"You have to look good if you don't play good..."

It's raining. I love when it rains, as long as I don't have to be in it and the bottoms of my pants don't get all wet and drag on the ground gaining tons of dirt and grime as the day goes on. But rain, when I'm indoors, is one of my favoritist things. Naki's too. When it would rain we would roll the windows down if we were in the car or open all the windows if we were in the house, and try to get a big whiff of it. We love the smell of rain! Some people think we're loony, for many reasons besides this one, I'm sure, but we just can't get enough of rain-scent. It fills up our lungs and gives us a fresh cleansed feeling. I'm not describing it well, but suffice to say we love it. It was raining earlier this afternoon and I caught Malia with her head tilted back and out the car window, just trying to inhale as long as she could. Then she loudly exclaimed, "I love this smell!" I reminded her that her Dad taught her to love the smell of rain, to which she just serenely smiled. Dad memories tend to do that to a rain-cleansed girlie.

Earth angels are a new addition to my list of favoritist things. I've found them all over the place lately, too many to count. Some, I know, are even busy about their angelic work without my knowledge. It's astounding to me how much we feel loved, or I guess it's astounding to me how much we are loved. I've always known that we have good friends, but never knew we were loved like this. I'd like to think that if others were in my position I'd be half as good to them as all of my earthly angels are to me, but honestly my world tends to revolve around me and my little family. Seeing others in their service has taught me much. In fact, there's a Mourner's Bill of Rights that applies.

"Other-Service...Do something for someone else. Benefiting someone else, even when you are hurting, helps you respect yourself."

I believe that through the service given to my family by our earthly angels it is helping them to heal their own grief. I need to make sure that I look for ways to help those around me, too. I know myself well, and it would be very easy for me to continue to focus inward and take a lot of time to find ways to focus my efforts outward. I know that my family is my first priority; don't worry that I'll over extend myself. I just think there is definite truth and wisdom to this Right. I've been going through some of the things in my house that I could sell but instead am finding new and better homes for such items. It feels so uplifting to be able to give things to others the way people have given to me and the girlies. Throughout the years Naki and I found ourselves in tight spots financially and had always been rescued by someone's generosity, whether through groceries, clothes for the girlies, acts of service, or money to pay bills. I remember once asking Naki, "When are we going to be the ones to help others? When do we get to stop being the charity case?". The joke's on me...I've found myself in the ultimate charity case situation ever. And it's not necessarily a bad thing. It sure has taught me humility. It's also taught me that just because others are serving my family in a time of crisis does not mean that there aren't future opportunities out there for me to be someone else's earthly angel.

One of those earthly angels is currently working on getting my home computer back up and working. Last night it just decided it had had enough...I'm typing from my Dad's laptop, since two nights ago mine kind of pooped out on me, too. I refuse to succumb to the Computer Demons around here...I'm determined to write about my feelings no matter what. If something happens to THIS one, anyone who lives close by to me be prepared to receive a knock on your door late at night after all my girlies are asleep. It's my best blogging time. All is peaceful and I can think and type uninterrupted. So you've all been officially warned...

Lose received an Honorable Mention today at school for her Literature entry in the PTA Reflections program. Go Lose! The theme for all entries this year was "Beauty is..." and you can fill in the blank as you interpret. Her entry was, "Beauty is my birthday". Amen! All birthdays should be the best thing ever, no matter how old. I hope that when my birthday comes I'm somehow able to be happy about it even though Naki isn't around to give me birthday spank'ns.
I took pictures at the school today, and am not sure how to upload them since I'm on a different computer. I am so not computer literate. I've realized that I need to post some pictures. The purpose of my blog shifted about a month ago, and I need to remember that it originally served as a journal of fun things, too. Time to put up some fun pictures of the girls...a little bit of cheer. I'll work on that.

We have a bizarre mystery going on over here. Last night when we all went to bed there were four canisters on the kitchen counter...white flour, wheat flour, white sugar, and brown sugar. My Dad informed me this morning that he's either going crazy or the brown sugar canister is missing. I choose to believe that he didn't just misplace a whole canister, but rather we have a sneaky Brown Sugar Thief running loose amongst us. Now, there are a couple questions to ask: Who is the Brown Sugar Thief? When did the canister first go missing? Where are the contents of the canister? And the ever important question, where is the canister now? We have a couple of suspects, although they're unaware that we're on to them. We're waiting for someone to slip up and confess. We're pretty confident that this will happen soon since a couple of weeks ago we had an unprompted confession from the Shredded Cheese Bandit. They sheepishly walked out of their bedroom, head and shoulders slouched over with guilt, one arm extended straight out with the almost empty bag of shredded cheese held in their hand, and confessed that they had been keeping it as their own secret cheese stash in between their bed and the wall. Oddly enough, it still felt cold since the wall was an exterior one. Maybe we should be more concerned about the lack of insulation in the wall since it kept the cheese somewhat refrigerated and fresh. I've already checked their previous stash location with no success. We'll find out more as they slip up, I'm sure. Either that or we'll have some informants step forward, soon. They always do.

Many of you know of my Dad's love for golf. I have vivid memories of my childhood in Pennsylvania. We lived on a beautiful piece of land smack in the middle of Amish Country. I remember hearing all of the horses and buggies driving to church every Sunday, and then getting on the road to drive to church ourselves and seeing all of the marks on the road from the wheels of their mode of transportation. We had three acres or so of land with a barn and my Mom and Dad's Pre-Civil War-built dream house on it. I love thinking of the picture I have in my head of my dad, standing in the yard, practicing his golf swing and golf hitting, whatever that's called, (I'm not very golf-savvy), because raising a family of 10 kids doesn't provide an allowance for golfing. He now is able to golf on a regular basis and in my not-so-humble opinion, is very good. On one of the nights since he's been here we were chatting about the fun golf clothes that he's seen, and some that he's acquired. In his words, "Well, you have to look good if you don't play good". I knew then that I wanted to use his words as part of one of my posts. It fits perfectly with one of the Mourner's Bill of Rights. This Right states,

"Self-Service...Do small acts of service for yourself. Don't expect others to. Have a warm bath at night. Buy yourself a bouquet of flowers. Listen to music. Remember that others cannot know your thoughts and needs so you must be your own 'best doctor'."

At this point, my small acts of service to myself have been fun trips to some new favorite stores to acquire some jeans and shirts that actually fit...and maybe a pair of boots or two that I've always needed but never got. I admire ladies who can make do with what they have. Truthfully, I do, especially since I've been one of those ladies my whole life. I know what it takes to sacrifice things you love so others around you have what they need. I don't say this to be boastful in any way, but instead to show that having been on one side of the extreme of not having much I understand the importance of being able to give to yourself sometimes in order to be strong for those around you...filling up your own bucket, so to speak. There are many different ways that we all need to fill up our buckets...mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. But I believe there is something so strengthening and confidence-boosting in covering yourself with things you truly love and more importantly with things that help you love yourself. Sounds hokey, I'm sure, to some of you, and maybe even materialistic. But for me I've experienced both extremes, sacrifice and giving to yourself, enough to realize the wisdom in never short changing yourself. I figure in all of this new chaos around me, I at least can try to look good even if I don't "play" good, so to speak. A special thank you to all those earthly angels of mine who keep answering all of my questions on how to be my "best doctor".

I've always loved to read, but usually my book genre of choice is fiction. An occasional non-fiction slips in there if it's lucky, but not very often. Since Naki's died, I haven't been able to bear the thought of wasting my time with fiction. I'm sure it will find it's place in my life again at some point...it would break my reading-loving heart otherwise! But not for a while. I have so many books on my reading list right now about so many topics and just not very much time for reading. I try to sneak in a paragraph whenever I can. I've never been so interested in non-fiction in my life! Currently I'm trying to read a book that Naki's sister dropped by my house the night before Halloween. It's titled, When You Can't Do It Alone Take the Savior's Hand and it's written by Brent L. Top. The author is a former LDS Mission President who struggled with anxiety, depression, and a nervous breakdown while he was serving as such. There is a paragraph that I really love at the very end of the first chapter. It talks about his experiences bringing him closer to the Savior. It speaks to me because even though I hate that it took Naki dying to bring me closer to the Savior, it is the truth. It reads,

"In the months and years since that experience, I have learned many things about what it means to focus on Christ and to take hold of His outstretched hand. I probably would never have learned how to do that if I had not been forced to my knees. Just as Peter paid more attention to the words of the Master when he was floundering in the water than when he took his first steps out of the boat, so, too, did I listen and learn more in pain than I ever did in comfort and prosperity. I may never have learned how to focus on Christ if I hadn't been in a position where I absolutely had to do so. Taking hold of His hand and allowing Him to lift us doesn't happen automatically or quickly. It is a spirtual skill that has to be learned and relearned, and then that learning must be continually applied."

I still don't like my situation, and I still don't know how I'll survive without my Baby, but I do know what it's doing for my relationship with the Savior. I hope we all can get the most out of our difficulties, whatever they are, and realize that we can take hold of the Savior's hand and walk with Him.

Tear Soup

Eva is obviously so confused. She knows she's sad, she knows I'm sad, and she knows that she really wishes she could just see her Dad. Where has he gone? None of the answers that I've been providing really make any kind of sense to her, and I haven't stumbled upon the one that could. Stumbled. That's the right word. It seems that I'm walking along this untraveled road, blindfolded, with both of my arms outstretched trying to avoid running into anything too hard or too fast. I'm taking little baby steps for fear of walking right into a big ditch, or for fear of stepping on, over, or into anything that I wouldn't want to. Occasionally I stumble upon something that I need or that aids me in my blind journey. I wish I could stumble on to something that would help Eva. Today we were driving on State Street on our way home from running errands. We were stopped at a red light, and were sitting beside a gas station undergoing rennovations, or whatever you might call it. A huge dump truck was backing into the station and was sitting across all three lanes of traffic which resulted in us sitting for a bit and watching it back in. This was our conversation, Eva and I.

Eva: Whas dat?

Mom: A big big truck.

Eva: Maybe Daddy's in there.

Mom: Daddy's not in there, Eva. Remember Daddy died?

Eva: Where he go?

Mom: Daddy is with Jesus in Heaven.

Eva: I wanna go with dem dare, too.

Mom: Me too, Eva...Me too.

It must just be such confusion inside her little self. And as much as I want to resolve that confusion, I'm also extremely terrified that she'll just someday be a girl who lost her Dad and doesn't really have any memories of him. I've heard of kids like that. They pretty much grow up and live their whole lives without a Dad. I hate that she'll be one of them. I have to do as much as I can to make him a real person to her, even if he's not here.

I was talking to one of Naki's brothers this morning and he mentioned that he was going to go up to the cemetary and clean off the dead flowers. It occurred to me after our conversation was over that I hadn't been there much since he'd died. And I hadn't really felt like being there. Was there something wrong with me that I hadn't craved to be there? I would've thought before this had happened to me that if someone close to me had died I would have wanted to visit their grave as much as possible. So now that it is happening to me, why don't I go there very much? Do my girls want to be there and because I haven't been going have I been taking an experience away from them? We have been twice, but is that enough? Questions just kept circling around in my head until I discovered the answer. For me the concept of going to the grave of a loved one is because you miss them so much and you want to be near them. I don't crave being there because I don't feel close to him there. It's a beautiful place, but he isn't there. Not really. He's here...in this house. In my kitchen, where we'd always bump into each other as we were fixing two separate meals at the same time because we'd come to an agreement that if I was fixing something he didn't like to eat he'd just fix his own food. He's here sitting at the computer working on homework or just surfing the internet looking for the next best deal on Ebay. He's here laying on the floor in the living room with his feet propped up on the couch trying to catch a quick nap until a girlie lands on his chest catching him unaware. He's here in the basement singing along to the Comcast On Demand Karaoke. He's here in our bedroom, sitting on the couch with one leg bent and the other outstretched over the end because he was too big for the couch but never complained about it, falling asleep with his head and neck in a gosh-awful uncomfortable position just like he did the night he died. He's here in the bathroom bathing one of the babies. He's here in the living room teaching the girls how to punch a boy. He's here. Not there. So no, I don't feel bad about not being there more often. But I do need to make sure the girls can get there as often as they'd like.

I get frustrated with myself sometimes because it doesn't matter what I see, hear, say, feel, it all connects to him and his absense. For example, this morning I was putting the pack of deoderant I bought at Costco away in my bathroom. Even seeing those 5 sticks of deoderant, the thought came to me, "I wonder how I'll feel about all of this after I've used up all of those deoderants. I hope that by then I will feel some kind of happiness or joy...". Deoderant, people! I mean, really. Is there a time where my every thought will not be about him? Do I want for my thoughts to not be about him? This whole grieving thing is so conflicted. I'm so conflicted.

I have some additional Mourner's Bill of Rights to include here, in honor of my sister. She and I were talking on the phone tonight about how she's surprised at some of her actions and her feelings. After hearing them, I wasn't surprised by them because I recognized them from my Bill of Rights. They don't just belong to me, you know. Anyone out there grieving can claim them as theirs, too. So here's a few for you, Sis.

Sometimes I find myself with no appetite for food and other times I have an insatiable appetite.
There are a number of Rights that I feel apply to that.

"You may find yourself having a number of physical reactions."

or

"Your grief will show itself in all spheres of your life: psychological, social, spiritual, and physical."

My sister and I also talked about the following right as it relates to motivation to get out and do things like you used to do.

"You may find yourself acting socially in ways that are different from before."

Pretty much, anything goes, in any area of your life. Sometimes I feel like chatting and then sometimes I turn my phone off because the thought of talking to someone or texting them is overwhelming. Lucky for me I have irreplacable friends who are not offended when I don't return their calls promptly or at all and are patient when I don't always text back. Aren't I blessed?

One such friend came by to see me today. Where would I be without her priceless wisdom and understanding love? You see, she too has experienced loss in her life when she lost one of her precious babies a year ago today. She came by to see me and brought with her an amazing children's book, well sort of children's book, titled "Tear Soup, A Recipe for Healing After Loss". It is a story written by Pat Schwiebert and Chuck DeKlyen, illustrated by Taylor Bills. I think it's amazing because it talks about grief, loss and all the accompanying and conflicting emotions through the analogy of cooking. So amazing, in fact, that I'm going to type the text in here. I hope that's okay...don't know the rules about that as far as checking with them first! But it's too amazing to pass up. It's a bit long but well worth it. I wish you could see the pictures because they complete the story. Most of the emotions and feelings in the book I have felt or am feeling, up until the part when she decides she might be ready to eat something other than tear soup.

In the front before you even get to the first page you see a recipe card with the following written on it.

Grandy's Recipe for Tear Soup

Helpful ingredients to consider
*a pot full of tears
*one heart willing to be broken open
*a dash of bitters
*a bunch of good friends
*many handfuls of comfort food
*a lot of patience
*buckets of water to replace the tears
*plenty of exercise
*a variety of helpful reading materials
*enough self care
*season with memories
*optional: one good therapist and/or support group

Directions: Choose the size pot that fits your loss. It's okay to increase pot size if you miscalculated. Combine ingredients. Set the temperature for a moderate heat. Cooking times will vary depending on the ingredients needed. Strong flavors will mellow over time. Stir often. Cook no longer than you need to.

Suggestions:
*be creative
*trust your instincts
*cry when you want to, laugh when you can
*freeze some soup to use as a starter for next time
*keep your own soup making journal so you won't forget

Serves: One

(Starting with the first page...)
There once was an old and somewhat wise woman whom everyone called Grandy. She just suffered a big loss in her life. Pops, her husband, suffered the same loss, but in his own way. This is the story of how Grandy faced her loss by setting out to make tear soup.

For many years the custom of making tear soup had been forgotten. As peoples' lives became more rushed they found it much easier to pull "soup in a can" from the shelf and heat it on the stove.

But several years ago Grandy got a taste of a well-seasoned tear soup. One of her friends made it from scratch after her child died. As soon as Grandy tasted the rich flavor of that carefully made soup, she promised herself never again to assume that quicker was better.

Because of her great loss Grandy knew this time her recipe for tear soup would call for a big pot. With a big pot she would have plenty of room for all the memories, all the misgivings, all the feelings and all the tears she needed to stew in the pot over time. (Along the bottom of this page there are several different pots lined up from smallest to biggest with different labels on them. They read, NOT FAIR, BAD NEWS, BIG DISAPPOINTMENT, SERIOUS HEART ACHE, PROFOUND LOSS, MAJOR TRAGEDY, and MORE THAN I CAN BEAR.)

She put on her apron because she knew it would get messy. It seems that grief is never clean. People feel misunderstood, feelings get hurt and wrong assumptions are made all over the place. To make matters worse, grief always takes longer to cook than anyone wants it to.

And then...Grandy started to cry. At first she sobbed.

Sometimes she wept quietly.

And sometimes when she was in a safe place where no one could hear her...she even wailed.

Grandy knew she had to make much of this part of the soup alone. She learned from past experiences that most people don't like being around tears. Her friends would worry if they knew just how many tears Grandy's recipe called for this time. So, the old and somewhat wise woman reflected on her own special recipe as she looked down into the large overflowing pot of memories. It was a task she would repeat many times during the next few months.

Granny winced when she took a sip of the broth. All she could taste was salt from her teardrops. It tasted bitter, but she knew this was where she had to start. And for now, it was the only thing on her menu.

There were things that Grandy never wanted to forget. These included the good times and the bad times, the silly and the sad times.

With her arms full of memories Grandy made many trips to the kitchen. One at a time, she slowly stirred all her precious and not so precious memories into the pot.

But eventually she ran out of things to add.

Grandy's arms ached and she felt stone cold and empty. There were no words that could describe the pain she was feeling. What's more, when she looked out the window it surprised her to see how the rest of the world was going on as usual while her world had stopped.

Her grandson, Chester, who just wanted his Grandy to be happy again, hoped his chocolate drops would make her feel better. Mrs. Bloomklotz, Ms. Chadwick and Mr. Long, all brave yet fearful neighbors, dropped by to see how Grandy was doing.

They filled the air with words, but none of their words took the smell of tear soup away. Grandy was gracious because she knew how helpless he friends felt. They wanted to fix her, but they couldn't. All Grandy really needed from them at that moment was a knowing look and a warm hug.

There were also days when Grandy hungered for a thoughtful ear. Sometimes she would ask total strangers, "Care to join me in a bowl of tear soup?" "No thanks," most would reply, "I don't have time for tear soup today." Even some of Grandy's friends hurried past her house and pretended not to notice the aroma of tear soup coming through her open door. Grandy found that most people can tolerate only a cup of someone else's tear soup. The giant bowl, where Grandy could repeatedly share her sadness in great detail, was left for a few willing friends.

"I'm here," Midge cried. "I got here as fast as I could and I'll be here whenever you need me. What a tragedy. I'm so sorry you're having to make such a big pot of soup." Oh what a relief. Grandy knew she didn't have to be careful what she said around Midge. Midge wouldn't try to talk her out of anything she was feeling. And Grandy could even laugh and not worry that Midge would assume Grandy was over her grief. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner," said Midge. "No problem," replied Grandy. "I've had pleenty of help. But most of these friends will be history pretty soon. They'll be over my tragedy long before I am. But I know you'll still be around."

"I don't know what to say, but I'll be glad to listen," Midge said tenderly. "C'mon, tell me all about it while we make some bread to go along with your soup." These two friends, who had shared a thousand laughs and just as many tears, pounded at the bread dough together. "I feel like I'm unraveling." Grandy cried. "I'm mad. I'm confused. I can't make any decisions. Nobody can make me feel good. I'm a mess. I just didn't realize it would be this hard." "Why don't we go for a walk while we wait for the bread to rise," Midge suggested.

"I know exercise is supposed to help me but I feel like I have concrete blocks strapped to my legs. We'd better not go too far or you'll have to carry me home," moaned Grandy.

Mrs. Cries-a-lot called and reminded Grandy that she had been making tear soup for years and would be more than glad to come right over and show her how to make it the correct way. "Thanks but no," said Grandy. "This pot has my name on it." Grandy new better than to let Mrs. Cries-a-lot or anyone else tell her what she should do to get through this terrible loss.

Next her recipe called for some comfort food. For Grandy this meant mashed potatoes or ice cream. Comfort food always makes you feel better -- at least for a little while. It gets past that big lump in your throat when other foods can't. "I think it needs some chocolate too." After all, it was her soup.

Grandy kept attending worship even though she was mad at God. Sometimes she yelled at God and asked why this happened. And sometimes she demanded to know where God was when she was feeling so all alone.

Still, Grandy trusted God, but she didn't understand God. She sensed that people believed that if she really had faith she would be spared deep sorrow, anger, and loneliness. Grandy kept reminding herself to be grateful for ALL the emotions that God had given her.

On some afternoons people would ask questions like, "Is it soup yet?" Or, "How long is it going to take? You have been at this for over a month now. It's time to get out of the kitchen." Grandy fumed at the caller's advice.

Grandy looked forward to getting the mail each day. She dreaded the day when no more sympathy cards would come.

When she was alone and needed to thing she found it helpful to keep notes on her soup making.
*Today I'm upset that I have to be making this soup.
*I don't think anyone remembers that I'm making soup from scratch.
*What's the use...life seems to be so hard.
*I'm beginning to like that taste of this soup. I think I could live on it forever.

Thank goodness Grandy and Pops have been married a long time. They already knew each other's tear soup would be different. Secretly Grandy wished Papa would put more flavoring in his soup, but he doesn't want to. And he's perfectly content to dine alone and sip his own soup.

Making tear soup is hard work. Sometimes it was all she could think about. Even the things Grandy used to love to do, she didn't have the energy for, nor did she care about anymore.

Some of Grandy's friends over the years had not tended to their tear soup. Their soup boiled over and the pot scorched. What a mess. It took them a long time to clean up their pots and to start over. The smell of burnt soup still lingers in some of their homes.

Grandy knew there were times when she needed to take a break from her soup making. Even though it was hard to do, she forced herself to get away.

Grandy heard that a neighbor was having to take her turn in the kitchen. Some people thought that the neighbor was eating too much tear soup. So Grandy, being an old and somewhat wise woman, called and invited her to a special soup gathering where it's not bad manners to cry in your soup or have second helpings.

Soon the thoughtful cooks sat at Grandy's table and discussed the process of making tear soup. There are some parts that require help from friends and some parts you just have to do alone. They shared stories about soup makin they wouldn't dare tell anyone else for fear of being judged a bad cook.

They all laughed knowingly when Grandy remarked, how on days when she was daydreaming while driving, she was glad that the car seemed to know where she wanted to go. These people had become Grandy's "new best friends."

One day as Grandy and Chester were going for a drive, Chester asked, "Mom says you've been making tear soup. What does she mean?" "Well, tear soup is a way for you to sort through all the different types of feelings and memories you have when you lose someone or something special. Remember when your baby brother died right before he was born and your mom sat for days holding his blanket and weeping? She was making tear soup."

"You made tear soup yourself by acting out your own disappointment when you shouted at Jason, wishing his brother would die, too." "Remember when Billy's dog died and he didn't want to play with you? Not feeling like having fun is one fo the ingredients of tear soup, also." "And remember when Aunt Meg got divorced and they had to move? There was a lot of tear soup simmering in that house."

"Some days when you're making tear soup it's even hard to breathe. Some days you feel like running away. You just hope a better day comes along soon. And then comes one of the hardest parts of making tear soup. It's when you decided it may be okay to eat something instead of soup all the time."

The next morning as Grandy was cleaning up, Chester asked her if she was done making tear soup. "Well, I don't think you actually ever finish. The hard work of making this batch of soup is almost done though. I'll put the rest in the freezer and will pull it out from time to time to have a little taste."

"So what else have you learned by making tear soup, Grandy?" "I've learned that grief, like a pot of soup, changes the longer it simmerse and the more things you put into it. I've learned that sometimes people say unkind things, but they really don't mean to hurt you. And most importantly, I've learned that there is something down deep within all of us ready to help us survive the things we think we can't survive."

"Grandy, you know so much. What will I do after you die?" "Don't worry, I will leave you my recipe for tear soup."


So, head's up. Be patient with me whilst I pefect this dang recipe.

The Mourners Bill of Rights

It's interesting that writing in here is much like the rest of my life. I usually put it off but always feel better after having done it. That's very typical of me. I don't want to do most things, but always feel all the better for just doing it anyway. Writing has been a surprise for me. It provides me an outlet that in a sense replaces, just a tiny bit, the sound board that Naki is for me. He is perfect for bouncing ideas off of. I had a friend tell me recently that she loves bouncing ideas off of me. I told her to keep the ideas coming...I'm very bouncy that way. And so is Naki. You may feel quite sympathetic towards him and see him as even more amazing than you previously thought as you continue to hear all that I have to say over the next whoever-knows-how-long. Poor man...he endured so much from me.

There are a couple of light hearted and not heart wrenching things I wanted to share before I moved on to more difficult things. I just want to put it out there that I never before realized how much Naki would slap my bum as he would walk by me. I remember every time he would walk behind me I would sort of tense in anticipation because I knew it was coming. Sometimes they would sting! It wasn't until after I've caught myself unconsciously tensing up several times in a row when someone walked behind me that I realized I was missing even that about my baby, even after all the times I'd complain about it to him that he slapped too hard. *sigh* Now don't any of you out there go and get any funny ideas...you've all done so very much to try and help fill in where Naki would normally have been, but I think I'll be just fine without any substitutes in this department.

I've added a smaller belt for myself to my most recent shopping list. Who knew that losing some weight would be a side benefit of losing my husband and best friend? I guess I should count myself lucky because really, it totally could have gone either way. I can't tell you how much time I wasted with my sweetheart trying to strategize about the new best way to get myself back to the gym so that I could get myself in a good place mentally and physically. I know he doesn't feel that it was time wasted. To him it is one of the ways that he knows makes me feel loved...to pay attention to the things that matter to me, even if it isn't as high of a priority to him as it is to me. Because it's important to me, it's important to him. The last couple of months before he died I finally got back on a consistent work out schedule and also refocused on what I was eating...and nothing. No results. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I can't tell you how frustrating that is. He told me then and I still hear his voice now, telling me that the more I obsessed about the lack of results the longer I'd have no results. But if I stopped focusing on it and worked out to make myself feel better instead of for the results, then the results would come. Wouldn't you know it, the stinker was right. As usual. For the first time in my ENTIRE life, I'm going to work out, not because of the weight loss results I've sought after before, but because it's my new sanctuary. I go into my own happy place and it is quite cathartic. Exercise for me has always paralleled the gospel. I know it might sound somewhat hokey to some of you. But for me it is all about doing something hard that most of the time I definitely don't want to do because ultimately I know that the results are astonishing, rewarding, fulfilling, peace giving, and makes me feel whole. Actually, I keep comparing this whole my-husband-died-and-I-really-hate-it thing to exercise. When I'm sprinting on the treadmill and I just want to quit early, I push myself all the way to the end because there is no quitting early. In this grieving process there is no escaping it unless I never want to get past the horror of it all and eventually get to a better and healthier place. So, a smaller belt. Who woulda' thunk it.

I was driving in the car the other afternoon with Line, Malia, and Lose. Lose told me that she's pretty sure that Santa Clause isn't real and that it's actually me and Dad. After navigating those already charted waters (I had this talk with Line and Malia last year, to which Naki is appalled. He never wants the girls to grow up, I think.) all three girls started talking about Christmas this year. They started to get worried because it dawned on them that if we followed traditional roles, then Dad was Santa Clause and I was Mrs. Clause. And if that is the case, and Santa is gone, who would give them presents this year? Their logic was so cute. I assured them that as usual Mom and Dad don't do anything normal. In our family I'm actually Santa Clause and Dad is Mrs. Clause. They had these puzzled looks on their faces, so I explained to them that it's always been me who thinks of what to get them for Christmas, me who shops for it, and me who wraps it, although I always ran my ideas by him first, of course. I then asked them to think of who always took care of the other parts of Christmas? Like making hot chocolate, snuggling up to watch fun Christmas movies, making sure that we Christmas caroled every Monday night for the month of December, etc etc...and sure enough, they came to realize that their Dad is Mrs. Clause. Between all of us we figured that we could pick up the slack on that, and I assured them that they had no need to worry about Christmas. I also told them that something unusual had happened this year. Now that they knew it was me who always picked out their gifts, they needed to know that Dad approached me a couple of months ago and told me what he wanted them to have...something he'd never done before. So I immediately budgeted for it and started to shop for it. For the first time ever not only had we already had Christmas shopping done before Halloween, but the girls will get to actually open a present from their Dad that he picked out for them. How special is that! Not a coincidence, I'm sure.

I had another Surprise of the Day the other night. After getting all the kids to bed I ran out to pick up a couple of things to help finish organizing my closet. I've discovered that it's not so great to go shopping late at night because that's when all the young couples are out shopping together. Yeah...not so great. But that's not the Surprise. The Surprise came as I was driving home. I took my usual route home via the freeway. Took my usual exit, and followed the usual roads to my house. Didn't think too clearly on that, as I turned and drove right past the emergency room. All the horror and images replayed in my head and I almost had to pull over because I was that close to being unfit for driving. Is there going to be a future point when that doesn't hurt so bad? Please say yes. Is there going to be a time when those horrible images of watching my baby leave so unexpectedly and the memory of being in such a state of shock will not take my breath away and make me feel so fragile? Please say yes.

Those who've been forced to grieve like I have learn that some of the difficult things are the "firsts"... the first time I have to do something that I normally would have done with Naki or the first time that I have to do something in a different way because he's not here. Tonight marks one of those firsts. I had to plan Malia's baptismal program with her without her Dad's name on the program. That is so hard. I don't know how each girl will deal with that, but I know it's bound to be a difficult time each 8th birthday. It's embarrassing to admit, but I completely lost track of time. I hadn't realized that Malia's baptism was so quickly approaching. She will be getting baptized on December 5th, one day after her birthday. I feel for her because she has to be the first girl to not have her Dad baptize her and also the first to have a birthday without him alive. I've tried my best to explain to her that it's not about who is baptizing you so much as it is about the fact that you are worthy to be baptized and that you are making the choice to get baptized that matters the most. But I can only put so much gumption into that when I'm just as bummed about it as she is.

Several several days ago...I can't remember when. I really have lost the ability to truly keep track of time. But some time ago since Naki died a dear friend brought some papers over to me. One is titled "Appropriate Grief Expectations", one is titled "Six Helps for Coping With Grief", and the other is titled "The Mourner's Bill of Rights". They share such helpful information for me and for those around me about grieving. Some of it I'd already either experienced or inately knew, and others listed surprised me and I have since discovered their truth. There is so much to share about grieving, most of which I had no idea about. I have had friends lose babies, husbands, grandparents, cousins, uncles, children, and I truly didn't know what they were experiencing. Being on the other end offers a totally different perspective, and totally stinks, by the way. I'd say 'sucks', but before Naki's death we didn't say that word in our house. I've apparently started saying it because I heard Malia say it to me loudly today when I asked her to do something she didn't want to do. Afterwards she was being reprimanded for using that word and imagine my shock when she told me that she hears me say it all the time since Dad died. So, I'm saying 'stinks' instead of 'sucks'. But I've decided that throughout my posts I'm going to try and include some of the things from those papers that I have found informative and I think those on the other side of things like I once was would, too. Having watched others go through mourning, I would have loved to know some of these things. I'm going to refer to all of them as my Mourners Bill of Rights, even though they might be from the other papers.

The first one that I hadn't put into words but was completely feeling was,

"Your grief will take more energy than you would have ever imagined. You have the right to be tolerant of your physical and emotional limits. Your feelings of loss and sadness will probably leave you feeling fatigued. Respect what your body and mind are telling you. Get daily rest. Eat balanced meals. And don't allow others to push you into things you don't feel ready to do."

I know it may seem like a no-brainer to many, but I am repeatedly shocked to find myself exhausted after doing nothing. My dad says it's because grief is mentally and emotionally draining. When I think of exhaustion I first think of physical exhaustion and not really mental or emotional exhaustion. But really I have been shocked at the lack of energy I have. It reminds me of when I was pregnant, sort of. On some days it would just take everything that I had to lift my arm above my waist. That kind of tired...heavy limbed tired. There are so many things I want to get accomplished, but just get to a point and feel tired. So many have been so patient with me as there are things that need to get done that only I can do and it just seems beyond me at times. Energy draining, this grieving thing.

In reference to my inability to keep track of things the way I normally would,

"You will have trouble thinking (memory, organization, and intellectual processing) and making decisions."

I thought I had problems BEFORE with my memory and making decisions. I'm at a whole new level with those kinds of things.

"You have the right to move toward your grief and heal. Reconciling your grief will not happen quickly. Remember grief is a process and not an event. Be patient and tolerant with yourself and avoid people who are impatient and intolerant with you. Neither you nor those around you must forget that the death of someone loved changes your life forever."

This one really holds significance with me. An event implies that there is a beginning, a middle and an end. A process implies that they're is no definite end and quite a bit of change and evolving. I've already sensed in some people that I talk to that every time we're together they don't necessarily want to hear me talk about the current emotions that I'm feeling, or what sent me over the edge the other day, or just maybe a funny memory that I have of Naki. They have moved on, as they should because it isn't their life, but I never will. I'm learning who those people are so I can be sensitive to those situations, and I'm also learning who will let me talk. I also recognize that eventually I would like to get to a point where I won't need to talk about all of this all the time. Someday...

There is another right that says,

"You have the right to talk about your grief. Talking about your grief will help you heal. Seek out others who will allow you to talk as much as you want, as often as you want, about your grief. Acknowledge your feelings. Find a friend or family member who can help you release your emotions without judging you. Often this will help the healing begin."

I know which people in my life are those that I will seek out because I know they will be tolerant and nonjudgmental of my feelings and thoughts. Another thing I'd like to add to that last Right is that in addition to having someone you can talk to that won't judge you, it also helps to not always have someone trying to find a solution to what you're thinking or feeling. Sometimes you just feel like getting it out without necessarily trying to fix it immediately. Since I'm not the only one in this house mourning, knowing these rights has been especially helpful for me when working with all the girlies. I get to feel the grief as well as watch others feeling it...sometimes that is twice, or six times, as painful. I'm watching my babies feel such pain that I cannot relieve. It's torture. Tonight especially.

Since we had some extra time to kill this evening I decided to watch our wedding video...nothing professional, mind you. Just a collection of clips from a video camera that my parents brought with them the weekend of our wedding that various people recorded. I wasn't sure how it would be received, being the first time the girls will have seen him and heard his voice since the day he died. Although they all had different reactions, I'm writing about Line's tonight. She had expressed the most excitement at the idea and got the most annoyed when anyone talked or made any sound during the viewing of the tape. We had to stop several times for various reasons, and it really bugged her each time. I could tell that she was getting irritated so we put the babies to bed, had some dessert/snack, and came back up to finish watching. I kept glancing her way and saw tears escaping the corners of her eyes. These kinds of reactions are so painful to watch. At least, that's what I thought was hard to watch until later tonight when I was tucking them into bed. After finishing the video, I put the other babies to bed and worked with Malia on her baptismal program. I then went downstairs with the two oldest and helped them get tucked in to bed. Line had been melancholy ever since we watched the video and after I'd turned out their light she started to tell me that she didn't want to go to school tomorrow, or ever again. Any one who knows her knows that this is a huge variation from her normal. She said that all she wants to do is stay around her family and not have to do anything or go anywhere again. She just wants to get together with her family and just be with them no matter what they're doing. After talking with her for some time she eventually told me that she just doesn't want her teachers, the principal, other students, and pretty much anyone you can think of, asking her how she is feeling that day, or talking to her about it all. I get that Line, I really do. Those feelings are so conflicting though, because in one minute I'll wish that people would quit asking me how I'm doing. And then when the next person I see doesn't ask me how I'm doing, I feel bugged that they didn't ask! There just isn't a way to win in this situation, I'm afraid. She really started to let out all the emotions that I know she's been keeping in. I've asked her permission to include these personal feelings she's expressed to me in a post, to which she responded 'absolutely'. But she just can't get past her anger. The anger that I feel surprises me, and just when I think I'm past it, it creeps up on me. One of the Rights says,

"You may find yourself asking, 'Why did he or she die? Why this way? Why now?' Some of your questions may have answers, but some may not. Watch out for the cliched responses some people may give you. Comments like, "It was God's will" or "Think what you have to be thankful for" are not helpful and you do not have to accept them."

The comment Line hates is that God must have needed her Dad up there more than we need him here. I hate that one, too, Line. It's quite maddening, actually. I'm not so sure that the comment brought on the anger, but overall she is quite frankly enraged and infuriated at God right now. It was so beyond troublesome to see her letting out all these emotions that have obviously been pent up inside her. She told me that she had thought that by watching the video she would feel a bit of relief at seeing him again and that she would feel closer to him when in fact it was the exact opposite on both fronts. It sent her into a tailspin. After all the pillow punching and tear dripping slowed down a bit, she then started to express her desire to never grow up. She said that she just feels so alone that the thought of doing all those things without Dad makes her feel that she'd just rather not do them at all. I find it so strange myself Line, that with all these people surrounding you and doing everything they can to buoy you up it's still so possible to feel so alone. I couldn't control myself any longer. I just started sobbing right along side her. To her the future is completely bleak and without any hope. I broke completely apart and felt an emotional gash in my soul when at the summit of her emotional retching she finally admitted her deepest feelings to me that to her, Earth is her own personal Hell and she feels that there is no way for her to escape this Prison called her life. I didn't and still don't have any words to relieve her of her pain. We held each other for quite some time and just cried together. That is a moment that I will never ever forget. After she was done and had calmed down significantly, I tried to practice what I'd learned. I did not wish her to feel judged or that I had all the answers. Instead I commended her for sharing with me something that she knew would be hard for me to hear. I told her how proud of her I am and how proud I know her Dad is of her. I talked with her about how much courage it had taken for her to be honest and also how much strength it takes to tackle head-on your deepest darkest secrets. I spoke with her about how I was sorry for not holding her more often, something she's always craved since she was born. I asked her if she felt any better since she was able to get all these feelings out in the open, to which she replied, 'yes'. I also told her that these were all great things to share with the therapist on Thursday when we go for the first time. We discussed how I also feel a sense of bleakness when I think of my future forever altered in a way I hate. We just talked. This has to be the most emotionally painful thing I've ever ever experienced and I just want it to be over, NOW. Afterwards she said a prayer with me, and it was the sweetest thing ever. She prayed that tomorrow everyone would be healthy and that no one she loved would be dead. Why do all these kids, so young, have to be thinking about something so unbelievably adult? I don't want them to have to go through any more of this. Couldn't we go back to the time before we were death-aware? It has it's good points, being death-aware, but right now I can't think of any.

The Choice Is Mine

You should just SEE my bedroom right now. I've discovered that there is something extremely cleansing and refreshing to getting as organized as possible, and starting anew. At least that's what my closets are telling me now that they can actually breathe! When my family arrived before the funeral they started tearing into my closets, in a good way. I would have called myself a pretty organized person before this whole process began. But they take being organized to a whole new level. Since then my Dad has continued the process, and it is fabulous. I do, however, need to have an orientation tour as to the location of any and all items in my house, because I have no idea where they currently are! I have to defer all the girlies' questions as to something's whereabouts to Grandfather, because I have no clue. Actually, there's a funny story about this organizing process I'm undergoing.

When Naki died I was serving as a counselor in our ward's Primary Presidency, and I loved it. I had a thick 3 ring binder that I stored all of my papers and such in and didn't really have a particular place I stored it, but seemed to have it near me whenever I needed it...doesn't sound all that organized, I know, but it worked for me. (Maybe I wasn't as organized as I thought....hmm..)Anyway, as I watched everything unfolding around me for those first couple of days, I kept watching my folder move to a certain location, would make a mental note about it's new wherabouts, then would see it reappear in a new location, and make a mental note about it's new new wherabouts, and so on and so on. The last location I remembered was on one of the shelves in the garage. When the decision became clear to me that I needed to be released from serving in that calling, I knew I would need that folder to pass on to whomever would be replacing me.

I. Could. Not. Find. It.

I mean, absoLUTElycould not find it. My Dad and I searched the entire garage, all the containers on the new beautiful shelves in the garage, searched all the bedrooms, all the bookshelves, cars, filing cabinets, and even under all the beds, couches and in the closets. I mean, we searched everywhere! No luck. Several days came and went and I found myself still looking for it in vain on Saturday. If you remember, Saturday was Halloween, the day all the BYU students came over to stain the fence and help touch up the paint on the house. As I saw all those adorable faces serving my sweet little family, I knew just what Naki would do if he was here. There is no way he would have all those people at his house, serving and helping him, without feeding them. Even if all we had was water and I would make some cookies, or we would make some sandwiches, something. He would feed them something. I of course cheated a bit, and decided to call and order some pizza. C'mon. I may have some good moments, but there is no way I'm up to baking any cookies these days. I remembered where the phone books were being kept, in a little cupboard under the counter where the stools sit in the kitchen. As I opened up the cupboard, I heard the "Ahhhhh" angelic sounds and I swear there were heavenly beams of light surrounding my Primary folder, which was sitting exactly on top of the phone book. In no way did I find it coincidental that in order to find something that was important to me, I first needed to serve others in a way that was true to what Naki has taught me.

So right now I'm sitting on my bed, looking around my room and shaking my head. This was one of the places that was originally off limits when they started organizing. It's the room Naki died in...it's my personal space, and I wasn't ready to have people trooping in and out of there. It's where the girlies and I came up to have some peace and quiet and watch College Roadtrip together...the movie that Naki watched with the girls during their slumber party that we as a family had made plans to watch together the day he died. It wasn't until I'd seen how wonderful it feels to have all the other spaces in the house cleaned and reorganized that I realized I was ready to tackle my closet. Not his closet; I'm not ready for that, yet. Just my closet. Oh, my poor closet. It holds clothes from high school years, clothes from maternity years, clothes in a wide range of sizes, clothes that I hoped to someday wear, etc. etc. I started to clean it out today and got interrupted so many times, whether for the girls dance classes, baths, lovely visitors, or whatever, it just didn't get done. It literally looks like a bomb went off in here and my closet exploded. But I knew that I had to get some of my thoughts written in here before my poorly functioning mind was filled with the next days thoughts.

As I wrote earlier, last night was a doozy. I seriously thought to myself, "Pull it together, Abby...your strange crying sounds slash can't breathing sounds slash hiccuping sounds are going to wake everyone up, for heaven's sake". I barely got myself together and laid my head on my pillow when Ane woke up and needed a bottle. Shortly after I got her into bed Eva came up to sleep with me, as she had been doing when Naki died and has been doing since then, too. I can't recall if I've written about her behavior in here or not, but seeing her act the way she has makes me so frustrated, because it is so not her little self. She has been beligerant, mean spirited, defiant, yet cuddly, clingy, silly, and giggly, too. Such a contradiction. It's clear the poor baby is terribly confused. But the one thing she's never really done is admit that she's sad. It finally came out last night. She would wrap her little chubby arms around my neck as we were laying side by side and as tears were streaming down her cheeks she just kept saying in my ear between sobs, "I miss Dad, Mom. I miss Dad." This went on for quite some time. There is just nothing I can say to that except that I miss him too, Eva. And go ahead and cry about it. In those moments I try to reassure her that I love her, her Dad loves her, and Heavenly Father loves her, too. On one of the days within the first week that he died, I remember tucking her in for her nap. I was cuddling with her and just kept telling her how much I loved her. She was being silly and kept repeating me but with a question. "Mommy loves Me?" and I'd say yes baby, Mommy loves you. She mimicked me in a silly way and I responded the same way. This happened several times, until all of a sudden she got still, and in a quiet and an unsure voice asked me, "Does Daddy love me?" It just broke my heart, because it had never occurred to me that perhaps she had thought that because he was gone, it somehow reflected on how he felt about her, at least in her little thought process. I tried my best to reassure her that her Daddy loved her So very much. She thought for a minute, and as if to make sure we were talking about the same person, she asked me, "Naki love me?". Now, I do not believe that God leaves his little babies comfortless, but it is so hard to see them in the middle of this process. These girls are and will continue to be fiercely strong faithful women, I have no doubt. It just breaks my heart to see them experiencing something so difficult that I believe will contribute to their future strength.

After such a rough rough night, I didn't think I had the strength for the gym. But it's a committment to myself to go if I can, that I'm not willing to break, no matter how tired. I know my mental cycle very well, and if I could have gone but didn't and wimped out somehow, I find myself dissatisfied with my choice and not as mentally and emotionally strong for the remainder of my day. But I went...this was the first day that I walked into the gym already crying. I had to get my act together, and quick. Those moments are hard. Many people, including myself, believe that in order to heal you need to own your feelings and your emotions. But sometimes your location is not conducive to that process. I walked into the Cardio Cinema room, my workout room of choice. I can run forever if I'm watching a good movie! Wouldn't you know, I walked into the room right at the end of Marley and Me, when they're burying their beloved pet, Marley. Now, I know, the dog is just an actor and so is everyone else, but it really didn't help my situation. The last thing I need is to fall off the treadmill while crying...now THAT's a pretty picture...and I know because I once fell off the treadmill that I used to have upstairs in my bedroom. Different situation that I won't go into because it's so humiliating, but really...no one needs a repeat experience of that. I can't remember how many times my body and my head bounced on the speeding treadmill, but it was awkward looking, I'm sure, and really quite painful. So I decided in order to avoid a repeat performance I'd emotionally distance myself for a bit and get through the workout. I'm proud of myself to be able to say that I did something hard that I didn't want to do...

Some time ago I remember sitting in church during Sacrament Meeting and clearly remember our Bishop standing up and commenting to the congregation about being careful and selective about what content you chose to post on your blog. I'll always remember that...for that particular reason I never blogged about my crazy bra shopping experience. I'm saying this because I'm not sure, but I think there are a lot more people reading this than I think, and not only women but men are reading, too. (Which I secretly love...I always wished that more people read our family blog...just 'cuz I was such a proud mama and, well, just 'cuz.) Anyway, I've been trying to follow that council the best I could through out this entire process thus far. But I've realized that ultimately I am writing my thoughts as a form of therapy for myself, and maybe, just a little bit for others as well. It would be incomplete without some of my experiences and thoughts, and so am taking this opportunity to notify any readers that you have my sincerest apologies if any of the content may offend. It is not my intent, at all, but is to aide in my healing process. I'd like to get said process on the track to completion as soon as possible!

All married couples know that using birth control is a personal choice. Naki and I have made several different choices over the years. I know this may come as a shock considering we had 6 kids in 9 years! But it became ultra clear to us after this last baby that we were not to have any more children. I can't tell you what kind of peace that brings me at such an awful time...a feeling of calm comes over me every time I think about that personal bit of revelation that came to both of us at seperate times. I would feel so robbed, even more than I already do, if I thought for a minute that he was taken from me before we were able to have all of our babies here with us. Because of those strong feelings that we both had we decided after delivering Ane that we would try a form of birth control called an IUD, an Intrauterine Device. This is another topic for another day on a more personal level for anyone who feels comfortable enough talking to me about it, but I have learned much from that choice, good and bad. About 3 months ago I decided to have it removed due to complications. The earliest appointment they had available for that kind of procedure was today, November 5th. It seemed so far away at the time but these kind of struggles put time in a whole new perspective. I remembered my appointment last week and realized that I would have had to schedule the procedure anyway, and felt so mad and angry about that. I can't explain it, and it doesn't even make sense to me and I'm the one experiencing the emotions! But as I went in for the procedure today it was heartbreaking to me to realize that I won't be having any more of his babies. That just tore my heart right out of me. I was a bit snappy at some of the nurses who didn't know me, I think. Poor things. But really, when they asked me if there was any family history of heart disease, I was finished. Any time I hear anyone talking about hearts I have a hard time with my emotions. I had to turn some of those emotions off just to get through it. It felt different making the decision on my own that I wasn't going to have any more babies rather than having the decision somewhat made for me. It makes me feel powerless and small. How dare the choice to be involved in something so immortal and monumental as creating and bearing a child be taken away from me? And why do I feel this way when I had already made that decision for myself? That appointment was draining...

I returned home in time to get the girlies out the door to take Lose to dance class. While I was there a beautiful woman I've always thought adorable stopped me and introduced herself. She mentioned to me that our girls' dance instructor had thought that we should meet each other and visit about our circumstances. Her husband died in a tragic car accident about 8 months ago. What a refreshing opportunity to talk to someone who already knows the emotions I'm feeling and can't always put words to. I've been blessed with some very very dear friends in my ward who have had the difficult opportunity to be faced with grief in their own lives, and they have been irreplaceable in my own grieving process. But it was interesting to visit with someone else who'd also lost a husband. If there is anything I've learned it's that everyone's grief experience is their own experience...no two are alike. Your emotions are yours and you don't have to grieve like anyone else does. While I was talking to her I told her that I'd decided that there is no way I am going to lay down and give in to the darkness that grief can strangle you with. I refuse. It reminded me of a poem that a friend had brought by earlier today. It is called "The Choice is Mine" by Iris Bolton.

I don't know why.
I'll never know why.
I don't have to know why.
I don't like it.
I don't have to like it.
What I do have to do is make a choice about my living.
What I do want to do is accept it and go on living.
I can go on living.
Valuing every moment in a way I never did before.
Or, I can be destroyed by it and, in turn, destroy others.
I thought I was immortal,
That my family and my children were also,
That tragedy happened only to others.
But, I know now that life is tenuous and valuable.
So I am choosing to go on living;
Making the most of the time I have;
Valuing my family and friends in a way never before possible;
The choice is mine.

Missing him

I miss my baby, so very very much. It just hit me like a ton of bricks, and I can't seem to stop crying.

Water works and Water proofed

Usually words just seem to flow from the tips of my fingers when I sit and write in here. But I have so many different and not neccesarily linked thoughts that I'm having difficulty thinking of how to start. So, I'll start with something completely unrelated to the traumatic events of the last couple of weeks. My dad cleaned out Naki's car for me and put all of the things that weren't garbage or dirty tupperware containers (so THAT'S where they disappeared too! Thanks a lot, Babe.) into a box for me to sort through when I was ready. I found in there all of the CDs he'd burned, including one I remember him burning the week he died. It has been such a treat to listen to those songs. They're not his typical compilation of songs. He tended to burn CD's by the style of the music. One for Reggae, one Country, one Hip Hop, one Sunday, etc etc. This one is a little bit of all of them, his very own "mix tape" for me to enjoy. It has shocked me as I've noticed some of the messages that I've gleaned from each song, and can't figure out why he picked some of the ones that he did. One of the girls' favorites on there is a Michael Jackson song. Our girls can not get enough of his music. After the song finished, I overheard Eli ask Malia if that song was sung by the white Michael Jackson or the black Michael Jackson...so confusing! It made me giggle.

Later today while Line was at dance class I drove the rest of the girlies over to Costco to fill up on gas. Some country song started playing from the CD called, I think, "I loved her first". The song is written from a Dad's point of view as his daughter is getting married, and let's just say I didn't stay composed for long. There was so much chaos going on behind me as I drove that I was surprised to hear Eli say as I pulled to a stop at the pump, "It's okay to miss Dad, Mom." I quickly turned to her, told her that I knew that was true, and then asked her why she told me that. She responded that she'd seen me crying. I asked her how did she see me since I was driving, and she told me that she'd seen me in the mirror, the rear view mirror. Lose chimed in and said she'd also seen me crying in the mirror, and then explained to Eli that I was crying because of the song. So smart and so paying attention to me even when I don't realize it. I feel so strongly the responsibility of being an example to them of what it means to be a eternal spirit in a non-eternal world. They watch so very much when I'm unaware. Ironically, they don't watch much when I actually wish they would! Ahhh, parenthood. Tonight I was trying to give each of the girlies special time. Line had especially requested it and so I tried to schedule bedtime so that I could start from the youngest and work my way from bed to bed, talking to them about their day, and giving them an opportunity to speak to me with no one else around to interrupt. I made my way to Line, "finally!", (her words) and laid with her and just talked about all that goes on in that guilt-ladden head of hers. I tried to be the best listener and non-judger to all she said while at the same time trying to listen intently to any and all promptings that Heavenly Father might send my way to help comfort her. After she was done unloading her stresses and worries on me, I paused to gather and collect my responses, prayed for strength, and proceeded to have a special one on one talk with her. Imagine my surprise when after my last sentence, she looks away and sheepishly asks me, "Mom, do you ever zone out?". I responded, "You mean, when your Mom is talking to you?" to which to said, "Yeah...how did you know?" Seriously...you never know when they're listening. When you want them to they don't, and when you don't want them to they do. Aaaargh.

I think I may have mentioned it in an earlier post, but I've been shocked that out of all the days of the week Sundays have so far been the hardest for me emotionally. I find it ironic that Sunday is also the day that I see the most people, thus, I imagine I seem to many like a train wreck. Who wouldn't after losing their husband and best friend, but still, I do have good days, or I should say more accurately, good moments. Sunday as a whole just is not one of them. I imagine that will remain so for some time. I believe that is because Sunday was the one day out of the entire week that no matter what, we saw our Dad and he was ours for the day. He worked so hard for us that on some days he would leave at 6 in the morning and come home at 11 at night. That was just the way he was. He didn't care if he was exhausted, he would do it because he knew we needed it. It was either his hard work ethic or maybe the fact that I did the budget and was a terrible nag...either way he's a saint in my book. He also loved being with the baby during all 3 hours and would make sure I had the opportunity to have some kind of spiritual recharging for the upcoming week. Plus he would gather the kids after Primary was over so that they weren't running around the church building and we weren't left trying to gather them up to go home...I've always said it often feels like herding mice. They scatter and scurry everywhere, and never where you actually want them to go. So, I definitely need a better system for Sundays. I'm sure I'll figure it out as I go.

As a result of my emotional instability on Sundays I feel especially weepy. This past Sunday I could feel Lose's eyes on me as I just could not manage to control the tears streaming down my cheeks. She'd keep leaning over to me and say, "Mom, you're crying." I'd try and reassure her that crying is just fine. She'd leave me alone momentarily and then would lean over again and comment on my water works to which I'd try again to reassure her that when you miss someone like I miss Dad, it's okay to cry. This happened several times but she was never able to leave me alone about it. Finally, she leaned over and said, "But Mom, crying is going to make your makeup all mushy and gushy!" So sweet, her concern for the state of my appearance...either she was concerned or she feared a bit of embarrassment when others saw black streaks running down my face. I leaned over to her and whispered that she didn't need to worry, I was wearing the waterproof mascara that my sister had bought me. She was so relieved, and it gave me something to laugh about when I really didn't feel like laughing. Aren't kids the greatest at doing that for us?

Over the past couple of days I've been enjoying the freedom of making a simple shopping list that just includes little things like scissors, light bulbs, fish food, a stapler, and corn starch to name a few, and being able to go to the store and buy them without first having to check when what bills need to go out on what days of the month, or first checking how much gas is in the car to know when I'll possibly need to get more, or checking how much milk and bread we have to make sure that I have the money for the things we need before we get something extra like a stapler. That's been our life ever since I can remember. But since Naki's died, combining all of our dear friends' contributions and also with my parents amazing efforts at trying to make things around here "mainstreamed", as my Dad says, so that all I have to worry about are these precious babies of mine, I got to go to the store and buy new pillows and pillowcases for everyone. Such a treat! They were all so excited to have fluffy pillows. It was cute to see them standing there in the isle of pillows and reading the packaging. Some pillows are apparently made for side sleepers, some for back sleepers, and even some for stomach sleepers. See how out of the loop we are in the pillow market? It filled me to see them happy about something as simple as sharing with each other how they all slept, and hearing them make cute little comments about how they start in one position and then change to another. I love hearing them talk about inconsequential things or every day things for once instead of all of this serious and sometimes heavy stuff like death.

After our run in with the puking bug this past week I decided to invest in some waterproof pillow protectors as well. After Family Home Evening last night I had all the girls run to their beds and bring back their old pillow. We tossed those and opened all the new ones. When we pulled the pillow protectors out of their store packaging we discovered that they actually go over the pillow and then zip up...I wasn't expecting this. So we zipped away and then put on all the pillow cases. I sent them all to bed and was surprised to find them all having the same hilarious experience with their new pillow. Apparently by zipping up the protector completely it eliminates the opportunity for air to escape the pillow when you put your head on it, thus making it pretty much like an air mattress. They figured out that you could go from a sitting up position, back to a reclined position, and bounce back up to a sitting position pretty fast. It was so comical... Tonight Eva actually stood on her bed and said to me, "Swim, Mom, Swim!", put her hands above her head like she was going to dive into a swimming pool, and dove onto her pillow. She promptly bounced right back up. Don't worry...my girls are not all bouncing around in their sleep. I figured out that I just needed to open the zipper a little bit to give the air an opening to escape from when they put their heads on the pillow. A bit of comic relief. Just what we needed.

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday. Well, that's not actually very accurate. I've "learned" this lesson many times before, so I guess that I actually relearned a valuable lesson. I go to the gym in the morning after I drop the babies off at Grandma and Grandpa Maile's house and the big girls off at school and get home around 9:30 to 10:00. It seems there is always something that I have to be doing. I don't mean that I want to be doing, but that I HAVE to be doing. It usually involves the kids. They want me, and so me they get. Of all days to not take a shower, yesterday was the worst. I swear at least 5 families came by, I needed to make a Walmart trip, we went to the Cemetary to get some monument ideas and ran into the guy I met with to buy the plot, and the list goes on and on. It was mortifying to me to have to be around all those wonderful people and give hugs and such while I was so stinky and gross, and again, looked like a train wreck. Now don't get me wrong...I'm not one of those women who feels like she has to apply lipstick as soon as she's done eating a meal. But I would like to think that I could get at least a shower in there somewhere. The irony of it is that those days never seem to happen on the days when I did get a shower. I get all gussied up and then no one makes any appearances. What's with that? How does the universe know when to send people my way when I haven't showered? Well, I've decided that I'm not above using it to prey on people's sympathies..."Oh, just look at that poor unshowered widow...we must, just absolutely must do anything we can to save her from herself!" Just kidding. No one has actually said that TO me, although I swear some have thought it, and I have been so touched by all of Naki's and my dear friends amazing and overly generous offerings that I would never abuse it. I complained loudly about my unshowered experience to my parents and as a result they both, one here and one in Idaho, kept asking me throughout the day, "Have you showered?". Oh, for everyone to be loved and cared for the way I feel loved and cared for.

I'll Do It, But I Won't Like It

It's official. We finally own Eli. Not sure if that's wise...perhaps we should have gotten a money back guarantee. (Just jokin', Eli...you know you're stuck with us forever!) This past week I paid the last installment of the bill from the hospital from when I delivered Eli...yup, that's 4 years of paying on that same stinkin' bill. I've always taken on the responsibility of the household finances. Not because he isn't capable, but because quite honestly I'm too much of a control freak to NOT be the one doing it. He sees the wisdom in 'allowing' me to do them instead of him and I know he is so proud of me for having figured out a way to not only have kept a bill collector off of our tails but for actually making sure that with our meager budget I found a way to meet all of the needs of our household. Just another thing I'm glad I already know how to do. I can't imagine if he had been the one doing it all along what I would have had to do to get up to speed. He may have been the one to bring in all the money, but I'm the one who knows how to spend it...I can't help it; it's genetic.

I'm not gonna lie. Reality has begun to set in. (As if I need any more reality checks around here.) But since Naki died and I've had the troops rally around me, I've always had extra help, and thus, extra hands. We started off the night with a round of trick or treating around our neighborhood with the adorable Brousseau family and Grandfather and then went to the Ward Trunk or Treat last night and intended to meet up there with Naki's brothers and their families. Grandfather had worked and worked himself all day in organizing and working side by side with a group of BYU students. A dear friend of our family is in the Bishopric of a BYU student ward and between he, my Dad, and my brother-in-law Matt had organized quite the group effort to touch up the exterior paint on parts of the house and to stain all of our exterior fencing. So we gave Grandfather the much needed and well deserved break and went off to meet the Maile family at our ward building. I, of course, was a bit early, and so the kids wanted to get started right away. So we unloaded and set off. I can't seem to find the right words to explain the change I felt in that moment, but it suddenly occurred to me as I lost Lose for only the 5th time, that it's just me. Duh, I know. Like that's new information. That I alone, as I stood there for the very first time with no extra hands, am responsible for these children in this moment. After regathering them all around me, I tried in my most 'I am SOOO not kidding' voice to let them know that under no circumstances are they to leave my side. As I was standing there with 6 sets of hands pulling me in different directions, and 6 sets of ears not listening to my instructions, I realized that this could indeed be a very long night. And I can look like a fool with my head spinning in 6 different directions, or I can take charge and help this go as smoothly as possible. I wouldn't say that my head wasn't still spinning, but I think Lose got the message. She stayed with me the rest of the way, but needless to say we were all overly thrilled to see the Maile family roll up. Whew. Extra hands and extra hearts. It was perfect timing. We hopped from one place to the next and ended up at Grandma and Grandpa Maile's house with all their Maile cousins and also the Zeller clan. That was so great to have everyone together...I know Naki is smiling and feels so proud every time he sees us all together.

It was all exhausting yet fulfilling to know that they all enjoyed themselves. My goal is to make things as close to normal as possible, even though it puts me in places that I really don't want to be. I'll do it, but I won't like it. Truthfully I just want to curl up in a ball on my bed and do nothing. I want to sit in the shower and let the water run over me while I cry and just be alone. I want to know what it feels like to just sit and read a book peacefully just for pleasure again. But that's just not the way it works, as Eli says. It just isn't.

I got all the kids bathed, fed, and in bed before I fell apart. I can't even put words to the emotion that I felt. I just knew that I needed to cry. I came upstairs and felt too dark inside to blog and write it out. So I turned the lights off and curled up like I'd been craving and waited for sleep to take over that horrible feeling. But Heavenly Father knew that I didn't need that. Ane immediately started to cry in her bed. It was heavenly to just hold her, cheek to cheek. It was exactly what I needed. Cuddling with a baby cures all my woes. Why do you think I kept having them? Y'all better watch over your cuddly babies...I just might be snagging some for the free cuddling. I'm sure I'll need it.

I had just warmed a bottle up for her when Eli let out some seriously frightening screams from her bed. So I raced downstairs and thrust Ane into my Dad's hands and said you take care of her and I'll take care of Eli. Apparently she wasn't as healed from the hurling bug as we had originally thought...nothing like scrubbing some throw up off a mattress, the carpet, and your baby to pull you out of self pity. The immediacy of her situation forced me out of mine. By the time I'd rebathed and dressed her, scrubbed the mess up, and remade the bed with Grandfather, I was too tired to feel any more blah. I just went right to sleep.

The residual effects were still with me this morning, however. The week Naki died I remember telling my family that Naki's very very very most bestest favoritist day of the year ever was coming up. He cherished it more than any holiday, birthday, football game, or celebration of any kind. Drumroll, please....Daylight Savings Time. That boy lived for that extra hour of sleep. Since we've been married he was always getting by on not enough sleep. So the concept of a freebie was just so precious to him. I would herd the kiddos downstairs and shut our bedroom door so he wouldn't be bothered. It's a big deal to me too, don't get the wrong idea, but I get to take occassional naps during the day, and he never does, so we all tried to leave Dad undisturbed on his favorite day of the entire year. In honor of that, my Mom had the smart idea to spend that morning at his gravesite. So in addition to the Halloween madness the night before, after the girlies were all in bed I trekked to the store for some breakfast goodies. I gathered the girls and the treats up and drove over there this morning. It was perfect. They had such a great time there and certainly there is a lot of wisdom to the first time going back being a celebration of something happy and cheerful. They were giggling and having a great time walking around reading other's monuments. After a while they noticed something that I'd already noticed on first arriving. Ummm...a deer or something like that pooped right where all Naki's flowers were sitting on his plot. At first, they were all grossed out and some of them were even, I'd say, slightly offended at the idea of an animal doing such a thing. I heard one of the girls say, "Can you believe that something pooped on our Dad?". I corrected them and said, "Girls, something pooped on the grass, not on your Dad." Then they all started giggling and laughing and said that it was perfect because of all the times that they had all at one time or another pooped on him, too. Ahhh...kid's humor. It was just right.

I wasn't feeling up to church. I know without any doubt that I need to be there. The Lord wants me there. Naki wants me there. I want me there. But that was the only place we spent consistently as a family. It just seems so especially desolate inside me when I go there without him. Add to that that we weren't a quiet family in church to begin with, and with some of the new behavioral traits that some of the kids are using to cope with their grief we're REALLY not a quiet family, and well, it's just not condusive to feeling the Spirit or for others around us to feel the Spirit. So I'll do it, but right now I don't like it. I have confidence that in time it will get better. But right now it's just so darn difficult. I came up to my room to shower and get ready for church and had my Surprise of the Day. Some time ago, about a year, I was really struggling. Having Ane really threw me for a loop. It took all 9 months of the pregnancy to get used to the idea of being pregnant again, and it's taken me almost as long to get used to the idea of being a mother of 6. Around the time when Ane was about 3 months old, Naki did the sweetest thing for me. He'd taken a piece of notebook paper and had written sweet statements of encouragement and compliments and had gone through the house and taped/placed them in places he knew I'd go that day so that I wouldn't be alone in my struggles. I found one above the washing machine, one taped to the side of the crib, one taped above the garage door opener, one on my pants shelf, one in my bathroom, one in my dresser drawer, etc etc. They were everywhere. I never moved them, but left them where they were so that I could see them over and over again. As time passed, some of them were knocked or pulled down by little chubby and curious fingers, and I'd lost track of which ones were still around. I remember the day Connie arrived after Naki died, I think it was on Friday, I told her to please look around and if she saw any of them to grab them for me. I have been disappointed because I couldn't find as many as I had liked. As I was digging through my dresser drawer this morning, much to my astonishment I found not one, but three notes in his precious handwriting that were the most perfect words from him that I so needed to hear on this particular day. They read,

Please know I'm thinking of you.

I love you and am thinking of you.

I love you and I KNOW you can do it.

I can't hardly type those words and see the computer screen at the same time because every time I read them I know without any doubt that that is exactly what he is saying to me right now. He has always been my biggest cheerleader, and I have absolute confidence that he is cheering me on right now. Babe, I'll do it...I'll do it all, whatever "all" of it is. But I won't like it. I don't like what's now my life. But I'll do it because I know you'd do it if things were the other way around. I'll do it because I love these babies, the Lord, myself, and you so very much. I'll do it with the faith that someday I'll have come to understand so very much about what these experiences can teach those affected by them. But in all honesty right now I truly do not like it.