Simple

One afternoon last fall, after Jonah passed away, Jordan and I sat quietly eating french fries among the red and white palm trees of our local In-and-Out.  We didn't have much to say to each other.  Both of us still felt quite shattered and tired, so we just ate in silence and listened to the energetic conversations of the people around us.

Near us two young couples sat and discussed the details of a recent engagement. The description was theatrical; full of dramatic pauses and hyperbole. The new fiance started with a comprehensive synopsis of important events and dates in the couples dating history. Then she began a step-by-step description of her boyfriend's clever deceptions and misdirections, and finally she shared her astonishment when she was led to the very park where they shared their first kiss. The excitement in her voice intensified as she described the candle-lit path, her kneeling boyfriend, the enormous glittering ring he brandished, and the hidden photographer hired to capture her reaction.

As I listened I thought about my own engagement six years earlier.  It was so simple.  After two years of dating - and breaking up - Jordan finally asked me to marry him.  It was a cool summer evening, and we sat talking and kissing on the grey weathered wood of his mom's back porch.  There were no fireworks or surprises, no elaborate plans, and no eloquent speeches.  Just the words, "I really love you, will you marry me?"

I thought about how scared I was to say yes.  I was afraid of divorce and disappointment.  I was afraid of heartache and instability.  I worried about making the right decision, or rather making the wrong decision.  I was afraid of the pain a poor decision would carry.  I wanted my happiness guaranteed, and yet despite all my fears I said "yes."

My understanding of pain was so naive six years ago.

As I listened to the bubbly couple beside us, I thought
"Do you know how hard it will be?"
"Do you realize what you are doing?"

Then I looked across the table at my silent heartbroken husband.  I thought about the day we were married and how peaceful I felt as I stood beside him.  All of my worry and apprehension seemed to melt away when he held my hand in the temple.  I thought about all the times he drove hundreds of miles to work in cold and dusty and dirty conditions to provide a comfortable life for me.  I thought about the first time he held Jonah; how he radiated love instantly despite Jonah's complications.  I remembered the beautiful moments we shared together as a family; the walks up the canyon; Jonah's first time in a swimming pool; giggly chases around the living room couch.

When Jonah died, and I was waiting for Jordan at the hospital, I wondered what would happen to us.  Could our relationship survive something so devastating?  Would Jordan blame me for Jonah's death?  I could not bear the idea of losing Jonah and Jordan.  I wondered how we would ever recover from such sorrow.  But when Jordan arrived, and he realized Jonah was gone, I was overwhelmed by the love he showed to me.  There was no contention, no accusations, only pain and tears.   

All of this flooded my heart and mind as I ate my french fries, and I thought about this newly engaged couple.  I thought about how at one point in my life I may have been jealous of such a romantic story.  But instead I wondered if they understood how simple love can be.  It can be as simple as saying "I really love you, will you marry me?" It can be as simple as forgiveness and kindness.  It can be as simple as holding hands in the midst of intense pain.  Did they know they should be jealous of us?...a silent heartbroken fry-eating couple beside them.

Probably not.  But I knew.  I thought about the complicated package of beauty and joy and pain that arrived in my life when I said yes six years ago.  I would say yes again today.  I am so grateful that I was brave enough to walk into the unknown with Jordan.  How blessed we have been to learn to love in the simplest of ways.

Among the blessings of love there is hardly one more exquisite than the sense that in uniting the beloved life to ours we can watch over its happiness, bring comfort where hardship was, and over memories of privation and suffering open the sweetest fountains of joy.

George Eliot

For Good

This summer has been unusually musical for us...well for me at least.  I have been immersed in the kindness of friends with artistic connections, and as a result I have seen more than my fair share of plays and concerts.  I say for me because I have, for the most part, charitably spared Jordan from the agony of attending the theater.

The first year Jordan and I were married I was finishing my graduate degree and working with the Utah Shakespearean Festival.  As a perk I got a few free tickets to the festival each semester.  One summer evening when my parents were in town I thought it would be fun to see a play.  I should have been more selective.  We saw Johnny Guitar, a campy western musical with singing cowboys and melodramatic showdowns.  Honestly, Jordan has never been the same.  Every time a pair of theatrical tickets comes our way I see the fear in his eyes and sense the flashbacks of dancing cowboys joined in song. His relief is visible when I say "I'll call a friend."  Shortly after the Johnny Guitar incident I realized that musical theater wasn't our thing.  Hiking is our thing.  Going to thrift stores is our thing.  Eating delicious cheese is our thing.

Anyway, I have seen a lot of great plays this summer and been reminded why I love the theater.  When I was at BYU, studying humanities, a professor told me that we were really studying the good, the true, and the beautiful.  I feel like my year of heartbreak has made the good, the true and the beautiful even more poignant to me, and as a result I have cried at some point in almost every performance I have seen this summer.

I know it is super cheesy, but I secretly cried into my program as Mother Superior told Maria to "climb every mountain."  I wiped a single tear from my cheek when Eliza Doolittle could have danced all night.  I choked back tears when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang "He Has the Whole World in His Hands," because I really believe that He does.

The only performance I didn't cry in was Phantom of the Opera, where I felt like screaming at the star-crossed lovers, "You don't even know each other!!!"

My musical summer ended last Saturday when I saw Wicked with Jordan's mom.  I didn't know much about the play before we went.  I could have spouted off a few impressions: witches, green, Oz, etc..  All I knew was that other people - musical theater people - love it.  I heard a few song snippets out of context, and didn't really expect the whole experience to live up to the hype.  But it did, and I discovered that I really loved the whole thing.

I loved the message and the music and the humor.  But most of all I was moved to body-shaking sobs when I heard the song "For Good."  The lyrics really struck me...

It well may be  
That we will never meet again 
In this lifetime  
So let me say before we part  
So much of me 
Is made from what I learned from you  
You'll be with me 
Like a handprint on my heart

I couldn't help but think about Jonah.  About how his short life has shaped me and changed me for good.  I know that I am better because I had the opportunity to be his mother. I am also better because I have experienced the excruciating pain of losing him.  There was so much that was good, and true, and beautiful in that song.  I left feeling so grateful that I have been changed for the better by the unique life of my sweet Jonah.

And...I was grateful that it was better than Johnny Guitar!  Thanks to Sara K., Sara S., Melanie, Mike and Dave, and Logan and Linda for giving me so many opportunities to cry this summer.


 

Black-eyed Susan

Ten months without Jonah came and went without a single written word from me.  The pace of my mind has slowed dramatically.  I used to have so much to say, and now my mind seems to be resting and recuperating.  I hope that is normal and natural.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm repressing something; if I have created some sort of impenetrable emotional dam.  I once described grief as a river, full of rapids and eddies.  Now it feels like I have reached a vast reservoir, an expanse of flat water where I can drift for awhile.  Honestly, it is a nice change.

I have noticed this month that I am considerably less philosophical and much more nostalgic. The subtle changes of fall are reminding me of my final weeks with Jonah. 

This time last year Jonah had mastered the art of walking...and running.  He was always a busy boy and curious beyond belief.  But when he started walking he was unstoppable.  I felt so content (and exhausted) as I spent my days chasing him, and climbing to the highest parts of the playground. 

One day in particular keeps coming to my mind. My parents have a sinuous walkway that leads to mustardy-yellow front door.  I sat at the top of the winding cement ramp and watched Jonah tip and toddle down the path through a forest of Black-eyed Susans.  He loved to turn and look at me.  The pride of his accomplishment radiated from him.  He would pause every once and awhile and wait for me to chase him the rest of the way.  I remember his sweet giggle; his blue eyes;  his curious smile and adorable dimples.  My arms can almost feel the motion of catching his little body, and twirling him in the air.  I remember the soft warm light of a fall afternoon, and how grateful I felt. 

My parents Black-eyed Susans are in full bloom right now.  They have infiltrated every available inch of soil.  When I walk up that winding walkway, through the maze of yellow flowers, I am reminded of my beautiful boy, his rambunctious spirit, and how blessed I was to spend my days with him.

Panic

Sometimes Jordan and I just end up at Costco.  I can't explain exactly how it happens.  One thing leads to another and we find ourselves strolling up and down the wide cemented aisles, stalking the free samples, and wondering what item we could possibly need in bulk. 

We originally got our Costco membership to buy things like diapers and formula for Jonah.  Now we usually leave the store with a something like a year-supply of batteries, a 10-pack of Oreo's, and a gut-wrenching reminder that we are now just two...and not three.  We don't go out of necessity, but out of ritual. 

As we left Costco last week, with nothing but a paper cup of hummus and a pita chip in hand, I watched a woman rush past me down the aisle.  At first she just jogged behind her giant shopping cart and sternly yelled out her daughter's name.  "Maria!"  When Maria didn't come she suddenly became less self-conscious, less stern.  She began running and crying out. "Maria!"  She ran like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep, up and down the aisles, and we watched as the panic of the possible engulfed her.  Her daughter was gone.  Lost.  Maybe wandering.  Maybe stolen.  Her husband's panic followed suit as he sprinted to the other end of the store.

I watched them and was frozen in place by their urgency, because it reminded me of my own.  I stopped walking and my heart raced.  I remembered the moment that I realized Jonah was in trouble;  the feeling of trying to save him, sweeping his mouth, and pounding his back.  I remembered reaching for my phone as his body became limp.  I could see myself running with him in my arms to the front yard, crying for help.

As I relived my own panic I found that I could not help these worried parents or continue shopping.  I just prayed.  I prayed that Maria would find her mother. 

The staff at Costco quickly mobilized and found the little girl.  We heard a scratchy Walkie-Talkie report that she was located by the giant teddy bears.  She was fine.  But the panic stayed with me in a profound way.  As we made our way out to the parking lot my chin quivered, and I told Jordan, "that moment...that mom's panic...hit me so hard." 

Before Jonah died I would have felt sympathy or mild concern for the mother of a lost child, but after losing Jonah I felt her panic as if it was my own.  I have never felt so deeply for a total stranger.

We are often taught that Christ died for us, that he suffered for our sins, and that he felt our joys and sorrows.  We testify that he truly understands us.  We talk about His Infinite Atonement.  I have always believed and testified of these things.  But when I stood in Costco and felt the deep and heart wrenching panic of a worried mother, I understood more deeply how Christ feels our sorrows.  He knows our heartache, because His heart has been broken.  He knows our pain, because He endured incredible pain.  He feels our panic, our frustration, our anger, and our disappointment, because He experienced those emotions.  I don't claim to comprehend fully Christ's ability to succor us, but my unexpected moment of empathetic panic taught me that deep empathy is truly borne of experience.


Jesus' perfect empathy was ensured when, along with His Atonement for our sins, He took upon Himself our sicknesses, sorrows, griefs, and infirmities and came to know these "according to the flesh" (Alma 7:11-12). He did this in order that He might be filled with perfect, personal mercy and empathy and thereby know how to succor us in our infirmities. He thus fully comprehends human suffering.  Neal A. Maxwell

Thank You!

I am not feeling eloquent today.  I have sacrificed my brain and my writing to the worship of summer in all its light and glory.  I have been spending my energy in my garden and in the mountains and I have found a new kind of healing there.  I'm sure that when the cold and dark of autumn come I will return to my computer and this blog more often. 

Even though I don't feel like writing I want to say thank you.  Thank you for making Jonah's birthday so beautiful for me.  I was amazed by the unexpected response I got to my request for simple acts of kindness.  Thank you for sharing my request with others.  Thank you for doing small acts of service, and thank you for telling me about it.  I felt my dread turn to anxious anticipation as Jonah's birthday approached.  I felt so excited to hear about your adventures in kindness.  As I sat on the fence about whether to mourn or celebrate, your messages pulled me towards celebration.  I am so grateful.

As a family we began our day early with a race through lavender fields.  Then we gathered together in the evening to eat lots of comfort food and cake.  We even blew out candles and sang "happy birthday."  Our focus was not on what we lost, but on how blessed we all felt to have Jonah in our family.

My day was filled with lovely messages coming arriving via the mail, facebook, my phone, and at my front door.  I shared them with Jordan and cried as I read them aloud.  Here are some of the simple and beautiful things people did.

I just sat with Maggie and watched her favorite movie, Alvin and the Chipmunks, for the 500th time, because I know that you would have done the same thing with Jonah.

I tried to be patient when someone cut me off in the parking lot and it made such a difference

We took the time to help a couple visiting Beijing at the airport to catch the train between terminals...remembering how overwhelmed we were when we arrived here. Big and small, love is what it is all about.
 
In special memory of Jonah, my kids and I gathered a bunch of children's books and donated them to The House of Hope where mothers come with their children when they are trying to overcome addictions

We took some cookies to some neighbors we had not met yet.

Watched my sister's kids for a couple of hours so she could help her in-laws move into their new house 

Wrote a thank you letter to the person living at a house that I pass often that has a beautiful yard I really enjoy seeing. 

Thought of you today and bought my Mom chocolate! 

We donated to asilaymedowntosleep.org, a nonprofit that took beautiful pictures of my friends' baby who lived 58 hours. 

I was hand-washing my lunch dishes and started to grumble about the many other dirty dishes in the sink that didn't belong to me (the joys of living with young college roommates), and then I remembered, good deeds for Jonah today! So I washed everyone's dishes and ended up talking about him to one of the girls 

We were at breakfast at the beach this weekend and gave our extremely overworked waitress a tip that was the same amount as our meal.

I read an ABC book 4 times to Drew then thought of you and read it again.


I have been working over 70 hours a week between my two jobs, (doctor's hours without the pay) and my sacrifice is picking up hours for someone who desperately needed to trade hours,no one would respond to her pleas. 

We made cupcakes and passed them out to our neighbors at the campground.

my brother and sister-in-law are currently enjoying an evening out while their four kids are with me and my husband 

I took two of my friends who are mentally challenged (but living in a group home and employed) to the Springville Museum of Art for the annual Quilt Show.

I clicked on the Donate Life button on your blog and donated some money in Jonah's name.   

I spent the morning with an elderly friend of ours. He is 83 and has no family to speak of. We have become his family.


My friend Katie was on a pioneer handcart trek (totally a Mormon thing) with the youth of her congregation on Jonah's birthday, she told them about Jonah and asked them to do an act of service while they hiked.  They each wrote me a note explaining their service.  My favorite is from a teenage boy named Tucker.  He said,

I carried somebody across the Sweetwater [river], just as I would have done for you.

These are only a few of the messages I received.  I loved that so many people just took time to listen to someone in need, to express love, or to play with their children.  Those are the moments that have the most impact.

It is an amazing feeling to know that my little boy, who only lived on this earth for 14 short months could be the catalyst for such kindness.  It is overwhelming and incredibly healing.  Being his mother and experiencing such loss has taught me how to love more deeply than I thought possible.  Thank you for turning my simple request into such a beautiful ripple of love. 

We miss you Jonah and love you so much!

Master, which is the great commandment in the law?  Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. 

Matthew 22:36-40