, and for everyone who has ever lived and died on the earth. Because of that gift I will be with my beloved husband again.
However, the blessing of the resurrection seems very very very far away while the reality of death is part of my daily life.
Death is real.
It is final and it changes everything. It has no antidote and it lasts for the rest of your mortal life. Death stings.
And until someone you love has died you almost cannot comprehend the shocking finality of it.
I have come to appreciate a story from the New Testament that sheds light on the truth of this painful experience.
It is the story of Lazarus.
It is the story where Jesus wept.
The record of John states that the sisters of Lazarus sent unto Jesus, notifying him that Lazarus was sick. But instead of coming hastily he abode two more days where he was while Lazarus died. Finally, the Savior starts his journey to Bethany to see his friends Mary and Martha and Lazarus, whom he loved.
Upon hearing that Jesus was coming, Martha ran to him and testified that while she knew he could have saved her brother, she still believes that He is the Son of God and that whatever He asks God will give it to Him. Christ testifies that He is the resurrection and the life and Martha goes to find Mary.
She tells Mary that the Master is come and He is calling for her. Mary comes to where Jesus is and seeing him, falls down at his feet weeping and says "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." And when He sees her- Mary whom he loves weeping, and the Jews that were with her also weeping the record states "he groaned in the spirit and was troubled" and said "Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see."
And so it is that Jesus, himself hurting and surrounded by those he loves who are wounded, who are in pain, who are mourning the death of his and their beloved friend makes his way with them to the place where Lazarus was laid.
And Jesus wept.
He wept.
He did not tell them it would be ok. He did not wonder why they were struggling. He did not ask them to remember the plan or consider the big picture or promise that families can be together forever.
Jesus wept.
That one verse speaks volumes to anyone who has ever looked upon their loved one in death. To anyone who has ever felt the sting. To anyone who ever weeps and hurts and mourns death's blow.
You do not weep alone.
The Savior of the world weeps with you. He sees and feels and knows of this pain- the pain of the sting of death- and He cries with you.
I know because He has cried with me.
Even though Jesus knew what He would do- that in the coming moments He would raise Lazarus from the dead- He still groaned for the aching pain of death that must come before the glorious reality of life.
And if He can weep and groan and feel troubled then so can we. Death is painful and Christ knows it. He knows it and felt it and feels it now.
I am so grateful for Jesus.
For the Word made flesh, who came and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.
He does, so completely, understand. He has felt what we feel. He stands ready to succor us. He descended below. He is the resurrection and the life.
And He wept.
I know from the outset that even though you will read these words and feel for their meaning, they cannot be understood until becoming a widow or a widower is your own experience. They will not make sense until you live them. I know that because it happened to me.
I thought I was prepared for Jake's death.
We knew that he had a terminal disease and for 2 years and 3 months I lived with the prospect of his passing constantly. It tortured my heart and soul and was something I had to work on in therapy, in prayer, in faith, in submission so that I could even cope with the possibility of it.
And in those years, although I dreaded his death with my whole being, I also changed and became willing to accept it if that was God's plan for our family.
You all know what happened.
In March of 2016 Jake had a shunt surgery, which afterward revealed that the cancer cells had diffused in his brain to now the right hemisphere (they had previously only been on the left side) as well as the brain stem and he would only have a few months to live.
And on April 23, 2016 Jacob died.
For the next many months I was in the honeymoon phase of grief and from different people I have talked to I think this is a common experience.
You are given an uncommon strength- a peace from heaven as you face the immediate aftermath of the passing of your loved one. You are comforted by memories with them and the love and kindness and thoughtfulness of people around you is overflowing. You are sort of in a haze and not even capable mentally, emotionally or physically of grasping the reality of what has happened to your life. It is probably that way by design.
But then time marches on and inevitably the honeymoon phase is over.
And your descent into grief begins.
For me that started to happen in earnest almost 5 months after Jake died and remained relatively constant until, for the first time, I've experienced a small reprieve these last two months. And even though I can sense the beginning of healing inside of me, it is and will definitely still be a touch and go, an up and down, a roller coaster ride sort of experience.
There are several things I hope to share about what you experience and what you learn as you mourn the passing of your spouse. I am just beginning to find the words- to find expression for the things I have been feeling for the last two years. And I imagine that the passing of time will continue to reveal more about the grieving experience and help me understand things I was going through that initially I could not even identify, explain or characterize in any way.
1. You lose your identity
I was speaking to a dear friend last week and she said that after her husband died she felt like she lost her confidence. Similarly, my experience has been that I have completely lost my sense of identity- I do not know who I am anymore, I do not know what I like, I do not know what brings me joy, I do not know what my future holds, I do not know how and where I fit in.
I have a new appreciation for all that marriage does to benefit, strengthen, define and bless two people as individuals who come together as one. Marriage is a literal coming together in EVERY possible way. And oh how Jake and I loved being married to each other. You physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually bond and blend yourself with another being and really have no idea of the depth of that relationship until it is severed and you are left as just one half of a whole.
It is upending and infuses every aspect of your way of life and functioning.
No wonder some widows/widowers go crazy. They make bad decisions. They are irreparably changed. They stop living. They are not themselves. They are lost.
This is almost impossible to see from the outside and does not make logical sense.
To anyone looking in, I usually appear to be "doing well," I have remained functional and I appear to be the Jordan I have always been to them. I think most widows retain some level of functionality during this mourning period. Especially those with small children. It is not possible to cry all the time and never get out of your bed. Kids need breakfast every day.
And there is comfort in doing things that require no emotional effort, that are innate, that are rote. So grocery shopping, loading dishes, moving laundry, and reading bedtime stories continue and are a gift of normality when your heart and mind are in turmoil.
But because I cannot be exactly the same Jordan I was when Jacob was alive, because I do not recognize this "new/old" me, because I feel like half of a whole, this feeling of identity loss that is so pervasive and diffuse has been the hardest for me to bear.
2. You go through chemical withdrawals
There was a very interesting talk I listened to in the BYU widow/widowers conference archive where the presenter spoke about the very real dopamine withdrawal you face as an individual who has lost a spouse.
He talked about how when you are married and experiencing a physically intimate relationship you receive dopamine hits many times a day through those sensory experiences. You have someone there to hug and kiss and touch and when that individual is suddenly gone you go through a real period of physical, and dopamine depleted, withdrawal.
I have never been a drug addict, nor even taken a drug in my life, but when I heard this idea it made complete sense to me. I knew what he as talking about.
Some of the effects of dopamine withdrawal are insomnia and sleep difficulties; anxiety, stress and other forms of fear; headaches and stiffness in muscles; fatigue and weakness; depression, despair and other forms of sadness; lack of focus, attention, concentration (brain fog); mood swings; frustration, irritability, annoyance and other forms of anger; flu, nausea, fever and other forms of sickness; desire to avoid socializing.
I can and have felt the reality of that dopamine withdrawal and it adds a very physical layer to the feelings of loss and pain and grief that you are already experiencing.
3. You experience a level of pain you never knew existed
One of the most startling things that I felt around the five month mark after Jake's death was the immensity of the pain- it was pain that I had no previous experience with and that was so shocking in its force, its depth and its complete control over my mind and heart.
And those first many experiences with this new magnitude of pain are terrifying.
You do not know if you will make it out. You feel encompassed about by its darkness. You do not know if it will ever end.
I was describing it to someone like this- that the hardest thing about that kind of pain is that you do now know where the bottom is. It feels like being thrown into a lake with a weight tied around your feet and you are sinking and sinking and sinking and only want to bottom out, but have no idea where (or more terrifyingly IF) there is a bottom.
I have a new friend who has said that she has rarely seen me cry. I think other people I interact with may say the same thing. I have thought about this and realized that I often don't cry- that sobbing, uncontrollable, body heaving cry in front of other people because when it first started it was so unsettling for me that I did not dare to let it out when I had no idea what would happen. How long it would go on or if I could even recover in the presence of another person. Jake saw me in that state a few times before his death and it was very hard for him to witness because he felt powerless to help. I have also learned that at times the depth of these feelings surpasses tears. It is an internal pain that sometimes cannot even be expressed through weeping or other times it takes weeks for feelings to process before they can even be cried out. It is all part of plumbing the depths of grief and pain.
I wrote about this kind of experience over a year ago. Even re-reading it brings back the reality of those feelings and the raw nature of that pain. I can say that time does help and time does heal. Not that the intensity of the experience is any less painful when it comes, but it does come with less frequency- the waves lengthen out and you start to have moments of peace in between each painful spell. You also become familiar with the pain and it is neither so shocking nor so startling as it was when it was new.
The pain is what you cannot anticipate, you cannot pre-determine, you cannot be prepared for even if you know your loved one will die. My mom lost her father when she was 28 and was acquainted with this sort of pain. I remember a conversation with her shortly after Jake died where she expressed her sorrow at the pain me and the kids would experience. At the time I could not understand that she was talking about. I did not know what that sort of pain felt like. Only after having experienced it can I understand why her heart was sorrowing for us. Why we all sorrow for those who have lost a loved one. The pain is unimaginable.
4. You understand the finality of death.
In the honeymoon phase of grieving you are incredibly comforted with the knowledge that the spirit of your loved one is still there, that they continue to exist and that you can live as a family unit with them again eternally. This doctrine is an especially comforting assurance found in the LDS church. If you want to learn more about these beliefs CLICK HERE.
I can say that overarching my grief is the knowledge I have gained through the witness of the Holy Ghost that because of Jesus Christ, the resurrection is a reality for Jacob, and for everyone who has ever lived and died on the earth. Because of that gift I will be with my beloved husband again.
However, the blessing of the resurrection seems very very very far away while the reality of death is part of my daily life.
Death is real.
It is final and it changes everything. It has no antidote and it lasts for the rest of your mortal life. Death stings.
And until someone you love has died you almost cannot comprehend the shocking finality of it.
I have come to appreciate a story from the New Testament that sheds light on the truth of this painful experience.
It is the story of Lazarus.
It is the story where Jesus wept.
The record of John states that the sisters of Lazarus sent unto Jesus, notifying him that Lazarus was sick. But instead of coming hastily he abode two more days where he was while Lazarus died. Finally, the Savior starts his journey to Bethany to see his friends Mary and Martha and Lazarus, whom he loved.
Upon hearing that Jesus was coming, Martha ran to him and testified that while she knew he could have saved her brother, she still believes that He is the Son of God and that whatever He asks God will give it to Him. Christ testifies that He is the resurrection and the life and Martha goes to find Mary.
She tells Mary that the Master is come and He is calling for her. Mary comes to where Jesus is and seeing him, falls down at his feet weeping and says "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." And when He sees her- Mary whom he loves weeping, and the Jews that were with her also weeping the record states "he groaned in the spirit and was troubled" and said "Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see."
And so it is that Jesus, himself hurting and surrounded by those he loves who are wounded, who are in pain, who are mourning the death of his and their beloved friend makes his way with them to the place where Lazarus was laid.
And Jesus wept.
He wept.
He did not tell them it would be ok. He did not wonder why they were struggling. He did not ask them to remember the plan or consider the big picture or promise that families can be together forever.
Jesus wept.
That one verse speaks volumes to anyone who has ever looked upon their loved one in death. To anyone who has ever felt the sting. To anyone who ever weeps and hurts and mourns death's blow.
You do not weep alone.
The Savior of the world weeps with you. He sees and feels and knows of this pain- the pain of the sting of death- and He cries with you.
I know because He has cried with me.
Even though Jesus knew what He would do- that in the coming moments He would raise Lazarus from the dead- He still groaned for the aching pain of death that must come before the glorious reality of life.
And if He can weep and groan and feel troubled then so can we. Death is painful and Christ knows it. He knows it and felt it and feels it now.
I am so grateful for Jesus.
For the Word made flesh, who came and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.
He does, so completely, understand. He has felt what we feel. He stands ready to succor us. He descended below. He is the resurrection and the life.
And He wept.
Thursday, March 8
Many ways to love
I have a dear friend named Susan who did something selfless for me.
She and I served together for three years in our stake (an geographic region of people who attend worship services together) and became good friends in the process.
I love Susan and appreciate the many creative gifts she has, especially her ability to quilt.
Shortly after Jake died, she contacted me and said that she would like to make a quilt out of some of his shirts. I was so grateful for her offer, and as we prepared to move and I sorted through his clothing I chose several of his shirts that had meaning to me. He wore one in a family picture. He loved to go golfing in another. He wore one to church and to the temple. He humored me by wearing one that was sort of unusual. Each held a memory of him and the day before we moved away I took them in a plastic sack to Susan's house.
And then I totally forgot about them.
With the hustle and bustle of moving and getting settled, Ada's broken wrist, kids starting school and then consuming grief, the idea of the shirts and the quilt just left my mind.
But Susan did not forget and was busy at work.
She visited me this last fall (2017) and showed me a picture of the quilt top. I was so surprised and thrilled to see it.
And it is Beautiful. Stunning. Lovely in every way.
I had handed her a very random assortment of shirts. They did not match, or even coordinate and it must have been a trick to figure out how to make them blend together. She told me she looked at different quilting ideas for weeks until she saw a 4 square pattern that she thought would work.
She had to cut the shirts into 2 inch squares.
Two inches.
She carefully cut out elements on the shirts that she knew I would appreciate. A Y from the golf shirt and quail from the unusual one.
And then she sewed each of those squares to another.
Her genius was in using the ombre grey scale as the coordinating fabric and in placing the squares in an ombre pattern. It is modern, classic and brings balance to the random assortment of shirt squares.
When the kids and I returned to Phoenix in December Susan was sewing night and day to get it done. In the rush of the Christmas season she was quilting non-stop for me. She quilted the entire thing and along with her kind daughter and another dear friend Jeri, finished the binding by hand. She texted me the night before we left and said it was ready.
When I pulled up to her house on my way out of town I was so excited to pick it up.
And as she got it out and showed it to me I just started to weep. I looked over the quilt and saw all the time, effort and love that she put into making it and I couldn't believe that she would do that for me. I could sense how much she wanted to soothe my aching heart by giving me a piece of Jake- by preserving these shirts as memories- by making them comforting to me. It was a true labor of love.
I have it on my bed and am so grateful for this visual and comforting reminder of my sweet Jacob that I see and use and appreciate every day. It is a treasure to me.
As I hugged Susan and thanked her for making it she said something important. She said,"I love through quilting."
I have thought a lot about that statement and think that it contains so much truth. We all love in different ways. We each have gifts, abilities, talents, proclivities that enable us to show love to those around us in ways that are individual and personal to us.
And as I considered this truth even more I can see evidences of the many ways that we have been loved as a family and as individuals in these trying years. We have been loved through cooking and baking. We have been loved through hairstyles. We have been loved through organization. We have been loved through babysitting. We have been loved through vacations. We have been loved through flowers. We have been loved through accounting, legal and financial consultations. We have been loved through empathetic conversations. We have been loved through decorating. We have been loved through invitations. We have been loved through prayer.
I am so grateful for our God who, by design, gave us each different gifts. "For all have not every agift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God."
I am grateful to know that to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God. I am grateful that these gifts are different. I am grateful that we can develop our unique gifts and use them to bless the people around us. I can love others in ways that are unique to me and be loved by people who love in ways that are unique to them.
If you're ever around and want to see the quilt I'd love to show it to you.
Thank you Susan for loving me through quilting.
It is a treasured gift.
She and I served together for three years in our stake (an geographic region of people who attend worship services together) and became good friends in the process.
I love Susan and appreciate the many creative gifts she has, especially her ability to quilt.
Shortly after Jake died, she contacted me and said that she would like to make a quilt out of some of his shirts. I was so grateful for her offer, and as we prepared to move and I sorted through his clothing I chose several of his shirts that had meaning to me. He wore one in a family picture. He loved to go golfing in another. He wore one to church and to the temple. He humored me by wearing one that was sort of unusual. Each held a memory of him and the day before we moved away I took them in a plastic sack to Susan's house.
And then I totally forgot about them.
With the hustle and bustle of moving and getting settled, Ada's broken wrist, kids starting school and then consuming grief, the idea of the shirts and the quilt just left my mind.
But Susan did not forget and was busy at work.
She visited me this last fall (2017) and showed me a picture of the quilt top. I was so surprised and thrilled to see it.
And it is Beautiful. Stunning. Lovely in every way.
I had handed her a very random assortment of shirts. They did not match, or even coordinate and it must have been a trick to figure out how to make them blend together. She told me she looked at different quilting ideas for weeks until she saw a 4 square pattern that she thought would work.
She had to cut the shirts into 2 inch squares.
Two inches.
She carefully cut out elements on the shirts that she knew I would appreciate. A Y from the golf shirt and quail from the unusual one.
And then she sewed each of those squares to another.
Her genius was in using the ombre grey scale as the coordinating fabric and in placing the squares in an ombre pattern. It is modern, classic and brings balance to the random assortment of shirt squares.
When the kids and I returned to Phoenix in December Susan was sewing night and day to get it done. In the rush of the Christmas season she was quilting non-stop for me. She quilted the entire thing and along with her kind daughter and another dear friend Jeri, finished the binding by hand. She texted me the night before we left and said it was ready.
When I pulled up to her house on my way out of town I was so excited to pick it up.
And as she got it out and showed it to me I just started to weep. I looked over the quilt and saw all the time, effort and love that she put into making it and I couldn't believe that she would do that for me. I could sense how much she wanted to soothe my aching heart by giving me a piece of Jake- by preserving these shirts as memories- by making them comforting to me. It was a true labor of love.
I have it on my bed and am so grateful for this visual and comforting reminder of my sweet Jacob that I see and use and appreciate every day. It is a treasure to me.
As I hugged Susan and thanked her for making it she said something important. She said,"I love through quilting."
I have thought a lot about that statement and think that it contains so much truth. We all love in different ways. We each have gifts, abilities, talents, proclivities that enable us to show love to those around us in ways that are individual and personal to us.
And as I considered this truth even more I can see evidences of the many ways that we have been loved as a family and as individuals in these trying years. We have been loved through cooking and baking. We have been loved through hairstyles. We have been loved through organization. We have been loved through babysitting. We have been loved through vacations. We have been loved through flowers. We have been loved through accounting, legal and financial consultations. We have been loved through empathetic conversations. We have been loved through decorating. We have been loved through invitations. We have been loved through prayer.
I am so grateful for our God who, by design, gave us each different gifts. "For all have not every agift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God."
I am grateful to know that to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God. I am grateful that these gifts are different. I am grateful that we can develop our unique gifts and use them to bless the people around us. I can love others in ways that are unique to me and be loved by people who love in ways that are unique to them.
If you're ever around and want to see the quilt I'd love to show it to you.
Thank you Susan for loving me through quilting.
It is a treasured gift.
Saturday, March 3
A gift from our children
I wanted to write about something that our dear kids did for me the day after Valentine's day.
I was having a hard time on V-day but did my best to make it a good day for the kids. As children often do, they saw right through me and finally in the afternoon I told them that I was having a sad day and that I missed their Dad. They were so sweet and loving and wrapped their arms around me. I instantly felt better.
Later, as the evening progressed, Ellie and Ada got paper out of my craft closet and went downstairs to "do a craft." I walked in on them and they hurriedly covered whatever it is they had been working on. I didn't think much of it and got them all settled and into bed.
The next morning, February 15, I woke up and heard a sort of soft rustling at my bedroom door. Initially I just thought the kids were playing in the hallway. Several minutes later I heard a knock on the door and little feet running away. I didn't know what to do so I just proceeded to lay in bed. After a few minutes the door drifted open and I could see that it was covered from top to bottom with hearts. I had been heart attacked by my sweet girls and boy, who had set their alarms and woken up at 6:30 am to do it.
I got up with such gratitude and proceeded to read each and every message they wrote to me. Then Ellie beckoned me into the hallway where I saw this sign- and I just started to cry. It said "We love you Mom and so does Dad."
I don't know how he did it- but that little banner was a message straight from Jacob to me. It was a message that Heavenly Father knows that I am here. That He understands my sorrow. That He has not left me alone. And that through Him, Jacob is still able to have influence in our family.
It reminded me that I am loved, currently, completely and eternally by my dear husband.
I know that because I felt it that day through the loving kindness of our children.
I am so grateful for my dear Lauren, Ellie, Ada and Thomas and for their ability to listen to and follow a prompting to serve and help and bless me. They are the dearest little people and teach me so much through their examples.
I am grateful to be their mother.
And I am grateful that they heart-attacked my door and left me just the message I needed that day.
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