Haunted

I am haunted not by ghosts, 

but by the weight of a body that used to be Velcro-d to me, 

my shadow, my constant— 

and then for three months barely touched me, 

as if he was already practicing leaving. 

By thinking I had more time. 

By how quickly that time was stripped away, 

how three months could feel so long 

and still nowhere near enough. 

By watching him decline— 

slow enough to break me daily, 

fast enough to leave me stunned. 

By not sleeping for months, 

listening for breaths, 

counting seconds in the dark. 

I am haunted by the way he breathed 

on that last day— 

every rise a question, every fall a warning 

I didn’t want to hear. 

By the red dot that stayed still. 

By the way he couldn’t play, 

and the way my heart sank 

because I knew what that meant 

before I was ready to admit it. 

By the appointment I made 

with shaking hands and voice, 

putting a time on goodbye, 

choosing a day to end a love 

that never once chose to leave me. 

By having to walk out the door 

to go to a meeting while he was dying, 

the world asking me to be professional 

while my soul stayed home 

on the floor with him. 

By the prayer I cried in the car on the way home, 

pleading with Heavenly Father— 

please don’t make me do this, please— 

and listing everything I loved about my boy 

like it might tip the scales, 

like love might buy us mercy. 

By the ivy. 

By the way he laid down in it, 

the way I reached for him, 

said his name, and felt the moment 

his breath stopped answering me. 

By picking up his limp body, 

holding him while the words fell out of me— 

“oh, bubba”— 

as if saying it enough 

could bring him back inside himself. 

By bringing him home 

one last time. 

By seeing my dad cry more and harder 

than I have ever seen him cry, 

grief breaking through 

places I thought were unbreakable. 

By placing my baby in the ground. 

By the silence afterward. 

By only having Vivien with me that night, 

learning how loud loneliness can be 

when love has nowhere to go. 

By being told a week later 

that Vivien may have cancer too— 

as if grief wasn’t done with me, 

as if it needed to prove it could still take more. 

I am haunted by the thought 

that I could have been better, 

that I should have known more, 

done more, seen it sooner. 

By the quiet voice that asks 

what if I missed something, 

what if loving harder 

could have saved him— 

even when everyone tells me 

I was the best dog mom, 

even when I know 

I gave him everything I had, 

the doubt still lingers, 

soft but relentless, 

loving him the only way I know how— 

by hurting. 

I am haunted by the dreams I had for him— 

him in my wedding photos, 

somehow knowing it mattered, 

standing close like he always did. 

By the picture of him playing with my kids, 

woven into a life he was supposed to be part of. 

He was meant to be there. 

And by the way I wake up 

every day and pretend everything is okay. 

By the way I move through my life 

carrying all of this quietly, 

smiling when I’m expected to, 

functioning while haunted. 

I am haunted 

because I loved completely. 

Because he mattered. 

Because he was my boy. 

And love like that doesn’t leave— 

it stays, even when the body doesn’t. 

Now I look for faint rainbows, 

the kind most people don’t see. 

Not the arched promises 

painted loud across the sky, 

but a soft place in the clouds, 

a barely-there shimmer— 

a quiet spot of color 

he sends just for me. 

I don’t point it out. 

I don’t need proof. 

I just stand there, breathing, 

beautifully haunted 

by the memories of him— 

letting myself believe 

that love can still find me, 

that somehow, he does too.

Until I Remembered

This week is Dementia Action Week. It is a UK holiday, but I recently learned about it at a conference I attended. I think it is valuable to spread awareness. Dementia affects about 10% of adults ages 65+ in the United States. It jumps to about a third of adults who reach 90+. And, the worst statistic yet, those stats are expected to double by 2060 as the population ages. I have watched my grandpa battle this disease. Watching his bright mind literally die slowly over time has been so hard. So, below is something I wrote that I hope helps raise awareness. 

My grandpa used to tell us stories about faraway places, mythical creatures, adventures. His stories would be colored by friends, headless snakes that would swim away, giant roaring animals in the woods, airplane engines exploding, his father going out with 12 bullets but coming back with 13 squirrels, telephone wires going along for miles along beautiful landscape, and palaces he would see from the sky. 

Grandpa would tell us stories...until he forgot. 

Grandpa would wind up his clock. It would chime every fifteen minutes marking the time. At first, when I would spend the night it would keep me awake chiming so often, but over time (ironic, I know), I grew accustomed to it's steady cadence that reminded me so much of the one who cared for it. 

My grandpa would wind up his clock...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would put up his flag each and every day, proud to be an American and represent the country he fought for and served. It would fly high and proud each day in his front yard, its bright colors shining as the sun's rays would shine down and the wind would make it fly. 

My grandpa would fly his flag...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would whistle while he was working or walking or just happy to be around. He would whistle well known tunes or something he made up on the spot. We always knew where he was as he whistled around the corner with his lungs that never seemed to run out of air. 

My grandpa would whistle...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would work all day making things with his hands. Some of the most beautiful pieces came out of his shed, but memories were made there as well. When he wasn't woodworking, he was doing home improvements, or keeping his mind active as he calculated the time or distance it would take to get to a random spot on the map often doing the math all in his head. 

My grandpa would work...until he forgot. 

My grandpa would call me by name and be able to pick me out of a crowd. He would tell me about when I was a baby or call me to come over to him so he could show me a piece of the world that he found to be interesting. 

My grandpa knew my name...until he forgot. 

It made me so sad to think of all of the stories he would never tell again. All of the things I would never know about him or his life as they got swallowed up in the darkness of his mind.  

I was sad...until I remembered he always kept the most important story of all tucked away. He remembered Christ and His love. In prayers he would ask that we always remember who we were and what we were. We are children of God, and he knew that. I know that too. 

I was upset with all that time had taken from me. The grandpa I grew up was becoming a more and more distant memory as it went on. Time had made his memories fuzzy, with the same bits and muddled pieces of stories often being told over and over again. 

I was upset...until I remembered time actually does heal all wounds even if not the way I would like or expect. I would be able to read the stories he recorded for us. I would be able to look back at all of the pictures we took where he got in my little tent with me or climbed on a bronze bear with Ryan and me. I would have the memories of all of the trips we took together and all of the fun we had. I had stories to tell as well. 

I was disappointed when we would drive up to his house with an empty flagpole. It was just one more thing to remind me of how much he had changed. He probably didn't even know where the flag was kept anymore. 

I was disappointed...until I remembered that he was the one who taught me to love my country and its flag but more importantly to always look up. I would look up, past the empty flagpole to the big blue sky. To see the birds or look at the different clouds or the specific color of blue our world was that day. He taught me to see the beauty in the world around me, and that is always something I will carry with me. 

I had a deep longing to hear him whistling again. Oh, how I missed that sound! 

I had a longing...until I remembered my brother could whistle as well. This wasn't something I would have to live entirely without. Any time I hear my brother whistle or I even hear a bird whistling away I would think of my grandpa and smile. 

I worried he tried to do too much sometimes. He would come out to work in the yard during the heat of the day or he would want to go somewhere that I worried would be too far or a step would be too big. 

I worried...until I remembered all he had done in his life. Unfortunately, no matter how old you get the work is never done. He would often forget what he was doing not too far in, so I didn't have to worry for long. And, as we would continue to work he would always tell us how much he appreciated us for doing whatever it was (after letting us know he had planned on coming out and doing it later). 

I was hurt that he forgot my name. Hurt that greetings were not individualized anymore, and sometimes he even believed me to be his youngest daughter, Diana. 

I was hurt...until I remembered he still held that deep love for me. A name is just a name, but love lasts forever. And, there are MUCH worse things than being thought to be my Aunt Diana whom I adore. He always knew he loved me even when he couldn't recognize my face or remember my name. He still gives me those tight hugs as I go to leave, even as his strength wanes. He still looks at me with his eyes with rings of color like bullseyes, and I see nothing but love that has transcended all of this. 

The symbol for Dementia Action Week is a forget me not flower. In the UK people wear them much like we wear various colored ribbons in the US for cancer awareness. Here is my forget me not, a badge to always remember what dementia has taken from me and so many others around the world as well as remember how I can carry on my grandpa's stories and legacy. I "wear" it proudly for my grandpa.

A Future with Hope

 Jeremiah 1:5 says - "Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee..." 

Isn't it comforting to know Heavenly Father knew us before all of this? He knew our character, our personality, how we felt. He KNEW us. 

This year has been quite the whirlwind for me. I moved out of my cute apartment back in with my parents to save for a house (something that was quite impossible to do while living in the middle of Dallas). I worked with a boss who was nothing more than a bully. I went on vacation one week to come back and be told I was moving to a different department because of said boss. This was so hard to hear. I felt like I had done something wrong in reporting her behavior. I felt that I was leaving the volunteers, who in the past year I had given my all to, behind and defenseless. I felt cheated that I had to move when absolutely nothing was happening to the bully. 

But, before I went into the meeting where I was told I would be moving, I said a prayer. I had had an eerie feeling following me the past couple of days. I prayed for comfort and that whatever was supposed to happen would happen. 

He knows me. He knew I would have a difficult time with this. He made sure I was moved after a wonderful, relaxing vacation up to Washington and not on a super stressful day at work. He made sure I was comforted before the meeting. Then, he gave me time to work through my confusion. He waited for me to reach back out to Him. When I did (it took me much longer than it should have), He was there to show me why I needed to be where I was. 

I am now in the Special Events department. I plan and coordinate events, I work with community groups coming in for events as well as coming in for patient visits, I work with Child Life, I work with the volunteers who sign up for events, and I manage the Gift Shop. 

All of my experience over the years has come to this moment. I am able to reach out to my contacts, I am able to bring new contacts in or re-connect with others I had worked with in the past. I can use my Child Life knowledge in planning appropriate activities and events without stepping on toes. I still get to interact with my volunteers and be there for them just in a different setting. 

I never imagined... a Political Science major would turn to Family Life major (Social Work) while working with leadership groups on campus planning events would turn to Child Life would turn to Volunteer Management would turn to this. 

Jeremiah 29:11 says, "I know the plans I have for you, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope."

Each and every day my new director tells me I am meant to be here. I have different skills than the others. I have different knowledge (even of this hospital that I am still fairly new to). She tells me how much they needed me. She tells me what a great fit I am. It is so odd to hear after the past year that I have had where nothing I did was right and I was clearly not wanted or approved of. 

I am so thankful that I have such a loving Father in Heaven to watch out for me. To make plans for me (even though sometimes I fight them or don't understand them at first). I am thankful He is there for my welfare and never to do me harm. I am thankful He is there to give me a future with HOPE. 

Fingerprints

I love my new job. In a time of my life when I have felt so invisible and so out of place for so long, I have finally found a place that feels like home. I smile driving in as a security guard waves to welcome me each morning. I smile leaving knowing I worked hard and spent time with amazing people. People know me. They know my name. I can bounce from one volunteer to another and laugh and learn and have riveting conversations. A couple other staff members even address me as a social butterfly--something I have never been called in my life. People appreciate me. I belong. I have found my place. 

Now, not all days are perfect. My director and I don't always see eye-to-eye, and sometimes she is not particularly kind to me. I was so excited to be able to hire a new volunteer coordinator. I was excited for the help, but more importantly I was excited that it was my choice. I was going to be able to find someone right for the team and someone that I could have a comradery with. I have missed having someone in the office to talk to or someone to have lunch with more than anything. I miss the friendship. And, it was going to be MY CHOICE since I was the hiring manager! It ended up not actually being my choice, and I feel extremely uneasy about who was chosen. 

I heard someone say the other day to stop looking for God's hand in your life and start looking for His fingerprints. I had prayed so hard that they would not hire this girl. To be honest, I was beyond disappointed when they told me to put out an offer to her. I hadn't seen the hand I was hoping to see. My voice hadn't been heard even though I put myself out there multiple times to express my opinions and concerns. But, as I sat in sadness one evening I came across the following quote. 

This was a fingerprint. Proof that He is there in all things. He is there as we walk through our life journeys. He is there always. I can change the world. It won't be a big change, but it will be a change nonetheless. I can take this new challenge in stride and learn from my experiences just as I have in the other circumstances I have been placed in. I will continue to lead through my example. I will smile and go through each day with joy. I am thankful for this fingerprint. It was the reminder I needed.

Look for the fingerprints, my friends. 

Christmas Prayer

Christmas was weird this year. It wasn't bad, but it was weird. We were travelling for Ryan's wedding the week of, Ryan wasn't home, it was so quiet, I am still adjusting to my new job... Need I say more? It just didn't feel like Christmas. Even as Christmas came along. 

But, this was all on me. I had forgotten to focus on the true meaning of Christmas. I forgot my Savior amongst all of the craziness of shopping, reception planning, and worrying about my flights and the events going on at work. 

Christmas Day we all gather at my grandparents' house for Christmas dinner. Before our meal, we always say a prayer. My grandpa said the prayer this year. He is losing his memory, so you never quite know what you are going to get with his prayers anymore (one day he prayed like someone had died and it kind of scared the rest of us there), but his prayer this year really struck me. I wrote part of it down as soon as he finished. He prayed "that we may remember WHO we are and WHAT we are." All of the Christmas spirit that I had been missing rushed into me, bringing tears to my eyes. His simple testimony that we are all sons and daughters of God helped me remember what Christmas was really all about.

Christmas isn't about the traffic, the trees, the presents, or the decorations. Christmas is a time to come closer to our Savior. Christmas is a time to truly remember Him as we finish out the old year and get ready to start a new. Christmas is a time to begin thinking about resolutions you would like in the coming year. So, if you don't have a resolution or would like a new one (because your resolution to exercise every day or eat healthy is already out the window), I invite you to use my grandpa's prayer. Remember who you are and what you are. 

You are a beloved son or daughter of God. 

There is Gold

I recently was out with my mom where I saw a sign that said, "There is gold in every piece of your story." That resonated with me. I thought about all of the beautiful times in life whose memories have a golden hue. But, I also thought about all of the dark, hard times in which I can look back now and see how I have forged gold from them. 

Before I turned 15, I had a plan at church. When my birthday came around I was going to move up with all of my friends, my classmates, to the next level class that was for girls 16+. I had skipped a grade in junior high, and it just made sense. My parents had spoken with my bishop. Everything was going well... Until my birthday. The decision was then reversed which threw me through a loop. All of my friends were moving on without me. It was a struggle. I felt wronged. It took me several weeks to go back to my Young Women class. I would patiently wait for that class to be over and then go to Sunday School with my friends. But, looking back, when I finally went back to class I was made Mia Maid president. My friend, Emily, and I had so much fun. She, along with the Young Women leader we had, was exactly what I needed before heading off to college. 

My internship for my grad program is still one of the most difficult times of my life to date. I had no friends. The internship was insanely difficult. My roommate was literally crazy. My supervisors were not helpful and didn't seem interested in teaching me. Everything seemed stacked against me, and I was so stressed I made myself sick. I learned in meetings to put up a wall between me and those in the meeting with me. I became a blank slate that no one could read. There were countless nights full of tears. But, I had quality time with my cousin. I learned valuable skills on my own. I hope I was a good influence on my roommate. And, I got to share the magic of Christmas in Utah with my parents when they came to pick me up. 

In my previous job, where kindness and consideration for others was not at the front of people's minds, I again struggled. I was drained at the end of each and every day. I was tired of people taking credit for my work and my ideas. Tired of people being so rude. Tired of people in leadership not taking responsibility for things and for not putting in the work. But, I kept going. I put in my all. I connected with my volunteers. I made a difference. And, when I finally got so tired of it all and decided to leave, all of my hard work payed off. I had learned valuable skills. I had been taught valuable lessons. Someone saw potential in me and how hard I worked. I now see a whole lot more gold in each day, but I see the gold flecks in days past that got me here. 

There is gold in EVERY piece of your story. 

Much like the scripture that tells us all things will work together for our good, all of the dark and all of the light contains gold. After Joseph Smith's time in Liberty Jail, he said, "It seems to me that my heart will always be more tender after this than it was ever before." Find your gold. It's there. 

Your story is gold. You are golden. Because you are His. 

Tearing Down to Build Up

In General Conference this month, President Nelson shared this video. As I watched it, I wondered what the pioneers must be thinking. If I were one of them, I would initially think, "Oh my gosh! They are tearing up what I worked so hard to build!" But, as I thought more on the subject, I realized they probably aren't thinking that at all. They are probably looking down and smiling as they watch all of the glorious improvements we are making. The temple that they built is becoming stronger with modern technology and knowledge we have. It is becoming more resilient. 

We often have to tear things up in order to build them up BETTER and STRONGER. 

We have done this with scriptures. We were given the Book of Mormon to add to our Bibles. It adds to what we had been given previously, giving us more and drawing us closer to Christ. We added the Doctrine and Covenants, so modern day revelations are now scripture. Joseph Smith went through the Bible and did translations so that we could better understand what we had been given. We also have footnotes, the Bible Dictionary, and the Index to help us study and learn. 

We do this with revelations. Sometimes we do what we were given revelation to do only to find out it was right for that moment but not for the long term. We get more and more revelations over time to build on one another, to sometimes replace the old, and to gain more knowledge over time. 

We do this with our testimonies. Sometimes we have to tear down our testimonies down to the studs to find out what we truly believe, what is truly important. We cannot depend solely on the testimonies of others. We can use them as a foundation, but we ultimately have to build our own. If you add on to a house you don't just go out in the yard and start building. You add on to the foundation you had and then build on top of that. 

President Nelson talked about the complex task of making the temple's foundation sure. We each have the complex task of doing so with our own foundations. It may not always be easy seeing something we thought was right or something we have worked so hard on torn down, but as long as we are doing so to build ourselves up again better and stronger we will be okay. 

Now, more than ever, we have work to do! 

Continue to question. 

Continue to tear down. 

That is the only way you can build. 

Reinforce. 

Build better. 

Build stronger. 

Just build. 

Then, you will be strong. 

You will be resilient. 

You will stand the test of time.