My 'some day soon'

Eli said to me a while ago, "I wasn't ready for Dad to die, but I'm still okay". I must second that. I will never be ready to go on without him, but oddly enough, today I feel somewhat okay with our strange life. Not happy, not joyful, not cheerful, and not pleased, but just okay. Okay enough to wake up and start my body moving in the general direction I need to go to accomplish whatever it is that I have to do today. Okay enough to cry when I want to and to not cry when I don't have to. Okay enough to be around my siblings, in laws, and their spouses, even though I feel like the odd man out. Not great, but okay. I'd say that's a bit of progress.



We went for a walk up the Provo canyon a couple of weeks ago after church. Oh, what peace it brings to my spirit to be surrounded by nature. I don't really love camping, but I love nature. Just breathing in the air, walking at a leisurely pace, stopping and starting a million times as all the little pairs of feet around me set the pace for our stroll. It filled me up. I did, however, realize a future predicament as I stood and let them throw rocks in the river. How, in the heck, am I going to teach them anything athletic? I had a vivid image in my mind of when we went to St. George this past spring. We stopped at a dam with Naki's cousin, his wife, and their children. The wind was blowing a little crazy, but all the kids were searchng the ground for little rocks to throw in the water. I have pictures of Naki teaching the girls how to skip a rock, a skill I have never been able to master. I'm lucky the rock goes foward and doesn't somehow get released on my windup, going completely the wrong way. Sounds impossible, but it's been known to happen. I want them to love doing fun athletic things the way they did when their Dad was here to do it with them. I had a moment of panic while I watched them all throwing rocks into the Provo River because I realized I completely fall short in not only that department, but many others as well. The feeling quickly subsided when I realized that they have many athletic Uncles and Grandpas that will take care of that for me. I find myself in this position often. In The Book of Mormon we are taught that we can either choose to be humble, or we can be compelled to be humble. Needing other people to do things for me that I so wish I could do for myself always brings me to feel compelled to be humble. How I wish I could do so many of the things that the girls need on my own. But I am so blessed to have family and friends who want to and are completely capable of filling in where I fall short. Not only that, but I think the girls need the interaction that comes from the time spent with all those people that love them and their Dad so.



I was reading my sister-in-law's blog the other day, well, actually, it was probably more like a couple of weeks ago. She was writing about her husband, Naki's younger brother, and his wish for time to fly. I cannot tell you how much that put into words an emotion I'd been feeling and continue to feel but hadn't been able to verbalize. In no way do I want to miss out on all the amazing life experiences and memories yet to come into my life because of my children and their futures. But if it were possible I wish I could go to sleep tonight and when I wake up in the morning I would be an elderly woman who had lived my life and completed all I knew I should, and was done. I just want to be done. Done with this temporal life and moving onto my eternal future with my best friend. But, it is not to be. I cannot wish this time away, no matter how much I miss him. I feel badly admitting those feelings because by doing so I imagine it appears to some that I have more love for him than I do for others here still alive. Not so...I know it doesn't make sense to many of you. But if you have ever grieved a loss like this, I think you'd understand. I just want to be done. I sometimes wish I could unzip my skin and crawl out of it so I could escape all the pain. Again, it is not to be. My future plays out with such contradictions in my imagination. I know that logically it must be possible to have happines and joy in my life, but don't know how that's even remotely possible. I know I'll have joy in my kids, but what about personal joy for myself? Something to be happy about and look forward to... I don't see it happening any time soon. It must be enough to seek happiness for the girlies. That alone will suffice.



I've been wanting to tell all of my loving friends and family that I promise I'm not avoiding any one particular person, if in fact you've tried to reach me and have been unsuccessful. I can't adequately describe what a day in the life of Abby is like. I may hear my phone ringing but am consoling a child, or taking a much needed nap and so ignore it. I may or may not find the time to listen to the message you left me, and may or may not find the time to return your call. I get all of your emails, but by the time I've read them I no longer have time to respond. I love texting, but get half way through a text and am interrupted. Just know that I love all of you and feel strengthened when I hear your messages and read your loving emails and texts.



I mentioned in my last post how devastated I was Friday night. I was trying to express to my Bishop on Sunday morning what is hardest about all of this, and he chose the perfect word to describe it..."companionship". I mourn the loss of companionship, in all it's variations. In many ways I'm a very fortunate widow. My learning curve for temporal situations I find myself in is very minimal since I encountered those same situations before Naki died. It is the companionship I miss the most. It really stinks to come upstairs at night and not have him there to fill in on all the details of the day and the things the kids said or did, and what does he think I should do about such and such? His insights are greatly missed and are not replaceable. That's what sent me over the edge on Friday night was the loss of the companionship that I had expected to have at times that I will no longer have it. I was crying so hard that I literally could not breathe! Not a great combination, nor all that flattering. I have a basket beside my bed that I continue to pile things that I need to read for moments just like this. When I am so distraught the only thing that keeps me anchored is to read the words of the Savior and his prophets. I believe it was the same day Naki died, or maybe the day after, that a friend dropped off an envelope with these words written on the outside.



"Abby...When I read this in my religion class today I had a strong feeling that I needed to give it to you. Maybe not for today...but for some day soon. "

Inside was a printout of the talk given by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I hadn't felt strong enough to read the words when they were given to me that day, and so placed it in my basket to read when it felt right. My 'some day soon' had definitely arrived. I opened it up and was astonished at how strongly I felt that the words I was reading had specifically been written for me at that precise moment of my life. I was in such despair, and hadn't been able to put a name to that emotion until I read his words. The talk is titled, "The Infinite Power of Hope". Naki's name, Amanaki, means 'Hope', and so reading his thoughts on hope held even powerful symbolism for me. One of the first paragraphs reads,



"...Perhaps today I could sit by your side and by the side of any who might feel discouraged, worried, or lonely. Today I would like to speak with you about the infinite power of hope."



I futher read, "Hope has the power to fill our lives with happiness. Its absence -when this desire of our heart is delayed - can make 'the heart sick'.



This touched me...my "Hope", Naki, fills my life with happiness. His absence has truly made my heart sick. As I read on I was struck by a certain part about my responsibility towards fixing the absence of hope in my life. He says,



"Hope is a gift of the Spirit. Is is a hope that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the power of His Resurrection, we shall be raised unto life eternal and this because of our faith in the Savior. This kind of hope is both a principle of promise as well as a commandment, and, as with all commandments, we have the responsibility to make it an active part of our lives and overcome the temptation to lose hope. " At this point I realized that I had chosen to wallow in the feeling of losing hope. I didn't want to feel like there was any hope for me and my temporal future. This sentence sent a jolt of recognition through me that I needed to knock it off and overcome this temptation that stood in my way. Clearly I had stumbled, fallen, and decided to stay down over my feelings of no hope.



He proceeded to talk about the opposite of hope, which is despair. As he spoke of despair I was shocked to read those words and even more shocked to realize that they perfectly described my feelings that evening. Until then I hadn't realized that despair was the word that I was personifying. It was as if I'd found despair, crawled into it, and decided that since it felt the most comfortable out of all the other emotions I'd been living, that I'd stay there with it for as long as I pleased.



"The adversary uses despair to bind hearts and minds in suffocating darkness. Despair drains from us all that is vibrant and joyful and leaves behind the empty remnants of what life was meant to be. Despair kills ambition, advances sickness, pollutes the soul, and deadens the heart. Despair can seem like a staircase that leads only and forever downward."



Whoa. That perfectly put into words what I was feeling right then. It shocked me at what my feelings looked like in the written word. I read that paragraph over and over and over. It took me a while to let the words sink into myself and for the realization to hit me that I really didn't like the way despair fit me. I read on...



"Hope, on the other hand, is like the beam of sunlight rising up and above the horizon of our present circumstances. It pierces the darkness with a brilliant dawn. It encourages and inspires us to place our trust in the loving care of an eternal Heavenly Father, who has prepared a way for those who seek for eternal truth in a world of... confusion and of fear."



"Hope is not knowledge, but rather the abiding trust that the Lord will fulfill His promise to us. It is confidence that if we live according to God's laws and the words of His prophets now, we will receive desired blessings in the future. It is believing and expecting that our prayers will be answered. It is manifest in confidence, optimism, enthusiasm, and patient perseverance."



Ummm....yeah. Well, I was definitely not exuding any hope. I'd definitely dialed into despair and found I could wallow there pretty comfortably. And since then I find myself there again for a moment or two. But having read these words after experiencing such a personal tragedy I'll never be able to stay there for long. I'd never realized until at that moment how much Naki truly lived up to his name. He exudes hope.



"The things we hope for are often future events. If only we could look beyond the horizon of mortality into what awaits us beyond this life. Is it possible to imagine a more glorious future than the one prepared for us by our Heavenly Father? Because of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, we need not fear, for we will live forever, never to taste of death again." "No matter how bleak the chapter of our lives may look today, because of the life and sacrifice of Jesus Christ, we may hope and be assured that the ending of the book of our lives will exceed our grandest expectations."



"The things we hope in sustain us during our daily walk. They uphold us through trials, temptations, and sorrow. Everyone has experienced discouragement and difficulty. Indeed, there are times when the darkness may seem unbearable. It is in these times that the divine principles of the restored gospel we hope in can uphold us and carry us until, once again, we walk in the light...Because God has been faithful and kept His promises in the past, we can hope with confidence that God will keep His promises to us in the present and in the future. In times of distress, we can hold tightly to the hope that things will 'work together for our good' as we follow the counsel of God's prophets. This type of hope in God, His goodness, and His power refreshes us with courage during difficult challenges and gives strength to those who feel threatened by enclosing walls of fear, doubt, and despair."



"There may be times when we must make a courageous decision to hope even when everything around us contradicts this hope." "Hope sustains us through despair. Hope teaches that there is reason to rejoice even when all seems dark around us."



The very end of the talk struck me so strongly. I realized that I had read exactly what the Lord had wanted me to read. It was in fact my 'some day soon' and I had learned so much. The final words of comfort read,

"And to all who suffer - to all who feel discouraged, worried, or lonely - I say with love and deep concern for you, never give in.



Never surrender.



Never allow despair to overcome your spirit.



Embrace and rely upon the Hope of Israel, for the love of the Son of God pierces all darkness, softens all sorrow, and gladdens every heart."




One thing I know, even when I do feel the overwhelming emotion called despair. I will never surrender.

Note to Self

If I don't want to send myself into a downward tailspin of despair and extreme bleakness, I probably should keep track of the days better. That way I wouldn't accidentally find myself at the jewelers, where I went to pick up the necklace I'd ordered to wear Naki's wedding ring around my neck, on a Friday night with all the engaged couples who get to have each other, hold each other, talk to each other, and kiss each other. Or I wouldn't find myself on a Friday date night at the mall where I went to see if my boots I'd ordered were ready. Note to self...keep better track of what day it is, and most definitely run those errands in the middle of the day instead of the night.

"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.