Nineteen. (And former post of "Blue Sphere")

It has now been 19 months since Abigail died.

She was 19 months old when diagnosed.

So I only cried 19 tears today. Not.

I miss her so much. Aaron misses her so much. Each child misses their sweet, little sister. There is absolutely no denying the hole her absence creates.  My scoop out of my "blue." I think I'll repost what I wrote months ago about my blue sphere, because it's not on this blog yet.

Before I do that, I'd like to point out the new (to this blog) feature where you can enter your email and then you'll receive an email everytime I post. Like Carepages used to do. (Sad, silly Carepages.Still broken.)

Thank you for your prayers.
Faith.

Anniversaries: 6 Months...and also 3 Years.

Posted Jan 15, 2014 7:36pm

In honor of the very long day we had 3 years ago today, this post might be long.

I will never forget holding my sick 1 year old, bringing her to my chest to nurse, and as she turned her head, seeing the lump in her neck. I screamed in my mind. I just knew that wasn't good.

Urgent care said "we can't help you, go to a pediatric hospital." We were soon in the ER waiting room. Abigail was so sick and lethargic. We had already been to the doctors over the past few weeks, but 'nothing' was wrong. She held completely still for the emergency CT--it took too much energy to cry. But she did have enough energy to scream bloody murder for her first ever IV in her arm. She was then wiped out and asleep in my arms when the doctor came into the room and told us there was a large, black mass in her abdomen and showed us the computer screen. Huge area of black yuck. Mass? Would could mass be?

"It could be fluid, or it could be cancer." My baby? My one-year-old? Stage 4 cancer? Yes, that was a very, very long day and night and day.

I don't know if I've written much about that day, because obviously I didn't have her CarePage up and waiting for me to begin writing. The first few days were an absolute whirlwind. I never knew being in critical care with the patient lying sedated and intubated, completely unresponsive, was SO busy! A constant stream of doctors, nurses, techs, more techs, specialists and more doctors. Decision. Discussions. What a hole to fall into! And yet we were blessed with so much peace.

When I think back to January 15, 2011, my feelings are very different than my feelings of relapse. In January we were given so much peace- peace we couldn't even understand. Surely He knew we needed it or we would have dissolved. I remember that first week asking people to pray for Abigail, but also to give thanks for the blessings He'd already given her. I just knew, without a doubt, that as sick and deathly ill as she was at the time, that she had been blessed beyond our comprehension already, and I was grateful.

In January of 2011, she almost died a few times. We said goodbye to her to let her go if it was her time. For those who haven't ever done that for a child, let me tell you it is one of the hardest things you could ever do. To say with complete honesty that you are OKAY and at peace with your child dying. But her mortal mission wasn't finished yet, and I believe she had a choice to stay for a while longer. We were and are so grateful for the peace we were blessed with during those very scary 3 weeks in the pediatric ICU. "ALL things are done in the wisdom of Him who knoweth all things."

There are lots of things I want to write about: grief and joy, different types of grief, the questions of "How are you?" and "How many children do you have?", the differences between remembering, dwelling, and moving on, etc. But for today I just want to share a little illustration I created to help myself and others understand about sorrow and joy.

Many people have in their minds that life is like a line graph. On the bottom is sorrow and despair and grief, and on the top is joy and love and happiness. Our lives go along through the middle of this graph, sometimes going up, sometimes going down. Sometimes sharply up, sometimes sharply down. This mentality depicts that if one is happy or joyful, then one is not sad or grieving. And vice versa.

Take this piece of paper with the line graph and SHRED IT. Flush it down the toilet to be eaten by enzymes in the sewer system. It is wrong. Yes, I do feel strongly about it! My life, nor anyone’s life, is a one-dimensional line graph. Fear and faith do not co-exist, but grief is not fear. Grief and faith coexist. Grief and love coexist. Grief and happiness coexist.

Elder Richard G. Scott said, "Please learn that as you wrestle with a challenge and feel sadness because of it, you can simultaneously have peace and rejoicing."

Life isn’t one-dimensional, so let me try to illustrate with the imagination another mentality. It may get a little sci-fi-ish but bear with me.

Imagine in your mind a sphere made up of substance, but nothing you can see. It has dimension, it has boundaries. Inside this sphere is another ball but it is not clear, it is blue. It is solid. And inside this round blueness, in the very center, is the last ball—-a white sphere. It is solid, unbreakable, and immovable. All of this put together is me. There are lots of dimensions and angles to me. Lots of different ways to look at me. You may be looking at one side of me and not be able to see the other. That doesn’t mean it’s not there (ahh!!) it just means you can’t see it.

Blue traditionally represents peace and tranquility, right? So let’s say my life has the general hardships of life. My orb goes along and bumps into the standard things of life. But then, a sharp knife comes and carves out a scoop of my blueness. It may be a small baby spoon scoop, a soup spoon, or an industrial ice cream scooper...no one but Christ knows the size of my scoop. But it takes it right out of ME, and it hurts badly. My scoop out of me is that my child died. Your scoop may be something different.

(Okay, I know Abigail still lives, so I’ll say it right now that rather than saying “my child’s BODY died and is gone from me physically” I’ll just say she “died” to keep it short.)

This piece is taken from me physically. Holy moly, that physical separation hurts! It hurts like I never could have imagined it hurting, and consequently, the perimeter of that scoop is red, like a throbbing blister.

Sometimes it hurts so badly, the red overflows into my blue. But again, who can say how big the red is in comparison to the blue? How big is my wound, my loss? How deep does it go? How quantifiable is the pain, the anguish? No one should ever try to guess or answer that for me. I think the word “healing” is appropriate in an eternal mind-frame, but our physical brains have a notion that “healed” means “all better.” So I’m going to avoid the word “healed.” My loss will never be all better until I hold Abigail again.

Elder Scott also has some thoughts about healing that are very concise and applicable:

"Oh, how we all need the healing the Redeemer can provide. Mine is a message of hope for you who yearn for relief from heavy burdens that have come through no conscious act of your own while you have lived a worthy life. It is based on principles embodied in the teachings of the Savior. Your challenge may be a serious physical disability, a struggle with lingering illness, or a daily wrestle with a life-threatening disease. It may have roots in the death of a loved one, the anguish caused by another bound by sin, or come from abuse in any of its evil forms. Whatever the cause, I testify that lasting relief is available on conditions established by the Lord.

Help from the Lord always follows eternal law. The better you understand that law, the easier it is to receive His help. Some of the principles upon which His healing is predicated follow. [in the rest of the talk]

It is important to understand that His healing can mean being cured, or having your burdens eased, or even coming to realize that it is worth it to endure to the end patiently, for God needs brave sons and daughters who are willing to be polished when in His wisdom that is His will."To Be Healed

There are, in my mind, two main concepts that will affect my deep wound. Time, and Faith in Jesus Christ. If both of them are not there, the result will not be the same. Many people grieve without faith, and time goes on and on and they still feel lost. Also, I can have all the faith in the world, but time is necessary for the “curing” process of my heart, of essentially my faith. TIME. FAITH. Both critically necessary. (And of course there are many other helpful things like service and hope and on and on).

So back to the imaginative description. Jesus Christ is my center. He is my core, the Light of my life. As I keep turning to Him, and as time goes on, His white light inside of me slowly weaves a protective layer around the perimeter of my red, aching, throbbing hole. It doesn’t take the red all the way away. That is left for a purpose....it is left because Abigail is still gone. It is left so that I continue to rely on Christ. It is left because it is a really good (and really hard) way to grow and become LIKE Him. But He weaves all around the outside of my red, from my center, and out to the edge of my blue. It is His love that He weaves, and it protects my wound from splitting and cracking and shattering the rest of my blue.

That is how grief feels to me. It brings me closer to Christ. It hurts. It has beautiful aspects, if I allow it. And it will probably take a long, long time for His weaving to reach my outer edge of blue. Not because He can't do it quickly, but because it is part of my mission to endure. I still have blue!! I still have happiness! How grateful I am for that! I truly have so many things that bring me joy.

It is helpful to keep in mind that often when a person hurts, they reach out during a time when they are hurting, not when they are feeling good. So to the outside world, it may seem that they are always hurting. Take, for instance, my posts (not that this always has to be about me, but I can pick on me without getting my feelings hurt :). See the days between my posts here in January? January 3rd and then January 14th...many of those days in between were happy and productive and even joyful. Just remember we are multi-dimensional. If I blog about my grief, it is not the only thing that defines me.

If you read this far, you deserve a medal. :)

Today was a good day. A Happy, Blue Day. Heavenly Father surely is mindful of us, and I am grateful for His peace.

Thank you for caring. I'm including a link to Elder Scott's full talk, as it has wonderfully beautiful points....including my favorite,

FAITH.

To Be Healed 

Abigail's Beads of Courage

I realize that I type less and less as more and more time goes by.

A sure sign that life goes on, but nothing replaces Abigail.

I am super pleased and happy to report that I have finished her Beads of Courage!!!! This is the story: For every procedure or day of fever or inpatient day etc, she received a bead. Each small bead represents huge things. I was very particular about keeping Abigail's medical records, and so after she died I went back through my notes and pages and official records and added everything up. Her sweet, amazing oncology nurses at Phoenix Children's welcomed me back to the clinic, even without Abigail, to pick up her beads. Here are just the first five colors and Abigail's numbers (keeping in mind that she only received treatment for 6 months of the year 2013):

		2011	2012	2013	TOTAL
Beige	Bone Marrow Biopsies/Aspirates	14	14	8	36
White	Chemotherapy	21	0	65	86
Blue	Clinic Visit │Infusion	45	21	98	164
Gray	Dressing Changes	52	20	27	99
Magenta	ER │Unusual Occurrence │Ambulance	6	4	9	19

Three months later we moved to Virginia. The beads sat in the little fabric bag, tucked away in Abigail's drawer in my nightstand. Then one day, I was at Habitat for Humanity's ReStore with my friend Terri. Back in the corner, not yet out for public sale, was a dirty, dusty window haphazardly leaning on some other building material. About 5 feet tall, it was the kind of window that would be installed on both sides of a front door. I kept staring at it and knew that it was what I needed for Abigail's Beads. Since Terri volunteered at the store, I was able to buy it before it someone else did. She helped me crack out the 2nd pane of glass, and glue a backing onto the back, so the window became a large frame.

Out came the beads from the bag and I started laying them down. One thousand two hundred sixty five beads is a lot of colors and beads! I wasn't sure how it was going to come out, but I knew I needed to start in the middle with something to focus on. I thought about many words and phrases, but I kept coming back to a word and principle that has been with us from Day 1. 

Faith.

From there, the beads just fell into place. Sometimes I would reach into a bowl for a bead, and it would drop out of my hands so I had to pick up another one, one that fit perfectly where the next bead was supposed to go. Abigail was helping me. I was with her for almost every single one of those beads, and there are many more memories than even the beads can represent. I'm happy that she helped me put her project together. 

So, after I hot-glued the beads down, I realized that hot-glue wasn't going to be strong enough to hold them. So I covered the project to keep it dust free and it sat for months waiting for me to get up my courage to pour resin on top of it. I was so fearful of ruining the whole thing! Terri again came over and helped me and it worked perfectly! The sunroom was too cold; 50 degrees doesn't set resin very well. So I brought the project into our living room and built a nice toasty fire to help cure it.

After that was done, it took me another several weeks to paint the outside frame. Finally, the beads were down, the papers secured, the frame painted. Aaron helped me screw the back to the front frame. Nothing cracked or moved--yay! Then we put on wire, installed hardware on the wall, and hung it up! I know, I know, this is a lot of typing all just to say "it's done and we hung it up" but this means a lot to me!! Even the children comment on how much they enjoy looking at it.

Here are a few pictures. It looks much better in person, so if you ever want to drop in to see it in person, you are invited. :)

My, how we miss her. And how grateful I am that she isn't collecting any more of these beads. Heavenly Father really is in charge and His plan is the best plan. Always has been, always will be.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."Isaiah 55:8-9

FAITH!!!

Why December is Hard

December 2012 started out beautiful. Abigail was 3 1/2 years old and thriving. Every day of the month we re-enacted the Nativity Story, sometimes multiple times a day. She loved it. It was such a beautiful time, yet it was a high that came crashing down. Deep anguish eroded the earlier enjoyment of the season.

Our family had done almost everything humanely possible to heal Abigail. For 18 months she had No Evidence of Disease, although she still continued to go through extensive, expensive, and excruciatingly painful treatments.

When your child has cancer, a low fever of 100.4 is an automatic ticket for admittance to the hospital. If they bruise, you know they are dangerously low on platelets. If they have a headache, cough, or any pain, you suspect, wonder, & worry that cancer is the cause. For the sake of their life, you are a hyper-sensitive-on-steroids mom.

So when she began fiercely crying in pain on December 23, and it rarely let up, we were concerned. Her "tummy" hurt. We tried gas drops and several other remedies. We wondered if she ate something bad.

And then she kept crying another day. Eventually she pinpointed her pain as being at her side. The oncology clinic couldn't get us in, it was Christmas Eve. Abigail was scheduled for her routine 3-month-scans on December 27. We just had to wait.

She continued to cry in pain. If I had known then to look at her back, to the left of her spine, I probably could have felt it--as I felt it months later: the paraspinal soft tissue tumor that was causing this atrocious agony, most especially for her.

December 27 scans. The oncologist walked back WITH Abigail's nurse. I knew then. Usually the nurse just tells you the doc will be in touch after the scan is officially read. When I saw the doctor walk through the curtain, my world stopped. I wanted time to freeze so I could get up and run away before she uttered the words. "Unfortunately, there is cancer..."

This was the beginning of the end. I knew beyond intellectually, statistically, or academically--I knew it in my gut and spirit that Abigail would die. I bawled as I drove home, as quietly as possible so as to not disturb Abigail still sleepy from anesthesia. I called my dad and asked him to proceed with building Abigail's casket. What a horrible phone call to make. My 3-year-old is alseep in her carseat behind me...will you please make her coffin...

We brought home from the clinic pain drugs for her: oxycodone and ibuprofen to attempt to manage her pain while we collectively came up with a game plan. For relapsed neuroblastoma, there is no known curative option, and so as parents we were allowed (this time) a choice in her treatment.

But we didn't last long at home. That night she spiked a fever, which of course landed us in the hospital.

Biopsy the next day. Another scan. Unknown black spot in her lungs, which came to be diagnosed as pneumonia. Surgery for a new central line inserted into her upper chest. New drugs. In the hospital as New Year approached. Happy New Year indeed.

So that was December. The news tarnished all prior happiness and imprinted an emotional wound so deep that it resurfaces and reopens when Christmas decorations go up. It isn't a conscious choice to dredge them up, believe me. It's like smelling a scent from your childhood and memories come to mind...yeah, it's like that, but not the happy kind of memories.

I type that and reread it and think "I sound like a basket case."

But I'm not.

I'm in pain, yes.  But I'll be okay because...well, in order to explain why, I have to admit something. I hesitate to admit it because I don't want to be misunderstood or have it be misinterpreted. But it needs to be said, publicly. I feel that others need to read it, so they can believe it, too.

I am happy that Abigail died.

I am happy that Abigail died, because I know she wasn't supposed to stay. Because ultimately it was Heavenly Father's will for her mortal mission to be finished. And if HE wanted that, then I wanted it, too. I didn't want it before Dec 2012. I prayed and worked my guts out trying to keep her here. And at times--often--I still don't want it. But I do want it, because it is right. My acceptance and consequent peace didn't happen overnight, though.

Now, some of you might be qualifying my statement already by saying "she must not have loved Abigail as much as I loved my child" or "it must be harder to lose <insert other relationship here>." Don't. Don't compare, please.

My peace is not pain-free. In fact, I don't think those are opposites because I have them both in my heart right now. So because I accept His will doesn't mean I won't hurt. But in accepting it, I ALSO feel joy and peace.

So yes, I want her where she is. I also want her here, too. But like a mother sending off a child to college, or on a mission, or in a marriage, or a move away from home, you don't want the physical separation because it will be emotionally hard. Yet you know it's best for them--you know it's right.

So when you think about me and how painful my Decembers are, know that I accept it and want it. It is hard. I am happy. It is hard to be happy. And I am happy it is hard. Yep, this is me: sorrow, grief, sadness, faith, trust, joy, hope, and pain all vita-mix blended and ultra-homogenized into ME.

I survive by knowing that when we were married, Aaron and I knelt across an alter of God in the temple and made sacred covenants through His priesthood: we were sealed for time and all eternity. Our children are sealed to us for forever. The sealing powers of Elijah are on earth again. Because we were bound on earth, we will be bound in heaven. God is a god of truth, and He cannot lie. This is my peace!!! How grateful I am for His restored gospel on the earth today. How deeply grateful I am that my Savior knows any pain I will ever feel, and He can and does comfort me.

How grateful I am that "there are no true endings, only everlasting beginnings." How grateful I am that He has given us prophets on earth again!!! This December, one of my gifts to Him is to memorize this small quote and repeat it often in my mind. How comforting it is.

We Are Not Made for Endings

In light of what we know about our eternal destiny, is it any wonder that whenever we face the bitter endings of life, they seem unacceptable to us? There seems to be something inside of us that resists endings.

Why is this? Because we are made of the stuff of eternity. We are eternal beings, children of the Almighty God, whose name is Endless and who promises eternal blessings without number. Endings are not our destiny.

The more we learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ, the more we realize that endings here in mortality are not endings at all. They are merely interruptions—temporary pauses that one day will seem small compared to the eternal joy awaiting the faithful.

How grateful I am to my Heavenly Father that in His plan there are no true endings, only everlasting beginnings.Grateful in Any Circumstance

I love Jesus Christ and my Father in Heaven. This is the life they felt would best prepare me to become like them. 

Our Heavenly Father, who gives us so much to delight in, also knows that we learn and grow and become stronger as we face and survive the trials through which we must pass. We know that there are times when we will experience heartbreaking sorrow, when we will grieve, and when we may be tested to our limits. However, such difficulties allow us to change for the better, to rebuild our lives in the way our Heavenly Father teaches us, and to become something different from what we were—better than we were, more understanding than we were, more empathetic than we were, with stronger testimonies than we had before.

This should be our purpose—to persevere and endure, yes, but also to become more spiritually refined as we make our way through sunshine and sorrow. Were it not for challenges to overcome and problems to solve, we would remain much as we are, with little or no progress toward our goal of eternal life. My favorite talk ever

 

And after this therapeutic typing, I can now honestly say, Merry Christmas. This hard December, and every hard day. Lift up your hearts and be of good cheer. 2

In FAITH!

Abigail's Carepage DIED

My last post on carepages was October 8, 2014. I didn't feel like writing anything for almost a month. When I tried to go on, it wouldn't post my update. I finally got around to calling Carepages today, and the representative said that things were looking really weird on her end, that I wasn't an administrator, and that the entire guestbook full of comments was blank.

WHA??????

I am really hoping they can fix it...

Carepages is a trivial matter, in the grand scheme of things. I realize that. But it has been with us through the entire journey and is my record of her story. To have that be potentially gone is disturbing.

December is hard, I am working on my attitude and perspective and growing yet again.

Please continue to pray for Brooke and all the other children fighting for their lives.

Life always continues; even if you die, the truest "you" is still alive. It's just that the people left behind on earth have such a hard row to hoe...Please pray for the Mendenhall family, Graves family, and Jenkins family in their recent losses.

This morning in my prayer I prayed for them, and selfishly for me, too. I prayed for courage to be happy, and the strength to choose it.

FAITH.

Prayers for Brooke

I normally post first on Abigail's Carepage site and then copy the post here, but Carepages isn't letting me post!! Rather than wait till a technician helps me figure it out, I'm going straight to this blog because the prayers are needed.

Last week I posted on Carepages requesting prayers for my friend Brooke, and something went awry and it didn't post! And so now we have a week of prayers to make up for, my friends.

Sweet Brooke has been diligently fighting her neuroblastoma for 4 years solid, since her diagnosis 4 years ago yesterday. Last week they received bad news that her cancer had progressed again, despite a new, hopeful treatment they were trying in Houston. The Hester family is back in Michigan now for another biopsy and treatment, and I'd like to invite you to pray for them.

You can also mail cards to Brooke at

Renucci Hospitality House

c/o Brooke Hester

100 Michigan St MC 172

Grand Rapids MI 49503

You can read about Brooke and her story at her caringbridge site

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/brookehester/journal

I know I have been fairly quiet lately. We are living life. Our new life, and all that that entails. I recently had a few experiences that gave me pause, and once I figure it out in my own little brain, I'll share them here. Thank you for your love, compassion, and prayers.

FAITH.

It's About Time! I'm "Moving On!" (originally posted 1/27/14)

I needed to read this again, and realized it's not here on this blog. So I'm adding it now. It's about time!

In my posts here on CarePages I have been very open, especially since Abigail's death. I wanted to show people that it's okay to grieve, because you can still stay close to Heavenly Father and still grieve.

I know that being open in public makes me vulnerable, and so I wasn't really surprised when someone disagreed with something I said. I don't expect everyone that reads my writings to agree or understand. But if I condense what was said to me, it was "You are grieving the wrong way."

This happened a while ago. What was said to me didn't necessarily hurt me, and I don't think often about it, but it's made me hesitant to post. Last night I wanted to post, but didn't.

Last night I was thinking of this before I went to bed. I had a dream (I usually can't remember my dreams!) and in it, I was missing Abigail and crying just a little bit. I walked into a home I know well and there was a group of people I know well sitting inside. They all saw me and saw the tear on my cheek. The feeling that emanated from them was "Poor girl. She is still lost and hasn't found peace." I didn't want their pity and inaccurate judgment. I turned around and walked out.

This morning I decided to continue being honest and open. I am not writing just to the person who mentioned my grief. I'm writing to address the concept of dwelling, remembering, moving on, and other such terms.

I know people won't always agree. That is normal; I accept that.

I know people won't always understand where I'm coming from. That is normal; I accept that.

I know I don't know everything! That is normal, and of course I accept that. I accept correction. I accept disagreement. I accept that being falsely judged is a really unpleasant thing to go through.

Because I realize and accept those things, I will continue to write. And Heaven knows I'll continue to grieve.

About the same time this was said to me, a friend of mine had a similar experience. Her daughter died almost 2 years ago, and recently after one of the mom's updates, she received a comment to one of her posts. With her permission, I quote it:

“I know your heart and mind mean well, but [do] you think that [your daughter] wanted you to dwell on the past? No, I don't think she would have wanted that. Get help with your grieving.
Anonymous”

The mother responded beautifully and with kindness, saying among other good things that remembering is not dwelling.

People, generally with good intention albeit very misguided, say "move on." That insinuates another message, even though unspoken--a message of "put it behind you, it's in the past, stop thinking about it. Stop letting it affect your life so much."

The problem--the very, very big problem--is that I will never forget my child. I cannot move on from her, put her behind me, stop remembering her, or no longer let her affect my life. She CHANGED me.

Remember President Hinckley's multiple comments that we should never forget the pioneers and the trials they faced? For those unfamiliar with the story, I'll summarize it for you: Two handcart companies of Latter-day Saints left Iowa City to walk to Utah in July 1856. Their handcarts had been built quickly, with green (not dried) wood, so many broke down and caused a lot of delays. They had trouble with unfriendly Indians. Attempting to lighten their loads and move faster, they discarded extra clothing and bedding. There was sickness. At times there was no water. They were then caught in an early and severe winter storm. There was shortage of food. Extreme hardship. Over 200 members of these two handcart companies died before they reached Salt Lake City. And President Hinckley has said that we should CONTINUE to read their stories and learn from their examples of faith.

Just because we remember lives and struggles from "the past" does not mean we are not living in the present and planning for the future! There is wisdom from looking in the past. There is opportunity for growth and change by looking in the past. We must also look to the future. The very big key as I see it, is that if you look either in the past or in the future with the wrong mind frame, then you are in trouble. But if you look in the past and in the future with the right perspective, it can bring growth, hope, and increased faith.

Last October Elder Edward Dube gave a wonderful talk entitled, "Look Ahead and Believe." In it, he quoted Elder Jeffrey R. Holland who said, "The past is to be learned from but not lived in. We look back to claim the embers from glowing experiences but not the ashes. And when we have learned what we need to learn and have brought with us the best that we have experienced, then we look ahead and remember that *(italics) faith is always pointed toward the future*" ("The Best is Yet to Be, Ensign", January 2010).

At the ultimate of all examples was a man who's life changed the world. And we are supposed to THINK of Him EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. We are supposed to let His life "in the past" be so present in our lives, that it changes us.

I understand there are also natural-man ways to dwell in the past; where Satan can manipulate feelings to a fault and prevent growth and keep us locked from using the past to better our future. This is a tricky and difficult situation. Why?

Because who is to say if that has really happened to someone? Who wants to be the judge of others? Have you walked in their shoes, lived in their brain? How on earth do we ever have the right or audacity to judge whether or not someone is dwelling in the past "correctly" or "incorrectly"? Correctly based against what? Compared to whom? You? Me? We are all unique. We are all unique and have different lives. As President Uchtdorf so eloquently said, "STOP IT." Stop judging.

What may look to others as dwelling in the past may be that person's hardest trial of their life--and we are telling them to move on? To stop remembering or dwelling like WE think is the right way? Ouch. Super ouch.

Imagine what it would be like if collectively as a people we were able to replace our ideas of how things should be or our judgments of others with
compassion (1 Peter 3:8)
pure love,
and patience, gentleness, and kindness unfeigned?

How healing would that world be?!? If someone WAS struggling with the natural-man way of dwelling in the past, I could think of no better way for them to learn and grow through it than for Christ-like love to be continually poured out to them. And conversely, how good for the lives and hearts of those able to provide that love and support.

Someone gave me a wonderful analogy of labor and delivery. I'm going to include pregnancy as well.
I do not carry a pregnancy like you do.
You do not labor like I do.
We do not deliver the same way, with the same exact thoughts or emotions. We are not all living the same labor.

Do not judge my labor because it is not like yours. Recognize that even if I speak of Abigail for the next 60 years, that is MY labor. Don't automatically assume that living with "the past" in mind is strictly and solely a negative thing. I do believe Christ himself would wage an argument against that mentality.

Abigail's life is not equivalent to our Savior. Please don't misunderstand. It is the principle of "remembering" that I am talking about.

I guess to simplify it, there are different kinds of "moving on." I won't--I can't--move on like I used to because I simply am not the same person. I will--and can--move on as I am now. As I am now INCLUDES recognizing pain and death, it includes acknowledging grief, it includes being changed in how I act and think, it includes thinking about my baby girl and learning from the pain she suffered, it includes talking about her and her life. I pick all of that up (because really, it's the scoop out of my blue and I can't very well leave it behind) and as Elder Holland said, we bring it with us and carry on with faith.

I've thought long and hard and prayed to know if I should even post this. Many of you will understand it, some won't. That's normal, and that's okay. We are all unique.

I love all of you. I am grateful for the support and love you show me. I hope this sheds a little light on a tender subject and inspires all of us to continue being kind, compassionate, and non-judgmental.
And to carry on in
Faith.

I Need You to Know

Last week I went to a beautiful funeral. A bit of an oxymoron, but true.

I physically met for the first time the family that has been woven into my heart for over a year, and now will never leave my tapestry. I 'met' them on the phone at the suggestion of a mutual friend about one month after Abigail died in July of 2013. Annika had been diagnosed with neuroblastoma and our families had a lot in common. They were hesitant to talk to me since Abigail's death was still so recent, but they received reassurance that it was fine and safe to talk, and so we did. I hope I was helpful to them as they had never walked the pediatric oncology journey before, and I had. And now both of our girls are together.

During the funeral, I felt like I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. And for those who cried, it was absolutely fine and appropriate to cry. But I couldn't, because the spark of wanting to cry was doused by the strength being poured into the room, or at least into me. I could cry now thinking about it. :) I have no doubt that the Holy Ghost was present in full force and the many prayers were being listened to, and I also think my sweet Abigail was lifting me so I could be of service to others.

Annika lived a beautiful life, even in the presence of pain. She was loved deeply and still is.

As I drove home, I was shocked that Abigail has been 'gone' 14 months. Not that I haven't realized it, but it just sunk in to a deeper level. FOURTEEN MONTHS! How on earth have I lived through 14 months without her physically with me???! Through faith and His mercy and grace, that's how. Through the prayers that have been offered in our behalf. Through grueling days and painful tears and happy memories.

A wise woman and friend privately commented a while back on one of my updates, and her words struck me. They are powerfully true. Allow me to share them anonymously with you:



"I want you to know that I do care and I wish that somehow I could mitigate the pain and the loneliness that you feel. I am grateful that you put the pain and the loneliness into words. I think you are helping many, many people who have been told (or have felt that others have felt) that those emotions indicate lack of faith or lack of knowledge of the plan of salvation. Rubbish. This isn't about faith, it is about love. You love your darling Abigail. She is part of you. You miss her and miss watching her grow and become. Abigail is fortunate to have come to a family that loves so deeply and cherishes its children."


There it is, ladies and gentlemen. The reason for pain is love. The most supreme example is our Savior. He came and atoned and died because of love. We try to follow His pattern of life and service--that's why we have families. And when something goes wrong or awry in those deep feelings of love, we experience pain. We still love, and we can still have joy. But how tragic it would be to not miss your loved one after they died!

Fourteen months. Wow. I sure miss her. I'm trying to get her photos organized and memory books created. That's a project worthy of tears! Do I have faith in Christ and knowledge and trust in His plan? Absolutely. Do we have sunshiney days and happy times. Of course. Is it getting easier to live without her? No. But overall, do I feel better than I did 14 months ago? ......

Yes.

Time AND faith.

I don't want to be misunderstood here. A physical part of me was taken, and the pain will linger for all of mortality, I imagine. Some days it still threatens to bury me. But I also need to acknowledge, publicly, that Christ strengthens and gives peace. He has promised that He will not forsake or fail me, and because I trust that, I trust all His other words, too. The words that say I can be comforted. The commandment to be of good cheer. The admonition to lift up my heart, and that angels will be round about me to bear me up. Oh, it hurts, and yet He is still so good.

I just wanted you to know--needed you to know--that broken hearts are always scarred but peaceful and happy by, through, and because of Him.

I love Him. I love my Savior, Jesus Christ. Abigail does too.

FAITH.