My children needed their mother to be strong. Their worried stares were so evident as they watched me intently, anxious to see if I could survive this storm. They listened closely to every word that came out of my mouth. They wanted to know if I really believed in the truths I had taught them from the time they were babies. They were waiting to see if God really loved our family. They relied on me as their mother to make it all feel better just like I had always been able to do before. I felt so completely overwhelmed with the heaviness of this burden. I knew that as hard as I wanted to take it all away from them... it wasn't in my control. This time it was different.. this time I couldn't make it all better. As time went on I would become more and more aware of how little I alone could do to bring them any kind of peace. The kind of peace they needed could not be found in this world. It wasn't a temporary solution they wanted and sought after.. their lives had been turned upside down. The Savior was the one person who truly understood what each child needed to feel peace again. This was not only my test of faith.. it was a test of their faith too.
The night Mike passed away I realized that I had a choice to make. I could give up on the life I had tried to create, let other people raise my kids, and find ways to rid myself of this gut wrenching pain, or I could trust in the Savior to help rescue me and hold our children during the brutal and agonizing days that were coming. I chose to trust.. I chose to feel the pain. As I stood there in the cold E.R. room that night there was only one thing on my mind. It wasn't the thought, "How could he die?" It wasn't, "How am I going to live without my best friend?", It was simply, " How am I going to even begin to help our children survive this devastation in their lives?"
How could I help them with their suffering when I felt like I was falling apart myself. My mind wanted to shut it out, my body was full of sharp stabbing pains that wouldn't subside. I couldn't seem to find the next breath fast enough. I needed someone to be my soft place to fall, to hold me and wipe away my tears so that I could find strength for our kids. I knew at that moment what it felt like to truly need the Savior. I couldn't do this without his help. This test was beyond my own strength.
My mind became filled with so many questions. I honestly didn't know which child to start helping first. They were all reacting to their father's death in different ways. I didn't have a book to tell me what to do.. it was all so foreign to me. Where would I even start?
Should I start with the baby of the family who was 7?
She waited for her daddy every night to take her on 4-wheeler rides, snuggle during a movie, or chase her around the house and tickle her until she begged for mercy. She had spent the day at work with him the day he passed away. He had taught her all about growing plants and trees. She had told me that it was the best day of her life just a few hours before he had left and never returned. What about our daughter who was 13?
She desperately needed her dad around to tell her she was smart, pretty, and take her on dates. She was in the middle of those cruel middle school years. Those years when you are so unsure of who you are. She needed a dad to tell her that she didn't need boyfriends while she was still his little girl. My mind started to question how to help our 18 year old son who was serving a mission for 2 years out of state.
He had chosen to dedicate 2 years of his life to teach others about Jesus Christ. I couldn’t imagine him grieving alone without his family? He had always been a daddy's boy and followed him around since he was a toddler. He was always trying to be like his dad. My mind started replaying the grief stricken face of our17 year old son. He had witnessed the most traumatic thing a child could ever have to see... his father's death. It had happened during what was supposed to be quality father and son time on the basketball court. My heart felt so heavy for our son. There was no way to even start comprehending what he had experienced. Mother's always try to protect their children from the ugliness of this world. This was just so wrong.. One minute he was playing a normal Thursday night game then without warning his life is changed forever. He watches as his dad, the guy on his own team, suddenly collapses to the floor from a massive heart attack. Before he knows it he's watching his father take his last breath. He watches in shock and horror until the ambulance pulls away, while constantly begging God not to take his dad away from him. Just knowing one of our children had witnessed such a horrible scene was beyond any pain I could imagine. Why did he have to be there to see that? It was killing me inside...cutting me to the very core of my soul.
The hardest thing I have ever done is to tell our children that their dad has passed away. I will never forget the look in their innocent eyes or the sound of our missionary son’s voice on the phone that night. That night they were no longer able to be children in a world full of carefree days. They would never be the same. That night the world became a very scary and unsafe world to them.
I remembered back again to the scene in the hospital that night...standing there looking at Mike after he had passed away. Even though I felt so shaken, dizzy and, in complete shock, I remember how peaceful he looked at that moment. I don't think I have ever seen him look that light. It was like all of the heaviness and the cares of the world were gone. The suffering and ugliness of his heart disease had been taken away from him. He was in a better place...a place where he was loved beyond anything we could comprehend... A place where he could finally rest. My heart was broken that night but not for Mike. I knew without any doubt that he was where he needed to be. This wasn't my plan for our life, but I knew it was God's plan for us. I never questioned that at that point of our storm. I would question that later. My heart was shattered for our children. As horrible as it was to lose my husband of 20 years, I knew I would live. I had no choice but to live. I had four children to finish raising alone. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right in my mind, but it was just how it was. Mike had suffered for the last 7 years from aggressive heart disease. It wasn't because of anything he did or didn't do. It was a hereditary trait, some freak gene that had taken over his body. At age 43 his body was being destroyed faster then any Cardiologists or medication could slow it down. It wasn't fair to ask him to live because of my own selfish needs. He had accomplished what he was supposed to do on earth. Yes I would live, but I wasn’t sure our children would live. That thought crossed my mind for only a split second before I came back to reality. Mike and I had always wondered before why our children were so strong willed, stubborn, and seemed to have wisdom beyond their years. It wasn't something we had done to make them that way. They were born with very strong spirits. I could now see why those children were given to me. At that moment I was witnessing an example of the strength they did possess. Our 17 year old son was in that E.R. room holding me. He was being more of a man then I could have ever expected him to be. He was holding me in his shaking arms and saying, "It's ok mom.. it's ok.. we're ok.." While most kids would have only thought about their own needs and ran away that night, he had showed tremendous courage and character when he refused to leave his mother alone. As we stood together in shock, crying uncontrollably, I could read his thoughts by the look on his face. I knew him like nobody else did. I was his mother. He was thinking, “I’m the only man left in our house now...it’s all on me...It's all on my shoulders to take care of this family.” In a matter of minutes he had no choice but to grow up from a child into a man.
After a few minutes with Mike, I realized I had to somehow, someway, transform myself into a supermom. I had to find the courage to face the kids when I got home. I couldn't fall apart now, that would have to wait. I had to be their anchor along with the Savior that night. I would be the one to make that phone call to our son serving a mission. My life would never be the same after hearing our son begin to mourn on the phone that night. No mother should have to hear their child hurt the way I did that night. It wasn't right...it would never be right.
I learned a lot about the courage of children during those months after Mike’s death. I thought I needed to be strong for them, only to find out that I needed them to be strong for me too. We were in this together as a family and whoever it was that was falling apart at the moment was the person we focused on. When you go through grief as a family you never know what is going to set off the emotions of someone in the family. It’s scary and it’s unpredictable. You have no control over what may happens next. Grief is not something you can explain. You have to feel it. People that have not experienced grief think you are weak, and sometimes crazy. They want you to pull it together for them. They don't understand that you are at a total loss of control when you are in that state. You can be smiling for one minute and the next minute you are throwing things across the room. You can be watching a commercial on tv and suddenly burst into tears that are uncontrollable. Grief doesn't wait until school's over for the day, or until you have time to feel it.. Grief doesn't go away so you can attend a family gathering that you're expected to be at. Grief comes when it wants to come, like an ugly, but healing monster that won't go away no matter how hard you want it too. Everyone grieves differently.. especially children. While one child wants that large picture of their dad in view, another child can’t stand to have it in the room as a constant reminder that they are gone. One child wants to celebrate his birthday and make a cake, while another child is hurt by the idea of even talking about his birthday. One child wants to talk about daddy and share memories, while another child gets angry if he is mentioned because it hurts so much.
Our 7 year old went through some very difficult days without her dad. Her daddy was a hugger, and not just sometimes.. all of the time. He was the most affectionate person I’ve ever been around. He loved his family and we all received hugs and kisses on the head numerous times a day whether we wanted them or not. Almost every day someone in the family got chased around until he could grab them and wrestle them to the floor for their daily laugh and hug. He called me and our daughters his angels. He simply knew how to love.
The night after he passed away our daughter insisted on me staying by her constantly. She didn't want me to leave the room she was in. If I was in the shower she would come in and ask me if I was still alive. She was very clingy and terrified to be alone. She wanted me to sleep by her and wrap my arms tightly around her all night long. If I moved them at all in the night she would get very upset and emotional. She would shake and have nightmares with screaming outbursts during those long dark hours. The nights were unbearable...the darkness and hellish pain I felt never seemed to end. Every night I would hold my breath to see what was coming next. Which kid would it be? What would they have to endure? I felt like I was barely holding on by a thread and at that time I wondered if this would ever get better. I was so emotionally and physically exhausted myself, yet I had to keep going. I had to keep trying to help my children feel some type of security. My prayers became the prayers of pleading. I have never humbled myself and prayed so long or so deep before in my life like I did when my children were suffering. I have always heard that the prayers of a mother are some of the most sacred. I prayed that they would have angels to be around them, I prayed for the Savior to hold them at times when I felt like I had nothing more to give. I prayed that I would have the strength to help them with what they needed at this time when my mind was so blurry and my body so full of its own intense physical pain. I know that it was because of the prayers of all of those around us we were carried through that part of the storm. Each night as I held our daughter she would say to me, “Mom, you just can’t hold me right!!...you don't have the right arms...you don’t do it like Dad does...I need Dad to hold me!!” "I need Dad to hug me the right way!!" In church when she normally would have been sitting by her daddy. I would put my arm around her when I would see her getting nervous. There were times when she would become restless and her legs would start shaking. Sometimes she would let me...other times she would push my arm away and look at me with her eyes full of blame. I wasn’t him. I wasn’t her dad.
As the months went on she would never cry, but her anger was continuing to get stronger and more bitter. I was at a loss on how to help her...I couldn’t fill the void that she desperately needed. I was aware that anger was a part of the grieving process, but I didn't know how much longer I could watch her go through this. I remember praying to have any kind of clue on how to comfort this child and help her begin to heal. It was not the daughter I knew. She had always been the sunshine of the family. She had been sent to us 6 years after we thought we could have no more children. She had been born right before Mike’s heart problems started. We secretly called her our Prozac...the one who made everyone in the family happy.
After several months there came a day when I finally decided there was nothing I could do to help this child feel like her daddy’s arms were around her. I was frustrated and felt like a total failure as a mother. I had tried everything to help her find peace, but now it was in God’s hands. I could not make it happen. I was furious that she was still suffering. I was tired of trying. It is a horrible feeling when you can’t help your child. A good mom always comes through right? I had always been able to put a band aid on a hurt finger, or help them through all of those moments of insecurity. This storm was different...I needed divine help...I needed a love note for our daughter.
The love note showed up at our home almost 7 months after Mike passed away. A woman from the small town we were living in came by our home and dropped off a cardboard box. She didn't tell the kids who it was from or why she had brought it. I was upstairs at the time so I didn't have a chance to say thank you. It was one of those days. I was having a day filled with overwhelming grief. It was a day that I could not function as a person, let alone a Betty Crocker mother no matter how hard I tried. I had finally surrendered to my bedroom and the kids were on their own. It became another cereal day. It made me feel so guilty but I could not pretend that day. I was tired of faking a smile. When I came down the stairs later in the afternoon I saw the box sitting in the family room. I opened it up and was completely taken back by what I saw! Inside of the box were homemade fleece blankets for everyone in our family. On the bottom of the blanket was a homemade love note that was embroidered on each individual blanket. The words I read were some of the most difficult I've ever read...It said, “I'd hug you myself if I could...love Daddy” I was not sure how my children would react to this beautiful gift. Would these blankets make them feel even more pain when they read what they said? How could a blanket make them feel like their dad was hugging them? I didn't feel strong enough to see what their reactions would be in that moment. I was almost to put the box away until we were having a "good day" but I was stopped by some little hands that gently took the box from me. Suddenly the daughter that had been so angry for so many months grabbed the pink one and started laughing. She wrapped it around her body very tightly and said, “ I love this mom...I do...I really do!! Now I can feel Dad’s hugs around me all night long!!” I was stunned. After all I had tried and failed to make her happy here was the answer. Here was her answer she had been waiting on. It came in the form of a personal blanket. It came as a love note from someone we didn’t even know. My heart was so grateful for this person who had helped me comfort the needs of our child. A child that had suffered for several dark nights and months from intense physical pain. A child who was missing something that couldn't be replaced.
Some might call this random. Some might call it a coincidence. I call it an answer to a mother's pleading. I call it an answer to a child's pain during the storm. I call it a love note from God. God knew our little girl's pain. He knew of the pain she was suffering and sent a tender mercy straight to her. Little did I know that this would only be one of the many love notes that would come into our lives during this time of trial and testing...
