Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
Remembering January 11, 2013...
I don't write much anymore. There's so much sad in my heart that it seems to eek out into everything else.
But tonight, I need to write.
I need to remember.
One year ago on this day, in the aftermath of a horrible snowstorm that had left McKayslin and I stranded in Brigham City, Bob drove over to pick us up and drive us into SLC.
The night before we had learned the devastating news that Kenton's marrow held 25% cancer cells. While unsure of the plan for his treatment and care, we still held onto hope.
Bob walked up to Kenton's room with us. There were hugs and prayers and tears and smiles all mixed up together. Bob left and Luke went to tell the doctors we were ready for the team meeting.
As the team filtered in, their faces revealed just how much more devastation we were about to face.
It's too soon after transplant....very little hope of remission...body is too weak...not much chance of success...terminal...
Terminal.
Do you know what that does to your whole soul when you hear that word? Do you know your heart shatters into a trillion tiny little pieces that will never again become one complete unit? Do you know that you forget to breathe? And that you hold as tightly as you can to your right now?
There was a decision to make.
And it needed to be made very soon.
Do we accept "terminal?"
Or do we fight?
That battle between our heads and our hearts began when we heard the 25% and raged into an unbelievable aching torture.
How do you choose to let your child die? How?!
Or how do you choose to put your child through so much more pain, so many more days of treatment and sickness and chemo when the chance of it making much difference is slim to none? How?!
The medical team filtered out, pulling the blind to Kenton's room. We sat in stunned silence. Unsure of the questions we should ask. Afraid of breaking the silence with our fears. The tears streamed. The only sound was the ticking of the clock and the shattering of our hearts.
And then we talked.
Do you understand?
Do you want to fight?
What is Heavenly Father's plan for you?
For our family?
So many tears, so many questions, so much anguish.
And so much peace.
I still don't know how that's even possible.
All that peace...
Our day was spent in prayer, and on the phone to our immediate family, and holding each other so tight.
That night, our dear Bishopric rescued our van from Brigham City, and came to the hospital. The sadness was etched onto their faces and haunted their eyes.
We talked.
We prayed.
We spoke of the decisions that needed to be made.
And, in turn, each of us received a very powerful, very personal priesthood blessing.
And at the end, through the tears, Kenton's words cut through the silence... "We stop treatments."
It's what we'd felt all day.
What we didn't want the answer to be.
And yet, we knew.
We knew with all of the peace and comfort and the witness of the Holy Ghost that stopping treatment was the answer.
And it had to be okay.
So many more tears were shed. We talked with our dear friends for a long time. We all cried together. And the feeling in that room at PCMC was so much like the Celestial room at the temple. The spirit was so strong.
And so, today, I remember.
I remember my incredibly strong son who had fought so hard and done everything the doctors asked in order to be healed, choosing to terminate treatment, accepting with grace and strength the conditions of this mortal existence, knowing fully of our Father's love.
I remember my sweet daughter holding tightly to her best friend, faithful and true in accepting what was happening to our mortal family, knowing that this didn't mean the end. It just meant separation for a while.
I remember my faithful husband standing guard over his family, brokenhearted yet willing to accept, understand, and remain faithful.
And I remember me in awe of the caliber of my forever family, feeling so incredibly blessed to have been chosen to be the mother to two of the most valiant, brave, true, faithful, strong children that will ever come to this earth. Feeling so blessed to have been chosen as the eternal companion of one who knew so certainly of our Father's plan and accepted it with grace and strength.
Today I remember.
But tonight, I need to write.
I need to remember.
One year ago on this day, in the aftermath of a horrible snowstorm that had left McKayslin and I stranded in Brigham City, Bob drove over to pick us up and drive us into SLC.
The night before we had learned the devastating news that Kenton's marrow held 25% cancer cells. While unsure of the plan for his treatment and care, we still held onto hope.
Bob walked up to Kenton's room with us. There were hugs and prayers and tears and smiles all mixed up together. Bob left and Luke went to tell the doctors we were ready for the team meeting.
As the team filtered in, their faces revealed just how much more devastation we were about to face.
It's too soon after transplant....very little hope of remission...body is too weak...not much chance of success...terminal...
Terminal.
Do you know what that does to your whole soul when you hear that word? Do you know your heart shatters into a trillion tiny little pieces that will never again become one complete unit? Do you know that you forget to breathe? And that you hold as tightly as you can to your right now?
There was a decision to make.
And it needed to be made very soon.
Do we accept "terminal?"
Or do we fight?
That battle between our heads and our hearts began when we heard the 25% and raged into an unbelievable aching torture.
How do you choose to let your child die? How?!
Or how do you choose to put your child through so much more pain, so many more days of treatment and sickness and chemo when the chance of it making much difference is slim to none? How?!
The medical team filtered out, pulling the blind to Kenton's room. We sat in stunned silence. Unsure of the questions we should ask. Afraid of breaking the silence with our fears. The tears streamed. The only sound was the ticking of the clock and the shattering of our hearts.
And then we talked.
Do you understand?
Do you want to fight?
What is Heavenly Father's plan for you?
For our family?
So many tears, so many questions, so much anguish.
And so much peace.
I still don't know how that's even possible.
All that peace...
Our day was spent in prayer, and on the phone to our immediate family, and holding each other so tight.
That night, our dear Bishopric rescued our van from Brigham City, and came to the hospital. The sadness was etched onto their faces and haunted their eyes.
We talked.
We prayed.
We spoke of the decisions that needed to be made.
And, in turn, each of us received a very powerful, very personal priesthood blessing.
And at the end, through the tears, Kenton's words cut through the silence... "We stop treatments."
It's what we'd felt all day.
What we didn't want the answer to be.
And yet, we knew.
We knew with all of the peace and comfort and the witness of the Holy Ghost that stopping treatment was the answer.
And it had to be okay.
So many more tears were shed. We talked with our dear friends for a long time. We all cried together. And the feeling in that room at PCMC was so much like the Celestial room at the temple. The spirit was so strong.
And so, today, I remember.
I remember my incredibly strong son who had fought so hard and done everything the doctors asked in order to be healed, choosing to terminate treatment, accepting with grace and strength the conditions of this mortal existence, knowing fully of our Father's love.
I remember my sweet daughter holding tightly to her best friend, faithful and true in accepting what was happening to our mortal family, knowing that this didn't mean the end. It just meant separation for a while.
I remember my faithful husband standing guard over his family, brokenhearted yet willing to accept, understand, and remain faithful.
And I remember me in awe of the caliber of my forever family, feeling so incredibly blessed to have been chosen to be the mother to two of the most valiant, brave, true, faithful, strong children that will ever come to this earth. Feeling so blessed to have been chosen as the eternal companion of one who knew so certainly of our Father's plan and accepted it with grace and strength.
Today I remember.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
[December 10, 2013] 46 weeks
December 10, 2013
46 weeks
Sometimes I pretend that you're just on a mission. And then I catch a glimpse of your photo on the wall, or the cast of your hand intertwined with McKayslin's. And I remember.
My breath catches in my throat. My heart catches in my chest.
I have to remind myself to breathe.
It's been one year since we learned that there were abnormal cells showing in your bone marrow. You weren't even at the 100 days past transplant. The BMT team was very concerned. We were very concerned. One year ago President Acevedo stopped to give McKayslin and I each a blessing (you and Daddy were in Salt Lake, we'd been e-mailing all day and then Skyping all evening).
That blessing has been a source of strength and peace for over a year now. President blessed me that I would have an understanding of and an appreciation for the Atonement and the Resurrection.
That night was the first night that I actually couldn't pray. I didn't know what to say. I just knew that I was terrified of what the future held. I sat on the stairs in tears. I knew I needed to pray. But I couldn't. And then I uttered the only words that I could, "Please, Heavenly Father, I need peace."
Instantly, powerfully, I felt a wave of peace make its way through my fear, my sadness, my hurt. The tears ceased. And I knew that regardless, everything would be okay.
Over the past year, I have prayed that same prayer countless times, always with the same result. There is peace.
Lately we've had a few friends stop by for various reasons, but they are the friends that are willing to talk about you. They know you. They love you. And we love them for that. It's so healing to be able to share your stories. To be able to hear your stories. Don't get me wrong, we'd so much rather have you here. We miss you every single minute of every single day.
Last night we had pancakes, bacon, and eggs for dinner. And I remembered one day a few years ago...
It was a Saturday morning. You wanted pancakes (you always wanted pancakes). McKayslin wanted waffles (she always wanted waffles). We usually had waffles. But that morning I realized (duh!!) IT'S THE SAME BATTER! So I made both. Waffles for our Goose and pancakes for our Bubs. You were so happy that morning. And so appreciative of that simple act of kindness. These memories remind me to always be appreciative of the little things.
We were talking about that morning as I cooked dinner. And then I started laughing because I remembered that was also the morning that we played "stupid human tricks" in the kitchen. I cooked up a bunch of little tiny pancakes. You stood next to Sparky on one side of the kitchen. I stood on the other side of the kitchen and flipped the pancakes off the spatula toward you and Sparky. You caught some, Sparky caught others. We all laughed so hard that morning. That was an awesome memory. It caught me off guard and made me smile through my tears.
You have such a gift of living life to the very fullest. I miss that. It's a good lesson for me to remember these moments because it helps me remember that life is to be lived, not just endured.
Oh how I miss you, my handsome warrior. You've been gone nearly a year. Each week seems a little more challenging than the one before. We're so grateful for friends that remember. They remember us with stories, with memories, with cards, texts, and service. But above all, we are so grateful for you. And for our knowledge of eternal families.
Christmas won't be the same without you. Because nothing is the same without you. Some days feel a little softer than others. For that I am grateful. I don't think this will ever get easier. I don't think it's supposed to. But I do think it's supposed to get softer.
As we go into this Christmas season, I am reminded, yet again, of the power of the Atonement. And, I am learning to have an understanding of and an appreciation for that divine gift.
Carry forth, brave son - you're doing amazing things. I've had several incredible stories of your influence shared with me. I am so proud of you!
Love you. Miss you.
Neither of those things will ever change.
All my love,
Mom
46 weeks
Sometimes I pretend that you're just on a mission. And then I catch a glimpse of your photo on the wall, or the cast of your hand intertwined with McKayslin's. And I remember. My breath catches in my throat. My heart catches in my chest.
I have to remind myself to breathe.
It's been one year since we learned that there were abnormal cells showing in your bone marrow. You weren't even at the 100 days past transplant. The BMT team was very concerned. We were very concerned. One year ago President Acevedo stopped to give McKayslin and I each a blessing (you and Daddy were in Salt Lake, we'd been e-mailing all day and then Skyping all evening).
That blessing has been a source of strength and peace for over a year now. President blessed me that I would have an understanding of and an appreciation for the Atonement and the Resurrection.
That night was the first night that I actually couldn't pray. I didn't know what to say. I just knew that I was terrified of what the future held. I sat on the stairs in tears. I knew I needed to pray. But I couldn't. And then I uttered the only words that I could, "Please, Heavenly Father, I need peace."
Instantly, powerfully, I felt a wave of peace make its way through my fear, my sadness, my hurt. The tears ceased. And I knew that regardless, everything would be okay.
Over the past year, I have prayed that same prayer countless times, always with the same result. There is peace.
Lately we've had a few friends stop by for various reasons, but they are the friends that are willing to talk about you. They know you. They love you. And we love them for that. It's so healing to be able to share your stories. To be able to hear your stories. Don't get me wrong, we'd so much rather have you here. We miss you every single minute of every single day.
Last night we had pancakes, bacon, and eggs for dinner. And I remembered one day a few years ago...
It was a Saturday morning. You wanted pancakes (you always wanted pancakes). McKayslin wanted waffles (she always wanted waffles). We usually had waffles. But that morning I realized (duh!!) IT'S THE SAME BATTER! So I made both. Waffles for our Goose and pancakes for our Bubs. You were so happy that morning. And so appreciative of that simple act of kindness. These memories remind me to always be appreciative of the little things.
We were talking about that morning as I cooked dinner. And then I started laughing because I remembered that was also the morning that we played "stupid human tricks" in the kitchen. I cooked up a bunch of little tiny pancakes. You stood next to Sparky on one side of the kitchen. I stood on the other side of the kitchen and flipped the pancakes off the spatula toward you and Sparky. You caught some, Sparky caught others. We all laughed so hard that morning. That was an awesome memory. It caught me off guard and made me smile through my tears.
You have such a gift of living life to the very fullest. I miss that. It's a good lesson for me to remember these moments because it helps me remember that life is to be lived, not just endured.
Oh how I miss you, my handsome warrior. You've been gone nearly a year. Each week seems a little more challenging than the one before. We're so grateful for friends that remember. They remember us with stories, with memories, with cards, texts, and service. But above all, we are so grateful for you. And for our knowledge of eternal families.
Christmas won't be the same without you. Because nothing is the same without you. Some days feel a little softer than others. For that I am grateful. I don't think this will ever get easier. I don't think it's supposed to. But I do think it's supposed to get softer.
As we go into this Christmas season, I am reminded, yet again, of the power of the Atonement. And, I am learning to have an understanding of and an appreciation for that divine gift.
Carry forth, brave son - you're doing amazing things. I've had several incredible stories of your influence shared with me. I am so proud of you!
Love you. Miss you.
Neither of those things will ever change.
All my love,
Mom
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
[October 29, 2013]
October 29, 2013
40 weeks
40 weeks you've been gone, my handsome boy.
You've been gone longer than we awaited your arrival as a baby.
40 weeks of missing you.
40 weeks of tears.
40 weeks of heartache.
40 weeks of doing things without you.
40 weeks of trying to match our old traditions with our new reality.
40 weeks of grief.
40 weeks of wondering just how we're going to stay standing.
And on the flip side...
40 weeks of service.
40 weeks of phone calls, texts, email.
40 weeks of concerned looks.
40 weeks of "How is your heart today?"
40 weeks of meals, treats, cards.
40 weeks of seeing the love and concern of our Heavenly Father poured out so deeply through those who love us.
Last week I was teaching piano lessons. Megan's lesson. She was playing the song "For Good" from the musical "Wicked." That song hits me right in the heart every time... because I knew you, I have been changed FOR GOOD.
She played it beautifully, not needing any help, so I just sat back and listened.
And then, for just a very brief moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
No one else was here except Meg and I.
And you.
You stopped to let me know you are okay.
I had to catch my breath as she finished playing and I felt you leave.
Saturday we went to the Pumpkin Walk.
We've gone every year since you were just a baby.
Every year except last year.
Because you were at the hospital.
Just as we walked in, a single little leaf fell from a tree, and landed directly on my head. I reached up, took it off, and Daddy said, "Hi, Mom!" Yep, just a little love tap from my boy, again, letting me know that you're okay, and that you are there.
This week I've been thinking a lot about our traditions.
And at first I was angry that you didn't get to spend those last traditions doing things the way we always have.
But as I sat, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I was gently reminded, again, of the love our Heavenly Father has for us, and how He knows the end from the beginning.
Brought into my mind was our last Halloween together. It was the weekend before Halloween actually. McKayslin and I had brought FunKins and carving tools to the hospital because you weren't allowed to be around live plants (fungus, mold, etc.). Our family spent that Saturday afternoon "carving" pumpkins.
You know what's awesome about that?
We have the last pumpkin you ever carved.
It won't rot.
It won't have to be thrown away.
Because it's not a real pumpkin.
See that tender mercy right there?
And then my mind wandered forward to Thanksgiving. Since you were old enough, you (and then you and Sis) have always decorated the tree on the Friday after Thanksgiving with Grammy while Daddy and I went shopping.
Last year we didn't go shopping.
You were in-patient again, recovering from pericardial effusion and the surgery to relieve that.
McKayslin had the great idea the week prior to that, to pick up little fake trees, and all of the ornaments to decorate them.
That Friday after Thanksgiving, that's what you guys did.
We have both of your trees bagged up, ornaments still exactly how you hung them.
We'll get them out on the Friday after Thanksgiving.
Because they're small, they don't have to be undecorated.
Yours will stay exactly as you so carefully decorated it.
Another tender mercy.
We'll always have your tree.
Oh how we miss you. Oh how we love you. Oh how we grieve.
You're a pretty amazing kid.
Your sister is a pretty amazing kid.
Your dad and I are pretty blessed to have been chosen to be your parents.
We'll stop by to see you tonight.
And again on Friday when we undecorate your resting spot after Halloween and put up the fall/Thanksgiving stuff we've found.
Love you, LOVE YOU!
Forever. For Always. And no matter what.
Have a great week, handsome!
Love you!
Love,
Mom
40 weeks
40 weeks you've been gone, my handsome boy.
You've been gone longer than we awaited your arrival as a baby.
40 weeks of missing you.
40 weeks of tears.
40 weeks of heartache.
40 weeks of doing things without you.
40 weeks of trying to match our old traditions with our new reality.
40 weeks of grief.
40 weeks of wondering just how we're going to stay standing.
And on the flip side...
40 weeks of service.
40 weeks of phone calls, texts, email.
40 weeks of concerned looks.
40 weeks of "How is your heart today?"
40 weeks of meals, treats, cards.
40 weeks of seeing the love and concern of our Heavenly Father poured out so deeply through those who love us.
Last week I was teaching piano lessons. Megan's lesson. She was playing the song "For Good" from the musical "Wicked." That song hits me right in the heart every time... because I knew you, I have been changed FOR GOOD.
She played it beautifully, not needing any help, so I just sat back and listened.
And then, for just a very brief moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
No one else was here except Meg and I.
And you.
You stopped to let me know you are okay.
I had to catch my breath as she finished playing and I felt you leave.
Saturday we went to the Pumpkin Walk.
We've gone every year since you were just a baby.
Every year except last year.
Because you were at the hospital.
Just as we walked in, a single little leaf fell from a tree, and landed directly on my head. I reached up, took it off, and Daddy said, "Hi, Mom!" Yep, just a little love tap from my boy, again, letting me know that you're okay, and that you are there.
This week I've been thinking a lot about our traditions.
And at first I was angry that you didn't get to spend those last traditions doing things the way we always have.
But as I sat, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I was gently reminded, again, of the love our Heavenly Father has for us, and how He knows the end from the beginning.
Brought into my mind was our last Halloween together. It was the weekend before Halloween actually. McKayslin and I had brought FunKins and carving tools to the hospital because you weren't allowed to be around live plants (fungus, mold, etc.). Our family spent that Saturday afternoon "carving" pumpkins.
You know what's awesome about that?
We have the last pumpkin you ever carved.
It won't rot.
It won't have to be thrown away.
Because it's not a real pumpkin.
See that tender mercy right there?
And then my mind wandered forward to Thanksgiving. Since you were old enough, you (and then you and Sis) have always decorated the tree on the Friday after Thanksgiving with Grammy while Daddy and I went shopping.
Last year we didn't go shopping.
You were in-patient again, recovering from pericardial effusion and the surgery to relieve that.
McKayslin had the great idea the week prior to that, to pick up little fake trees, and all of the ornaments to decorate them.
That Friday after Thanksgiving, that's what you guys did.
We have both of your trees bagged up, ornaments still exactly how you hung them.
We'll get them out on the Friday after Thanksgiving.
Because they're small, they don't have to be undecorated.
Yours will stay exactly as you so carefully decorated it.
Another tender mercy.
We'll always have your tree.
Oh how we miss you. Oh how we love you. Oh how we grieve.
You're a pretty amazing kid.
Your sister is a pretty amazing kid.
Your dad and I are pretty blessed to have been chosen to be your parents.
We'll stop by to see you tonight.
And again on Friday when we undecorate your resting spot after Halloween and put up the fall/Thanksgiving stuff we've found.
Love you, LOVE YOU!
Forever. For Always. And no matter what.
Have a great week, handsome!
Love you!
Love,
Mom
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
[37 weeks] [October 8, 2013]
October 8, 2013
37 weeks
Dear Kenton,
This morning started out rough. Rougher, in fact, than many others. I'm not sure why. The only thing I can think is that I've been trying so much harder over the past month or so to just be better - to forgive more freely, to love more openly, to serve more willingly, and to spend time each day reading the scriptures and in thoughtful earnest prayer.
Every time we attempt to become closer to our Heavenly Father, Satan really steps in and tries to take hold on our hearts, make us feel that we're not worthy of the love of our Heavenly Father, that we should just give up, and go back to being slothful, lazy, grumpy...
Doctrine and Covenants Section 58:
I posted on the Team Kenton Facebook page "37 weeks and each seems more taxing than the last. Miss you, my boy. Love you forever."
We have some pretty great people on our team, my boy. Do you know how I know that?
Because today was actually an okay day. And a day that starts out like that and ends out okay has to have some pretty heartfelt prayers going up on my behalf. So many people that have never met you, me, our family, have been praying for us since they first learned of your diagnosis in June of 2012. Those prayers continue. And they bring the strength and peace that we need.
Tonight after our weekly visit to the cemetery...
...and traditional stop at McDonald's for dinner, Dad had YM early, McKayslin was playing with the littles, Grammy was reading a book, and I needed to go to town to get shampoo and conditioner.
I had every intention of going straight to Wal-Mart and straight home. As I was driving, thinking, praying, somehow I didn't really notice where I was going until I ended up in the temple parking lot... (pretty scary to think of, but since I'm certain I was supposed to be at the temple tonight, there were a legion of angels directing traffic and guiding my car - and pretty sure you were sitting there riding shotgun which is just downright awesome!).
I didn't have my temple clothing in the car. But I did have my recommend. And, interestingly enough (?!), I had worn a skirt to school today, so I was dressed in appropriate attire for temple attendance. I sent Roma a quick text to see if she could keep McKayslin a little longer than planned, stepped out of the car, snapped a quick photo...
...and headed into the temple.
I chose to do initiatory.
Or, more accurately, I was told to do initiatory.
You, my boy, are pretty persuasive.
You knew that I needed to hear those blessings again.
To be reminded of the promises made to me by my Heavenly Father.
Thanks for getting me there tonight.
You know me so well.
LOVE YOU!
Over the past few weeks, things have happened and things have been said and implied, that without going into detail, because details would hurt others, and that's not my intention, have really knocked me for a loop, set me into a tailspin, and kicked my mom guilt into overdrive.
As I've prayed for comfort, for peace, for understanding, for the ability to forgive, I've felt as I've gotten nowhere. That I've been stuck in this place that hurts and threatens to break me. Tonight, as I participated in the initiatory two phrases were emphasized each time - "Your sins are forgiven you and you are clean..." and "...your shoulders that they may bear the burdens placed upon them..." (those may or may not be the exact phrases, but they're close).
And I left the temple feeling as if I'd walked into a room filled with brilliant light, with the love of our Savior, and I could feel your arm linked with mine as we walked to the car together. Forgiveness. Strength. Tonight was a miracle that I truly, completely needed.
I still don't understand why you had to go.
I doubt that, until the Millennium, I will understand.
Every day is a battle to just be okay.
We're doing our best.
Some days are better than others.
Some days just hurt.
We know you're nearby.
Watching over us.
Helping us.
Loving us.
Missing us.
Thanks for that.
We miss you.
We love you.
We are blessed to be your forever family.
Love you, LOVE YOU!
Love,
Mom
37 weeks
Dear Kenton,
This morning started out rough. Rougher, in fact, than many others. I'm not sure why. The only thing I can think is that I've been trying so much harder over the past month or so to just be better - to forgive more freely, to love more openly, to serve more willingly, and to spend time each day reading the scriptures and in thoughtful earnest prayer.
Every time we attempt to become closer to our Heavenly Father, Satan really steps in and tries to take hold on our hearts, make us feel that we're not worthy of the love of our Heavenly Father, that we should just give up, and go back to being slothful, lazy, grumpy...
Doctrine and Covenants Section 58:
2 For verily I say unto you, blessed is he that a keepeth my commandments, whether in life or in b death; and he that isc faithful in d tribulation, the e reward of the same is greater in the kingdom of heaven.
3 Ye cannot behold with your natural a eyes, for the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the b glory which shall follow after much tribulation.
4 For after much a tribulation come the b blessings. Wherefore the day cometh that ye shall be c crowned with much d glory;
You are such a great example of being faithful in tribulation. Never once did I hear you question your faith. Never once did I see anger regarding your diagnosis, your treatment, your final diagnosis of terminal. I posted on the Team Kenton Facebook page "37 weeks and each seems more taxing than the last. Miss you, my boy. Love you forever."
We have some pretty great people on our team, my boy. Do you know how I know that?
Because today was actually an okay day. And a day that starts out like that and ends out okay has to have some pretty heartfelt prayers going up on my behalf. So many people that have never met you, me, our family, have been praying for us since they first learned of your diagnosis in June of 2012. Those prayers continue. And they bring the strength and peace that we need.
Tonight after our weekly visit to the cemetery...
...and traditional stop at McDonald's for dinner, Dad had YM early, McKayslin was playing with the littles, Grammy was reading a book, and I needed to go to town to get shampoo and conditioner.
I had every intention of going straight to Wal-Mart and straight home. As I was driving, thinking, praying, somehow I didn't really notice where I was going until I ended up in the temple parking lot... (pretty scary to think of, but since I'm certain I was supposed to be at the temple tonight, there were a legion of angels directing traffic and guiding my car - and pretty sure you were sitting there riding shotgun which is just downright awesome!).
I didn't have my temple clothing in the car. But I did have my recommend. And, interestingly enough (?!), I had worn a skirt to school today, so I was dressed in appropriate attire for temple attendance. I sent Roma a quick text to see if she could keep McKayslin a little longer than planned, stepped out of the car, snapped a quick photo...
...and headed into the temple.
I chose to do initiatory.
Or, more accurately, I was told to do initiatory.
You, my boy, are pretty persuasive.
You knew that I needed to hear those blessings again.
To be reminded of the promises made to me by my Heavenly Father.
Thanks for getting me there tonight.
You know me so well.
LOVE YOU!
Over the past few weeks, things have happened and things have been said and implied, that without going into detail, because details would hurt others, and that's not my intention, have really knocked me for a loop, set me into a tailspin, and kicked my mom guilt into overdrive.
As I've prayed for comfort, for peace, for understanding, for the ability to forgive, I've felt as I've gotten nowhere. That I've been stuck in this place that hurts and threatens to break me. Tonight, as I participated in the initiatory two phrases were emphasized each time - "Your sins are forgiven you and you are clean..." and "...your shoulders that they may bear the burdens placed upon them..." (those may or may not be the exact phrases, but they're close).
And I left the temple feeling as if I'd walked into a room filled with brilliant light, with the love of our Savior, and I could feel your arm linked with mine as we walked to the car together. Forgiveness. Strength. Tonight was a miracle that I truly, completely needed.
I still don't understand why you had to go.
I doubt that, until the Millennium, I will understand.
Every day is a battle to just be okay.
We're doing our best.
Some days are better than others.
Some days just hurt.
We know you're nearby.
Watching over us.
Helping us.
Loving us.
Missing us.
Thanks for that.
We miss you.
We love you.
We are blessed to be your forever family.
Love you, LOVE YOU!
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
[35 weeks]
September 24, 2013
35 weeks (8 months)
Dear Kenton,
Hello my handsome warrior!
Sure do love you!
Sure do miss you!
I miss those super tight hugs - like that day we started Christmas break 2012 - when you came sprinting down the hall of the halfway house because we'd beat you there (you'd been at clinic getting a transfusion) and you threw your arms around me right there in the doorway of our room - or like every morning before you'd leave for school - and like every single time I'd be leaving to come home when you were still at PCMC or at the halfway house. Yeah, I miss those. No one gives a hug quite like you. McKayslin gives great hugs and I love those hugs too! We all miss your hugs.
I miss that giant smile. The one that was nearly always present on your face. The one that could light up an entire room. Change an attitude. Lift a dark cloud. We all miss your smile.
I miss tripping over your cowboy boots.
And your Schleich animals.
And your cars.
And your tractors.
I miss finding drawings of horses in random places.
I miss having sketchbooks and drawing pencils lying around every room of the house.
I miss the notes in my scriptures, in my school bag, in my purse (although you taught your little sister well, because she does this now!).
I miss hearing you pluck out songs on the guitar and on the piano.
I miss hearing you play your favorite song on your iPod 20 times a day.
I miss hearing you sing along.
I miss you asking for eggs for breakfast every.single.morning. ;)
I miss cooking breakfast.
Because McKayslin and I eat cereal almost every morning and you hated cereal.
I miss cooking your favorite foods - cilantro lime chicken, pumpkin pancakes, pizza sticks... You loved everything I cooked and were always the first to tell me how delicious dinner was (even when sometimes it wasn't!).
I miss you sending the "love you Mom, have a good day!" texts when the bus had just rounded the corner, or when you first got to school, and always when you got home from school.
I miss waving to you and blowing you a kiss every morning as the bus left - I asked you several times if you wanted me to stop because I was embarrassing you and you always said no.
I miss having a shopping buddy when I go to craft stores.
I miss buying Schleich animals. And sour cream and onion Pringles.
There are so many things I miss.
Every day I miss you.
I read something the other day that I wish I would have read when you were little. It was talking about the best way to cheer your children on. Simple words... "I love the way you..." instead of criticizing, or yelling, or "encouraging" during sporting events mainly. But I've thought a LOT about that over the past week or so. Oh how I wish instead of being so hard on you I simply would have let you know that I was proud of you.
Do you know how proud I am of you?
How proud I've always been of you?
Instead of "helping" (which I realize now really was no help at all!) by yelling during sporting events, piano practice sessions, and homework time, I should have told you:
"I love the way you play baseball with your whole heart!"
"I love the way you don't give up when you're wrestling someone older and taller than you!"
"I love how you know each karate motto and how you live them!"
"I love that you share your art with so many people!"
"I love how you play goalie with every ounce of effort and concentration you can muster!"
"I love that you're learning to play so many songs!"
"I love that you're developing your musical talents!"
"I love that you're not afraid to perform a musical number in church!"
"I love watching you in the musical!"
"I love that you're working hard - I know this math is tough, can I help you?"
"I love seeing your hard work pay off when report cards come! Being on the honor roll is a really big deal!"
"I love that each morning you get my vitamins ready for me before you head to the bus!"
"I love that you take Sparky potty every single morning before you'll eat breakfast so I don't have to!"
"I love that you text me little 'love you Mom!' notes during the day!"
"I love that you're the perfect big brother!"
"I love that you serve so freely and without any desire for a reward!"
"I love that you're always looking for ways to make someone's day a little brighter!"
And when I think about this, I often think of the day you sent an e-mail, it was a Friday, you were recovering from your BMT and you were SICK!, yet you noticed that one of the nurses (she wasn't even YOUR nurse this day!) was having a pretty rotten day, so you e-mailed me and asked me to bring her a surprise when we came to the hospital that afternoon. I asked you what and you KNEW that she loved doing puzzles to relax, so you asked us to pick her up a puzzle or two. We did. And you were able to give them to her before she headed home that night. She thanked you with eyes full of tears. You always could read people so well, and you always wanted to make them smile!
"I love your courage in being friends with everyone!"
"I love that everyone knows what you believe because you live your beliefs proudly!"
"I love your example of faith and courage!"
I LOVE YOU!!!
Yep, I so wish I'd realized how hurtful my "help" was.
I'm so grateful for your forgiveness and your unconditional love.
Because of you, I am more aware as I talk to McKayslin, to my class, to my friends.
I'm sorry I didn't do better with you.
It's been a rough 8 months without you. Sometimes I wonder where the 8 months have gone because time seems to be flying by. Yet other times, I feel every crushing second of those 8 months without you.
I was remembering the other night the last solo you sang in church. It must have been March or April of 2012. Right before you got sick. It was the song "In That Holy Place" by Sally DeFord. You sang it so beautifully.
This song plays in my mind often.
I can hear you singing your testimony of eternal family.
And it makes my heart smile and my tears fall.
My son of many talents - I love that you shared your talents so freely.
I love that you have blessed the lives of so many.
And mostly, I love that I am your mom.
I love you forever.
And miss you always.
Thanks for being awesome.
For loving me.
For forgiving me.
And for teaching me.
Keep being awesome my heavenly missionary!
Love you, LOVE YOU!
Love,
Mom
35 weeks (8 months)
Dear Kenton,
Hello my handsome warrior!
Sure do love you!
Sure do miss you!
I miss those super tight hugs - like that day we started Christmas break 2012 - when you came sprinting down the hall of the halfway house because we'd beat you there (you'd been at clinic getting a transfusion) and you threw your arms around me right there in the doorway of our room - or like every morning before you'd leave for school - and like every single time I'd be leaving to come home when you were still at PCMC or at the halfway house. Yeah, I miss those. No one gives a hug quite like you. McKayslin gives great hugs and I love those hugs too! We all miss your hugs.
I miss that giant smile. The one that was nearly always present on your face. The one that could light up an entire room. Change an attitude. Lift a dark cloud. We all miss your smile.
I miss tripping over your cowboy boots.
And your Schleich animals.
And your cars.
And your tractors.
I miss finding drawings of horses in random places.
I miss having sketchbooks and drawing pencils lying around every room of the house.
I miss the notes in my scriptures, in my school bag, in my purse (although you taught your little sister well, because she does this now!).
I miss hearing you pluck out songs on the guitar and on the piano.
I miss hearing you play your favorite song on your iPod 20 times a day.
I miss hearing you sing along.
I miss you asking for eggs for breakfast every.single.morning. ;)
I miss cooking breakfast.
Because McKayslin and I eat cereal almost every morning and you hated cereal.
I miss cooking your favorite foods - cilantro lime chicken, pumpkin pancakes, pizza sticks... You loved everything I cooked and were always the first to tell me how delicious dinner was (even when sometimes it wasn't!).
I miss you sending the "love you Mom, have a good day!" texts when the bus had just rounded the corner, or when you first got to school, and always when you got home from school.
I miss waving to you and blowing you a kiss every morning as the bus left - I asked you several times if you wanted me to stop because I was embarrassing you and you always said no.
I miss having a shopping buddy when I go to craft stores.
I miss buying Schleich animals. And sour cream and onion Pringles.
There are so many things I miss.
Every day I miss you.
I read something the other day that I wish I would have read when you were little. It was talking about the best way to cheer your children on. Simple words... "I love the way you..." instead of criticizing, or yelling, or "encouraging" during sporting events mainly. But I've thought a LOT about that over the past week or so. Oh how I wish instead of being so hard on you I simply would have let you know that I was proud of you.
Do you know how proud I am of you?
How proud I've always been of you?
Instead of "helping" (which I realize now really was no help at all!) by yelling during sporting events, piano practice sessions, and homework time, I should have told you:
"I love the way you play baseball with your whole heart!"
"I love the way you don't give up when you're wrestling someone older and taller than you!"
"I love how you know each karate motto and how you live them!"
"I love that you share your art with so many people!"
"I love how you play goalie with every ounce of effort and concentration you can muster!"
"I love that you're learning to play so many songs!"
"I love that you're developing your musical talents!"
"I love that you're not afraid to perform a musical number in church!"
"I love watching you in the musical!"
"I love that you're working hard - I know this math is tough, can I help you?"
"I love seeing your hard work pay off when report cards come! Being on the honor roll is a really big deal!"
"I love that each morning you get my vitamins ready for me before you head to the bus!"
"I love that you take Sparky potty every single morning before you'll eat breakfast so I don't have to!"
"I love that you text me little 'love you Mom!' notes during the day!"
"I love that you're the perfect big brother!"
"I love that you serve so freely and without any desire for a reward!"
"I love that you're always looking for ways to make someone's day a little brighter!"
And when I think about this, I often think of the day you sent an e-mail, it was a Friday, you were recovering from your BMT and you were SICK!, yet you noticed that one of the nurses (she wasn't even YOUR nurse this day!) was having a pretty rotten day, so you e-mailed me and asked me to bring her a surprise when we came to the hospital that afternoon. I asked you what and you KNEW that she loved doing puzzles to relax, so you asked us to pick her up a puzzle or two. We did. And you were able to give them to her before she headed home that night. She thanked you with eyes full of tears. You always could read people so well, and you always wanted to make them smile!
"I love your courage in being friends with everyone!"
"I love that everyone knows what you believe because you live your beliefs proudly!"
"I love your example of faith and courage!"
I LOVE YOU!!!
Yep, I so wish I'd realized how hurtful my "help" was.
I'm so grateful for your forgiveness and your unconditional love.
Because of you, I am more aware as I talk to McKayslin, to my class, to my friends.
I'm sorry I didn't do better with you.
It's been a rough 8 months without you. Sometimes I wonder where the 8 months have gone because time seems to be flying by. Yet other times, I feel every crushing second of those 8 months without you.
I was remembering the other night the last solo you sang in church. It must have been March or April of 2012. Right before you got sick. It was the song "In That Holy Place" by Sally DeFord. You sang it so beautifully.
Holy temple; hallowed walls;
filled with heaven's light
Where the Spirit teaches truth
and testifies of Christ
There within that holy place
our hearts are made as one
United by the power of God
in pure eternal love
filled with heaven's light
Where the Spirit teaches truth
and testifies of Christ
There within that holy place
our hearts are made as one
United by the power of God
in pure eternal love
House of learning; house of faith;
house of peace and prayer;
House of glory; house of God;
I’ll feel his presence there
I will stand with heart and hands
kept clean and pure each day
Worthy of the blessings found
in that holy place
house of peace and prayer;
House of glory; house of God;
I’ll feel his presence there
I will stand with heart and hands
kept clean and pure each day
Worthy of the blessings found
in that holy place
Holy temple where we learn
creation’s grand design
Where our souls will be endowed
with power from on high
There we kneel, our hearts prepared
to cov’nant with our Lord
And there his Spirit binds our lives
in love forever more
creation’s grand design
Where our souls will be endowed
with power from on high
There we kneel, our hearts prepared
to cov’nant with our Lord
And there his Spirit binds our lives
in love forever more
House of learning; house of faith;
house of peace and prayer;
House of glory; house of God;
I’ll feel his presence there
I will stand with heart and hands
kept clean and pure each day
Worthy of the blessings found
in that holy place
house of peace and prayer;
House of glory; house of God;
I’ll feel his presence there
I will stand with heart and hands
kept clean and pure each day
Worthy of the blessings found
in that holy place
Holy temple where we bless
our loved ones gone before
Where eternal ties are sealed
by sacred priesthood pow’r
There we turn our hearts to those
who gave us life and birth
How beautiful that holy place
where heaven dwells on earth our loved ones gone before
Where eternal ties are sealed
by sacred priesthood pow’r
There we turn our hearts to those
who gave us life and birth
How beautiful that holy place
This song plays in my mind often.
I can hear you singing your testimony of eternal family.
And it makes my heart smile and my tears fall.
My son of many talents - I love that you shared your talents so freely.
I love that you have blessed the lives of so many.
And mostly, I love that I am your mom.
I love you forever.
And miss you always.
Thanks for being awesome.
For loving me.
For forgiving me.
And for teaching me.
Keep being awesome my heavenly missionary!
Love you, LOVE YOU!
Love,
Mom
Monday, September 16, 2013
[34 weeks]
September 17, 2013
34 weeks
Hey buddy,
It's been a few weeks since I've written. Life really REALLY hurts lately. We're all struggling. There are more tears, more sadness. We have to try a lot harder to smile, to laugh, to find joy. I don't know if it's because with school starting up again it's harder to think that you're really truly gone, and not just at scout camp, or a friend's house, or Grammy's, or working for Uncle Birdie...you're gone. And you're not coming home. That reality, nearly 9 months in the making, really really stinks. I'm not a fan. :(
Although no one has said it out loud, probably because they're afraid what level of crazy I'd hit if they did, we get the feeling that our story is getting old. People are tired of our sadness. Tired of our grief. Tired of us not being ourselves. Oh how I wish we could explain this feeling of emptiness...how I wish that no parent ever had to feel this. To live this. My heart will never be the same. For the rest of my life I will walk around with 2/3 of my heart.
Several friends have shown up lately with random treats, or sent texts at just the right time. They, gratefully, remember, honor, and love us even with all of our crazy, with all of our random tears. We're so grateful. So blessed. Just the other day I had a really incredible experience at Best Buy. I'll forever remember employee Tennessee with a smile in my heart. I shared that experience on my personal Facebook page. I'll share it here another time.
Exactly one year ago Saturday was one of our last family fun days as an earthly family of 4. We spent the whole day out and about. We went to the Air Force Museum. We ate at Famous Dave's. We wandered the streets of Ogden looking at the painted horses...
Saturday, we attempted a family fun day. We had a pretty good day, considering it was just the three of us. We are doing as you asked and continuing to do fun things with McKayslin. I guess we're mostly succeeding since McKayslin told us thanks for not being old boring parents. We went on the Ferris Wheel at Scheel's. Last December we were all going to go, but you weren't feeling so well. We went on Saturday. Daddy had a panic attack at the top. White knuckles, forgetting to breathe, lots of fun. I shouldn't have teased him so much because later, as we were driving into SLC, turning in on 400 South, I had the same thing happen. Oh yeah, lots of fun.
On the way home, with tears in his voice, Daddy said, "I hate driving this road at night...it reminds me of the last time I brought Kenton back to the hospital..." And we cried. We do that a lot. Cry. Hurt.
I've been thinking about your journey from diagnosis through the end, and realizing that in that time, I only heard you complain just a few times. Sure, you were freaked out, and they thought you had an underlying panic disorder. That was weird. But you only complained just a few times. How did you do that? How did you take that crappy diagnosis and just roll with it? How did you manage to continue to be so awesome in the midst of something so horrible, so painful, so utterly devastating?
I need to go back and write about so many things that happened on this journey. Maybe then I'll be able to start looking forward. Maybe then I'll be able to go a whole day without breaking into the ugly cry.
You're just such an amazing kid. Your sister is such an amazing kid. And I'm just this ordinary Mom entrusted with parenting such amazing spirits. Stick with me, son. I need your help.
I miss you. I still look into your room every night to check on you. I still tell you goodnight. I still talk to you. I sound a bit crazy. I feel a bit crazy. I guess this level of grief is going to lead to a little bit of crazy. The goal is to keep it at a little bit of crazy.
Love you, handsome!
Thanks for being awesome!
Love you!!
Mom
34 weeks
Hey buddy,
It's been a few weeks since I've written. Life really REALLY hurts lately. We're all struggling. There are more tears, more sadness. We have to try a lot harder to smile, to laugh, to find joy. I don't know if it's because with school starting up again it's harder to think that you're really truly gone, and not just at scout camp, or a friend's house, or Grammy's, or working for Uncle Birdie...you're gone. And you're not coming home. That reality, nearly 9 months in the making, really really stinks. I'm not a fan. :(
Although no one has said it out loud, probably because they're afraid what level of crazy I'd hit if they did, we get the feeling that our story is getting old. People are tired of our sadness. Tired of our grief. Tired of us not being ourselves. Oh how I wish we could explain this feeling of emptiness...how I wish that no parent ever had to feel this. To live this. My heart will never be the same. For the rest of my life I will walk around with 2/3 of my heart.
Several friends have shown up lately with random treats, or sent texts at just the right time. They, gratefully, remember, honor, and love us even with all of our crazy, with all of our random tears. We're so grateful. So blessed. Just the other day I had a really incredible experience at Best Buy. I'll forever remember employee Tennessee with a smile in my heart. I shared that experience on my personal Facebook page. I'll share it here another time.
Exactly one year ago Saturday was one of our last family fun days as an earthly family of 4. We spent the whole day out and about. We went to the Air Force Museum. We ate at Famous Dave's. We wandered the streets of Ogden looking at the painted horses...
Saturday, we attempted a family fun day. We had a pretty good day, considering it was just the three of us. We are doing as you asked and continuing to do fun things with McKayslin. I guess we're mostly succeeding since McKayslin told us thanks for not being old boring parents. We went on the Ferris Wheel at Scheel's. Last December we were all going to go, but you weren't feeling so well. We went on Saturday. Daddy had a panic attack at the top. White knuckles, forgetting to breathe, lots of fun. I shouldn't have teased him so much because later, as we were driving into SLC, turning in on 400 South, I had the same thing happen. Oh yeah, lots of fun.
On the way home, with tears in his voice, Daddy said, "I hate driving this road at night...it reminds me of the last time I brought Kenton back to the hospital..." And we cried. We do that a lot. Cry. Hurt.
I've been thinking about your journey from diagnosis through the end, and realizing that in that time, I only heard you complain just a few times. Sure, you were freaked out, and they thought you had an underlying panic disorder. That was weird. But you only complained just a few times. How did you do that? How did you take that crappy diagnosis and just roll with it? How did you manage to continue to be so awesome in the midst of something so horrible, so painful, so utterly devastating?
I need to go back and write about so many things that happened on this journey. Maybe then I'll be able to start looking forward. Maybe then I'll be able to go a whole day without breaking into the ugly cry.
You're just such an amazing kid. Your sister is such an amazing kid. And I'm just this ordinary Mom entrusted with parenting such amazing spirits. Stick with me, son. I need your help.
I miss you. I still look into your room every night to check on you. I still tell you goodnight. I still talk to you. I sound a bit crazy. I feel a bit crazy. I guess this level of grief is going to lead to a little bit of crazy. The goal is to keep it at a little bit of crazy.
Love you, handsome!
Thanks for being awesome!
Love you!!
Mom
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