The Making of a Christmas Tree

The 1st  Christmas Jared and I were married we didn't have a tree. We'd been married a month and that's all I wanted for a gift but it simply wasn't in the budget so it didn't happen. I wasn't happy about it. So the whole next year I saved so when Black Friday came I could hit Taipan early to find all the perfect ornaments. We had a live Christmas tree that year which smelled wonderful and looked beautiful! 

Our next year I strung 12 strands of Christmas lights on our evergreen- that thing glowed! But when Jared went to clean it up, taking them all off proved too much work with the sap and needles. With my approval, out went 10 of those strands with the tree. 

Our 4th Christmas together was tighter on the budget again. We lucked out with getting a free artificial tree from a dear friend, but since half the lights were out and they were color lights, something had to be done. I didn't want to just put white lights over them so I asked Jared to cut them all off! It took so long to do but he never complained. Once again, we had a beautiful tree that year even if it did take up half the living room space in our little apartment. 

That was end of my love for those ornaments though. I got sick the day after Christmas and Jared and our baby followed suit two days later. That tree stood decorated for weeks after the holiday as we were all too sick and too exhausted to do much about it. I slowly took ornaments off, a few where, a few there. Even when they were all off, the tree was still up long after I had recovered but Jared's illness got worse. I finally packed that tree up on Monday, Jan 29; my husband's last day he'd teach seminary and two days before he'd be admitted to the hospital. I remember being so proud that tree was finally packed up! I had sent a picture to Jared showing him the empty corner it had been in. Little did I know that tree box would sit there for almost another week until my sister + sister in-law took it to storage in a secret effort to get our place ready to come home from the hospital, not knowing that wouldn't ever happen for my husband. He became our angel that following Saturday morning while a light skiff of snow dusted the whole valley outside. 

When December came again 11 agonizing months later there was no way I was going to put that tree back up. To me it represented being sick and all things things that continued to be left undone in our lives. It had stood long enough so I figured it could stay in that stupid ol' box. I wasn't even going to do a tree. My parents would have one and that was good enough for me. I didn't want to try to make the holiday season the same as it once was, because the reality is that it wasn't the same. And never would be. Any attempt to keep doing the same things as before would be in vain. But I remembered that 1st Christmas without a tree. It was important to me keep the spirit of Christmas alive. It became apparent to me that having a tree still was a big part of that so on a last minute Black Friday shopping trip I found a tree that would become my new favorite decoration for the season. 

Maybe one day we will have a home where I will put up two trees. One where all those beautiful blue, green and silver glittered ornaments have had time for the bitter to turn sweet so we can enjoy the happy memories they still hold. After all they were part of Libby's 1st Christmas.  

Now our Christmas tree represents all that it should. Our Savior Jesus Christ and His birth. Angels who sang amidst the glow of a new heavenly star and our own angel whom we dearly love. I've collected different angel wings over the last 2 years to keep adding. All the sparkly gold represents one of the gifts brought to the Christ Child and makes me think about what gifts we give to Him today as well as the richness this season brings to our lives. And that big red heart to honor and remember Jared. Christmas can come without ribbons. It can come without tags. It comes without packages, boxes or bags. And it even comes when all our loved ones are not here. And I'm glad it comes. And I'm glad for this beautiful tree that reminds of all we love and hold dear. 

Our Last Night Home

I know I should be trying to sleep, but I can't keep the thoughts from running through my mind over and over. Thoughts of this night one year ago, the last night Jared spent at home. The last night before heading to the hospital and the few short days until the nightmare of his passing. I have relived that week again and again each day since, but actually nearing the year mark of the whole experience seems to make it come alive again. I've wanted to write it all down, everything that transpired from the first night I got the flu after Christmas which led to Jared and Liberty getting the flu, to every detail that transpired that fateful month. While I don't think it's possible, I don't want to ever forget it. And I want Liberty to understand all of it as she gets old enough. Perhaps if I write it out the memories can escape and leave me alone for just one night.

Unlike so many weeks since then which often pass by in a blur, that last week remains so vivid.Jared was so very sick, going on a month battling with coughing and a mysterious fever that left him exhausted every morning. He kept telling me he felt like he was running a marathon in his sleep. He would wake up sweating through the sheets every few nights, but our a attempts to visit the doctors hadn't proved very fruitful as of yet.

While Jared rarely had to use his oxygen during our marriage, or would give into using it rather, after that Monday his breathing getting more and more difficult. We always kept a tank around for emergencies, but he had been on oxygen as soon as he came home from work on Monday, as soon as I saw how blue his hands were. I hadn't wanted him to go to work that Monday, but he was so worried about letting the students down who had just started the new semester. I had fallen asleep in the nursery again early that morning, and I remember waking up to him already dressed in his black suit, eager to summon the energy to teach that day. I asked him to not go and just to simply call in sick, but he was loyal to those students and determined to be there.

There were many things that happened that day, divinely inspired things that I now know were preparing us for what was to come. Jared's district director told him to stay home after seeing how sick he was that day. We spent Monday and Tuesday on the couch, Libby snuggling near her daddy. We had to keep her from puling on his oxygen tubing. She thought it was great fun. These pictures are so precious to me now, and I will regret forever not taking more of these two together. We watched the last movie we would ever see together: Stardust. The theme song would later be added to the video of images of Jared we played at his viewing. Stardust remains on our Netflix list. I can't bring myself to watch it again. I won't forget sitting all together on the couch, our perfect little family.

Libby and I went to church the last Sunday together while Jared stayed home to rest. We thought a few days of catching up on sleep would make a world of difference. Libby and I headed over to my parents after church to give Jared more rest. 

We had asked the family the night before to fast for us that Tuesday. As a nursing mom I couldn't even fast myself for my husband, and I prayed God would know in my heart I had a desire to. It was a blessing that day my father in-law received a phone call from a friend in the Presidency of the Seventy for the LDS church. When he heard how sick Jared had been, he said he would be putting Jared's name on the special prayer roll of the First Presidency that coming Thursday. I felt our fasting had brought the blessing quickly and I knew Jared was going to be alright.

Auntie Rona visiting with Liberty January 27, 2014

Hearing how sick Jared still was, my sister Rona came out that night to visit. She knew Jared hadn't eaten much those few days and brought take out from Olive Garden. Usually that was a fare Jared would have avoided. He hated when I'd suggest it for date night. But that night he loved the fettuccine alfredo and salad. I don't think Rona even saw Jared that night as he stayed in bed the whole time trying to rest. They shouted their "hellos" and "how are yous" down the hall, but I didn't think to suggest Rona walk back and talk to him. I thought there would be plenty time when he was better. More regrets that come from not knowing our time was so limited with him.

It's interesting, now that I think about it more the last two meals before the hospital both came from my sisters. During his last day at work, Jared didn't bring a lunch with him. I had put the left overs together in the fridge Sunday night, but when I called to check in on him, Jared admitted he didn't bring anything with him. He said he didn't have the energy to even get it out of the fridge and into a bag. I planned to bring him lunch, but when Marina picked up Liberty for the day to give me a chance to tidy up and rest myself, she offered to take Jared lunch. She brought him soup and a turkey-bacon-avocado sandwich from Kneader's. He loved it, because I rarely made anything with bacon for him. I am so glad my two sisters have that memory of serving Jared, and we were both so very grateful.

Libby loves Auntie "Roni"

I called for a few more oxygen tanks to be delivered, foolishly thinking 4 would be enough to tie us over the rough patch and get Jared healthy enough again. When I spoke with the medical supplier, I distinctly remember him asking if we needed a months worth. I scoffed. Nah, we only needed a few. I even arrogantly thought thought to take picture of them, planning to write a blog post about our difficult trial of Jared being sick and then his miraculous recovery. Pictures of the tanks would be great for that, but I never realized how poignant these pictures would become to me. I truly expected a miracle, much like all the ones we'd seen in Jared's life already. I had come to expect them. Looking back I don't know if I was simply naive or just hopeful. 

While Monday had been hard, Tuesday proved even more difficult. After getting Liberty to sleep, knowing it would not last long as we were still trying to get into a schedule with her, I would go back into our room with Jared and try to help him be comfortable. We had switched to using his oxygen condenser to save the last tank for the morning, when I inevitable had to call and order more. Those tanks would arrive just as we were leaving for the hospital, just in time to have one to take with us. But the rest would sit in the apartment for weeks after, a harsh reminder. 

The condenser machine was big and bulky, but more than anything it was loud. The memory of thinking how would any of us sleep? remains. I was especially worried for our baby, who slept as light as a feather already; however, it didn't seem to bother her sleeping. Not anymore than usual at least. Jared would sleep off and on, and I remember laying by him crying quietly to myself. I was so worried. I had never seen him this sick before, and I hated not being able to really help him. The coughing was so difficult, and it was so painful. As always, Jared never complained. He wished to feel better, yes. But he didn't whine. He didn't murmur. Most of the night I held him, as the coughing turned so painful and he was tried not to move. He laid his head on my lap and would hug his own chest as he coughed. I considered calling the neighbors to come be with Liberty so I could just get Jared to the hospital. But he insisted he was fine. He always did, and I told him that I would trust his judgement. He knew how he was feeling better than me, and I asked him to promise he would admit if it was bad enough to go. The regret of not dragging him out to the car, because I would have had to drag him, has still not left me. Even when you acknowledge the will of Lord in your life, the desires to have done things in a different way linger. The pain of knowing I didn't do everything I could have and should have those last few days weighs heavy on me. 

At one point, Jared asked me if I was scared. Before I could even answer, crying from the next room was heard loud and clear. Jared and both sighed, knowing the cycle of the night was only beginning. As I fed our sweet baby and rocked her back to sleep, I decided to browse my phone apps for anything to keep me awake. I had recently added a daily scripture app, and hadn't checked it for a few days. Each scripture is accompanied by a quote and a hymn. I reached the scripture for that night and read...

Matthew 16:19

As soon as I read those words, the tears burst from my eyes. I knew I needed to read those words that night, but I didn't fully know why. I did have the impression that reminder of being bound to Jared through our temple sealing would be needed in the time to come, but I truthfully pushed any thoughts of why away. And then I came to the quote which was from President Henry B. Eyring's talk entitled "Families under Covenant." Two immediate reminders of the temple sealing Jared and I had. My tears continued as I read the talk, rhythmically rocking Liberty while I could hear Jared coughing through the walls. I ached to be with him, to comfort him. But I needed to take care of our baby too. Being torn between the two people I love most in the whole world be prove to be another difficulty over the next few days as I couldn't fully be there for either one. That last Tuesday night was only the start as I would try to split my time between them both. But during that talk, I felt confidence in it's message. And I knew Jared was confident. Knowing Jared and I had made covenants together and were sealed together for more than our time on Earth, but for eternity without end, brought me peace and comfort that night. Still, more thoughts came that I wanted to ignore. It occurred to me that while the First Presidency would be praying for my husband, the very prophet would be saying his name, I felt the purpose of their prayers would be to bring us comfort, not necessarily healing for Jared. I cried. I didn't want that to be so! And in actuality, I didn't believe it. I went on that week feeling so hopeful Jared would recover and not for one second more thinking he only had days left in mortality. And then without any warning or clear thought pattern leading to it, I had the distinct impression that Jared's older brother Ricky was to speak at his funeral. What a morbid thing to think! I was disappointed in myself for even letting such a thought come into my mind! Sure, one day maybe he could speak, but I didn't need to worry over those kinds of things now. I pushed the idea away and focused on laying Liberty back in her crib. I was anxious to get back to Jared and wrap my arms around him. He needed me. I wanted to make him feel better, and I just felt sure I somehow could. Again, was I being naive or hopeful? 

When I was able to return to bed, exhausted myself, I was relieved to find Jared sleeping. His breathing seemed to finally fall into a calm rhythm and I was grateful for those moments he seemed to have relief. The night would carry on, growing harder and harder. Jared's oxygen was lower than ever. After the only time he took it off to get up for a minute, it had dropped to 76 and his heart rate jumped. However brief, I knew that was dire. Again, I pleaded with Jared to let me take him to the ER simply to be checked, have any needed antibiotics or fluids to keep him from being dehydrated, and the reasons went on. I would again hold him tight as the cough persisted accompanied by the pain. Eventually, more sleep for all of us would come and so would the morning light. 

As I think back, I am grateful for those gentle promptings. While I didn't fully understand them at the time, I recognize that our situation was known to God, because the words He sent me to read that night would carry me through many difficult days ahead. They continue to do so. Even as we approach the anniversary of Jared's death, his journey to a place where full physical healing has come, the memories and emotions they bring are strong and at times overpowering. I don't think those precious moments in the quiet dark of the nursery that last night, admiring our beautiful baby girl, praying for her to sleep, praying for Jared to breathe and feel my love, will ever leave me but will remain as tender, treasured moments in my mind. I didn't know it would be our last night in our home together, even though we were at times separated by walls. And now, while we are separated by the great schism of death, we are still together. We are sealed, bound together in love forever, and I imagine just a mere wall between us that will one day fade away. 

Waves of Grief

I wrote this experience down a few months ago, after reliving a similar scene nearly every day. As time has passed day in and day out, I feel I am becoming more equipped to handle the waves of grief. The sorrow of my dear Jared's passing still comes just as strong each day, but the strength of hope and peace have become stronger too, and I'm feeling more comfortable flexing their muscles regularly. Still, the nearly upon us season of turkey legs and figgy pudding seems to be threatening my abilities to calm the triggers that show up unannounced. Grief is a roller coaster with stomach turning emotions waiting after each hill I've climbed. Highs and lows, joys and sadness, each equally great and surprising. 

So I share this not because I want to expose what some may consider weakness. And certainly not to gain pitty or worry. I share simply because it's real. Despite the fact that reality is a place I mentally avoid often, it is where I live. I want to express that grief is not a weakness, or someplace you simply pass on through to occasionally look back on. The grief over the passing of a loved one, and more specifically the passing of a husband whom your whole life and happiness is wrapped up in, is at it's most basic genetics the mirrored emotion of love. I've come to expect the rolling swells in the sea of grief to be high and deep as a reflection of my great love for Jared.

"When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'reflow, 

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."

 While I feel sorrow, I feel love more. I feel it coursing through me with each tear that falls and each heart string that pulls. I feel love for Jared and love from Jared. Still more importantly, I feel love from God, a God who is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent. I believe through faith in God and Jesus Christ, from whence all love flows, my grief, born of love but now winding through sorrow and heartache, will evolve back into that great love from where it began. 

"Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith... It is the price of love."

Author Unknown 

The water pours over me, running onto my head and catching in my eyelashes. It washes over my body as I kneel on the shower floor, dripping off my nose and chin. It streams down perfectly disguising my tears as they roll along side the hot water and over the contours of my face, the tears finding their way swirling around the drain and in my mind making their way to the ocean to mingle with drops of its their own kind, salty and blurry.

I hug myself, arms wrapped around me steadying, and striving, struggling to feel, to remember what it was like to be hugged so tightly, tight enough to believe nothing was wrong in the world. I’m straining to hear something, my husband’s voice, even just a whisper of my name.

How long has it been? One minute, two minutes, ten minutes. I don’t hear anything. No sound. Nothing.

And I cry, weeping for all the hopes and dreams that no longer exist. I feel grief washing over me as if I were in a pit of dark mud clinging to my skin. I look up and see there is an opening, but no matter how I strain and exert myself I can’t seem to grasp anything or find a foothold. I fall back down to the cold, damp ground.

On the outside, I smile. I chat. I technically function. But on the inside, I stand looking up from this pit of sorrow and I reach. Reaching, the strain of it wears on me.

How long have I been sitting on the floor of the shower? How wrinkled can skin become before it’s irreversible? Although pruned skin never bothered me before, I can’t leave Libby with Grandpa forever. She needs me. So I stand and rinse and get out. Once again, it is my daughter that makes me get up. She reaches to me and pulls me out of the deep well of grief. I also need her.

An Angel Beside Me

I'm not one to sit around and watch PBS, aside from Sesame Street with Liberty on occasion. Yet tonight I was glad it was left on. It started out catching my mother's attention with her highly favored Celtic Thunder singers. It was an old Christmas program PBS was pushing. While beautiful, the Irish group isn't really my thing. 

Eventually it switched to another tenor singer and abandoned by any and all viewers, but the tv was left on. I should note this is a pet peeve of mine, when the TV is left on and no one is really watching it. 

Can't we turn it off if no one is even paying attention? My sister, simultaneously talking with a friend, claimed to be listening to it. So on it stayed. I didn't pay much attention and laid myself down on the sofa with a heated rice bag to relax and try not to think. Despite the long pauses in between performances to ask for donations with the alluring promise of a memorabilia mug in return, the music actually became nice and calming. 

What first caught my attention was the singer describing his next song, Caruso. He described a man who was dying and looking into the eyes of a woman he loved and thinking back over life wondering if it had all been a beautiful dream. I don't speak Italian, but I felt I understood the song because I could understand the feeling. Then I thought, OK, I need to find out who this singer is. Nathan Pacheco everybody. I looked it up on YouTube. 

And that's when I discovered the song that I really want to share: Don't Cry. With a title like that I figured it was gonna make me cry. That's a condition I've frequented often enough that I was going to give it a go. 

I didn't want my sister to notice I'd become interested in the singer from the PBS special I had just so recently complained about. I think my exact words were, "Who's this guy singing anyway?" So I turned the volume down way low on my phone and held it up to my ear to listen to what this song was all about. I'll have to swallow some more pride when she finds out I've already purchased his latest album. Thanks to Jared insisting we get Amazon Prime two years back, it will be here 
Wednesday. 

As I lay still listening to the words and the music, Instead of crying so began to feel added hope and peace rise within me. Every line seemed to hold a special meaning written just for me. I imagined the Savior speaking the words and telling me to hold on and take His hand... "...you've got the angels by your side." 

I just have to tell you... Last night as I was savoring every snuggle and rocking Libby in "our chair" getting ready for bed, she was mumbling and rubbing her eyes. We had already said "goodnight" to daddy- Jared's picture. I should say pictures. We wave and blow kisses to at least a dozen around the room before nie-nie time. As we rocked, Libby suddenly looked up and started waving and said Da Da. And kept waving. I asked her where daddy was. She usually points to one of the many pictures. But instead she pointed up to where she had waved, then waved one more time before going back to what she was doing before. And  I knew our angel Jared was beside us. The song seemed to being a confirmation to me of that experience, that so was being told Yes, he stands beside you. 

            Blessed Art a Thou Among Women

                          By Walter Rane

"...for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."

D&C 84:88

And now as I share this the tears have come. But instead is sorrowful tears, they are grateful tears. I may not have the eye to see, but I am grateful for my sweet baby girl who does. I am grateful for God's spirit that whispers through a song  that what my eyes can't see my heart can know and feel. I know Jared is our angel and he's so often near. My husband is involved in raising our daughter, watching over and protecting us from harm, and adding his own strength to mine lifting me up when my knees are feeble and my hands hang down. He gives me encouragement to take the Savior's hand. I believe it is through the grace and Atonement of Christ, Jared is lent the power and enabled to be the angel that stands beside me. I know Jared is still existing in the sphere of paradise and while I can't yet see him, if I continue to follow Christ to the best of my ability I will one day be able to see the angel who stands beside us. 

Light Cometh in the Morning

It seems most nights I spend just waiting for morning to come, since sleep often doesn't. I sigh each time I glance at the clock, realizing only very minutes have actually passed and sunrise is still far away. And the mischievous first of the month was once again no different. 

Waking up to the crying sound of "ma ma, ma ma!" is hard to ignore. Especially when little tiny hands are outstretched towards you hoping to be held. When I picked Libby up sometime after 2 o'clock, her clothes were wet as she had leaked through through her diaper yet again. I usually keep spare pajamas with the diapers and wipes next to the crib, but I had relapsed on my preparation this time. She whimpered as I removed her soiled clothes and changed her, quickly wrapping her up in a blanket as we ventured foggy-eyed upstairs to find more pj's. 

Not wanting to wake her anymore, I kept lights off using only my phone flashlight as a guide. Pj's in hand, the crying increased and it became apparent my little girl had passed the threshhold where simple rocking would put her back to sleep. We headed to the kitchen where a bottle was waiting in the refrigerator. For a moment I felt proud I had actually remembered to prepare something. That moment was quick in passing. I put the new clothes on my little one who focused on the warming milk, begging to have it already. In near slow-motion as I attempted to put the bottle lid on, while balancing Liberty on one hip, it tipped sending milk spilling in every direction, including over the counter, down my clothes, across the floor, and everywhere in between. 

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has cried over spilled milk, but I truly began to sob as I had to set my sleepy baby down on one side of the floor so I could clean up the milk. But of course, in the dark I couldn't see the entire lake of milk and had to flip more lights on, sending Libby to sob herself. There I cried, on hands and knees sopping up her bottle's entire contents while she cried, attempting to shield her sleepy eyes from the light. 

It was an obvious slap from single parenthood, which practically mocked me as my tears mixed with the milk. 

"Help!" I plead. "Jared, please comfort our baby so I can clean this up. Please, please help me!" 

I could hardly complete the task at hand as waves of loneliness and inadequacy crashed down over me. My hands hung down and my knees felt feeble. All the while, those tiny hands stretched out to me as I had to ignore more cries of "Ma ma, ma ma." Where was morning? Would the wretched night ever end? Then I wondered; was Jared standing near, weepy softly alongside his girls wishing he could wrap us both up and shush our crying? Or was he smiling kindly, knowing one day this experience would make me strong and durable?

And then as if an angel himself, my father appeared in the kitchen doorway asking what was going on and if I needed help. I looked up at him from tearful eyes. "I spilled all the milk," I sobbed. He looked down and saw Libby and immediately scooped her up and began to comfort her. I still had to change clothes myself and prepare a new bottle before I could have her back. I listened to my dad sooth my crying daughter, which soothed me in return.  I thought back to stories of him walking me up and down the halls as an infant, lulling me to sleep. He seemed to still have the calming touch, as Liberty calmed and I was able to wipe the floor clean from my clumsiness. 

Safely back in our plush rocking chair, I draped Liberty with Jared's blue baby blanket. I smoothed it over her as she hungrily drank, eyes almost immediately drooping closed. I was content to hold her as she nestled against me. Still, the night's stress was not all the way gone from my sweet, tiny girl as she continued to sigh and turn and whimper for the next hour. Again I thought, where is the morning? Where is the sun to break over the mountains and stream light in through the window? I just needed to survive the night. As I continuously swayed the both of us forward and back, I searched for an old general conference talk that had brought me comfort in the early months of my husband's passing. 

"Fourteen years ago the Lord took my wife beyond the veil. I love her with all my heart, but I have never complained because I know it was His will." 

Elder Richard G. Scott

As I thought on these lines, the same lines that struck me months ago, I realized I needed to focus more efforts on not complaining. As Elder Scott also shared the tender stories of losing a daughter, and a son six weeks later, my eyes welled up again with salty tears. My own broken heart seemed to break a little more for him. 

"We should never complain, when we are living worthily, about what happens in our lives." 

I needn't complain about spilled milk, or lack of sleep, or anything really. I sat there with my beautiful baby in my arms, finally peacefully sleeping. I know my husband and I have both strived to live worthily of God's promised blessings. I then felt my dear husband, whom I love with all my heart, close to both of us and smiling. And then as if right on cue, sun rays began to warm up the sky behind the blinds, gradually bathing the dreary night with warm and hopeful light. 

A Wife's Wrist Band...

I realized today I still had my wrist band on. The paper kind with the sticky end you get at concerts. Only the black skeleton silhouettes dancing across this one was evidence of the corn maze I had been to with the ward's young women a few nights before. As I went about needing to find scissors to cut it off a reminder of another wrist band came flooding back without warning.

Another wrist band. Same style, only hot pink. Without Halloween clip art. Simply, my husband's name, DOB, and hospital room number jazzed it up. When I returned back to Primary Children's Hospital after Jared had been admitted, I had to get a security band so I could just walk back to his room without checking in each time. As I talked at the security desk, I had to explain I was the patient's wife, not mother. Especially with the silly faces he was making all the while. 

"In 25+ years, I've never given one of these to a patient's wife," he said. And I would suppose not. It was a children's hospital after all. That was evident by the coloring book, crayons, and animal themed menu in my husband's room. In fact, there wasn't even an option for "wife" at the security check-in. I joked then that I sometimes felt more like a mother, since Jared was always a kid at heart. Despite not having wife as an option, hot pinkness still came to symbolize my "wife's" band. When I pulled into the parking lot after going back and forth between the hospital and my parents that first day, the guard asked who I was there for. I held up my wrist, flashing my pink band, and he waved me on. "Ah, you have a kiddo in there," he said and smiled. I smiled back. Yes, I had a big kiddo in there.

Even after we soon transferred hospitals and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. I liked seeing my husband's name around my wrist. It signified I was there for him.

After Jared's passing and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. I liked seeing my husband's name around my wrist. It signified we were still connected.

And even after we laid my husband to rest, all through the viewing and the funeral and the band was no longer required, I kept it on. It signified that I was still his wife.

I debated taking it off when I went to the temple the morning of Jared's viewing, but I just couldn't. The neon peaked out from under the sleeve of my dress; the same dress I wore when we were married. In fact, I wore that hot pink wrist band through that month, and the next, and then a little longer. To me cutting it off signified he wasn't there, and I couldn't bear the thought despite it running through my mind over and over. I wore it in the shower, to sleep, watching it get folded over and somewhat tattered. Then I noticed Jared's name began to slowly but surely fade. Eventually worries I would wear it out to the point of not being able to see my husband's name there, I took a pair of scissors and somewhat ceremoniously snipped my wrist free of the hot pink. I've put it in a safe place, along with other momentos of my husband. Forever reminding me that I was there for him, we are connected, that I am his wife. 

As I stare at the red and black band on my hand now, I can envision see the hot pink "wife band" that signified I was at the hospital for Jared, and tears well up. I would proudly wear anything that shows I am his wife.

A Merry Heart Doeth Good Like A Medicine...

A

 day, a week, a month. Why do we keep track of time when it really all just rolls up on top of itself and folds back over into one giant experience? Does it help or hinder us to mark stretches of time? As the first day of a new month rolls around yet again, I feel the pit of anxiousness swell up inside me. With the beginning of a new month and season, it's a reminder of the ending of the life I once had and loved. The 1st marks 8 months since Jared’s spirit was finally able to leap up and run. And oh, how I miss him! 

Sometimes I still count back to add up the number of days since his passing, although it always just makes me feel sad. Some hours it feels as if just yesterday we were talking and holding hands, living our beautiful life. Other times it seems light years away. Time is so warped to me now and seems to stretch on and on, and on and on. Yet, while each day is one more added to our length of separation, it also means one day closer to our reunion. 

When I first started this blog with Jared's encouragement, and then didn't really start it, my intention was to keep everyone updated on my husband's health, and how he was doing so great. And mainly, how his merry heart was what I felt was keeping him so healthy and happy. 

I anticipated creating a blog full of heart healthy recipes I had tried for Jared, ways I would make our home cute and crafty to reflect our family's love, and all about how Jared was defying the doctors' predictions. We both knew his merry heart was doing more than medical treatments could ever do. But now, none of that is valid and I have anything but a merry heart of my own. 

I feel I am being held together by sloppy yet faithful stitches, yet they can't seem to hold closed the tender wound in my own aching heart. I'm sure if doctors were to open my chest, they'd find an actual gaping hole where all my emotions, abilities, and confidence are pouring out. 

A few days ago I found myself gripping my steering wheel while I cried the kind of crying that makes your body ache and your head numb. Maybe it was the gloomy clouds or the rain pouring down that day, the same as on the morning we laid my husband to rest. Or maybe it was how the clouds lingered lower over the foothills above where I live; where we lived. But the tears began to fall as I drove back from a simple run to the post office. Sometimes the emotions fill up inside and have no where to go but overflow. They tumble out of my eyes and down my face. 

As I parked along the curb in front of my parents' house, I stared out the window. Everything was blurry; the neighbor's leafy trees, the black pavement, the late summer flowers. Even if I wasn't crying, the rain streaking across the window pane blurred all the greens of summer together into a sort of new gray hue. There have been times like this that I cry so hard I can't catch my breath. I continued to grip the steering wheel, seeing my knuckles turn white and almost shake. The emotional pain becomes physical and I have no particular thoughts, just everything rolling together through my mind. And then almost as sudden as it began, the tears stopped. I took out the keys, and I went inside. 

Moments of anguish come and then they go. Life goes on. The mail gets delivered each day, the phone rings with sales pitches, breaking news still gets reported by 5 o'clock each evening. Even though my own world has come to a screeching halt, a continuous halt that has lasted 8 months now, the rest of the world carries on. 

I know I need to get back to that place, to have a merry heart. This blog is my journey back to that now. The truth is that my grief, while more than skin deep, isn't all-encompassing. There is happiness. At first those moments of gladness seemed fleeting and spread far apart. Or was it just me keeping them from coming and not opening my eyes to know happiness is truly there constantly just waiting for me to grab on and hold tight? Within my soul past that wounded heart of mine, my spirit is happy and has reason to rejoice! 

I've heard others ask to those who have been traveling this journey of grief how long until the hurt goes away. Some same "In time," some say "Never." The truth is, I don't want it to go away. At least not completely. I feel my grief is only as equal as my love for Jared, and I fear if I feel less sad it would mean I feel less love for him. And that will never happen. I love Jared with all my heart, broken or not. While part of me has gone with him, I think I can still have a merry heart and happiness. There is happiness for the life we shared, the life I have and will still need to live for our daughter Liberty and her eyes full of light. There is happiness for that eternal bond I share with Jared, one that began eons ago and continues even now. Most importantly, there is happiness in the Atonement of the Son of God that enables me to have hope for a merry heart once again.