UK Day 3- Darwin and Drag Queens

By Saturday morning, we were feeling more human.  There's something about the light that comes with a new day that leaves one feeling hopeful, and I knew it would be a fresh start and I was excited to venture around the city.  On this trip, we each came up with a couple of "bucket list" items; things we really needed to see or do above all else.  One of mine was to travel out to the village of Down to see where Charles Darwin spent the latter two-thirds of his life.

We had to walk a few blocks from our flat to where the car was parked.  Luckily, no one had damaged it during the night (another long story that I don't feel like writing or remembering).  I loved walking through the village along the rows of houses.  The air was damp and cold and I was so in love with the country.  The GPS was unreliable and ended up taking us through the most torturous part of central London; a journey that should only have taken half an hour at most.  Instead, we drove right in the middle of central London traffic for the better part of ninety minutes while finding our way southeast to Down.  Cody's knuckles were white, and even though I'm not Catholic, I certainly crossed myself plenty of times.  But I will say that passing through Mayfair and by Hyde Park and crossing over the Thames was unbelievable. 

Getting outside of London was bliss.  There was a palpable feeling when the houses suddenly got further apart from each other and the fields, akin to any Thomas Hardy novel, came into view.  Butterflies flew wildly in my stomach as I knew Down was approaching, and I got choked up.  Why?

That's a story for another day.  Anyone who knows me well, knows I have a profound admiration for Charles Darwin; both as a scientist, but more so, as a person.  If you ever want to know why, I'll put on the kettle and we can discuss my reasons over tea, and I'm sure that you'll walk away having a bit of reverence yourself.  

 Down was tiny and the roads tinier.  The notion of two lanes was just that.  A notion.  It was really just one lane, and passing oncoming cars became a game of Chicken.  At one point, there was nowhere for us to go and traffic was backing up behind us with horns honking and little Englishmen barking orders at Cody who couldn't go anywhere.  We eventually decided to ditch the car in a little parking lot (likely private property) and hike the remaining mile up to the house.  I'm not sorry we did it, because in walking, we truly saw the village.  It really was everything I thought it would be and then some.

We decided to get off the road because traffic coming our way couldn't veer if they had to miss us, so we found a foot path that lead to an unknown place, but we decided to chance it.  We walked through mucky cow pastures and came upon some backpackers who told us we had to get back on the main road to find the house, so we did.

It was exactly like all the memoirs and autobiographical and biographical accounts described it, and my heart leapt.  Many people in my religion talk about significant church history sites on the east coast and how when they visited, they felt a certain kind of spirit there.  Well, I felt that at Downe House and I could have spent four more days just walking the grounds.  Photography wasn't allowed inside the house, but I cheated and took a few pictures anyway, and I don't regret it at all.  

Sitting in Emma and Charles' bed chamber was surreal.  I don't really have words for it, so I'll leave it at that.

The girls and I took off to explore because I wanted to find the infamous sand path wherein he did his best thinking.  I imagined it to be a path of only about twenty feet in length, but it actually wrapped around more than an acre of land.  The girls and I walked the path and talked and I told them my favorite stories about Darwin (some they'd heard before, no doubt).  I told them again why I loved him so much.  Lauren did a biography report about him in third grade and she was almost as excited to be there as I was.  Almost.

We had tea out on the patio and did more talking.  I had tea at Darwin's house on Darwin's patio.  I can't believe it!!

I didn't want to leave.  I'd dreamed about walking through his house for so long and being there was a catharsis I couldn't give up.  But when it was finally time to leave, we walked the mile back to the village and made the decision not to pass go, and bypass London via the M25 to turn the rental car in before our marriage ended.  However, we needed directions, so I walked into a pub that was easily as old as time.  Two old gentleman were sitting there bantering, drinking their pints, and they slowly turned their heads toward me as if to ask what the hell I wanted.

They started giving me directions laden with such a thick accent that I could barely understand what they said.  It was something out of a movie.  Ever seen "Leap Year" with Amy Adams?  It was like that when she walks in and asks for the number for a taxi and the old guys are arguing about the proper directions to give her.  I loved it, but I'm certain they chuckled about me after I left.  

Another exceptionally long evening of getting lost, seeing a million sheep in the fields off the motorway, and trying not to lose our minds, but absolutely loving it.  We turned in our rental, hopped a bus, and vowed to NEVER drive in London again.  Next stop was back to Heathrow to catch The Tube, which we stayed on for another hour as we made our way back to central London.  

I absolutely loved the hustle and bustle of the London underground and if we'd known better, we would have skipped the rental car entirely and taken public transit everywhere we went.  But live and learn, right?  

It was Saturday night and we could have stayed on the Piccadilly line and simply people watched all evening.  We were laughing and having a great time and because we are loud Americans and have "all these kids", people watched us.  Everyone wanted to know where we were from, where we were heading, etc.  And then it was time to get off at our stop and Cody and the kids got off first and then all of the sudden, the doors shut and I was still on it.  

*I have to add that it wasn't even our stop, but an old guy on the train said we needed to get off THERE.  So they got off and I was still on the train and after the doors closed and the crowd looked at me like "Oh, shit!  Your family just left you!"  The old guy looks around, looks up at the sign and says, "Oh, bugger, this isn't even my train.  I'm on the wrong one.  Sorry, I told you wrong information!"

I watched their wide eyes as the train left with me still on it and looking back, I'm haunted at the thought that it could have been one of the kids left on the train, instead of me.  I can't let my mind go there.  I'll omit the details, but I'll say that it made for an exceptionally difficult and eventful Saturday night in central London.  I can honestly say there is NOTHING like it, and difficult to describe. It's like Jane Austen, Sherlock Holmes, Cirque du Soleil, Las Vegas, and a lot of hell mixed in.  It took hours for us to meet back up again and during that time, I sat in a puddle of piss that wasn't mine on two different occasions.  Eventually, we rendezvoused at none other than the above ground at Piccadilly Circus.  

It was nearing 11:00 at night and drag queens were in abundance.  We found dinner at a pizza place where our waitress was from Spain but obsessed with all things American (why?). We had no idea that all of the UK and Ireland was losing an hour that night.  Whereas America had done that two weeks before, we got to do it all over again in London.  But did that stop us from staying out with our children in Leicester Square?  Absolutely not.  We took in China Town, saw some awesome gay bars, and stepped in some urine that honest to God had glitter floating in it.  

Hopping back on The Tube, we made our way back to Wilstead Green and walked several blocks back to the flat, finally getting to bed about 2:00 in the morning.  I'd say we did our Saturday night in central London right! Or exceptionally wrong?

Camerons Stiff is a realty company there in London, but given that Cody's brother's name is Cameron, these signs took on a different meaning for us and we always giggled. 

I need to write a story about this house.  We passed it every day and I just loved it. 

UK Day 2- Welcome to hell, I mean, London.

We landed in London at 6:00 a.m. local time, but midnight our time.  We were exhausted, but hyped up on adrenaline.  I remember when we landed, I looked out the window and saw a Union Jack flag and felt all fluttery.  I couldn't believe our dream was finally a reality but as always happened, I was once again overcome with mixed feelings of guilt and dread, but I'll get to that later.  

Customs was very busy, and we stood in line for an hour.  The customs agent who processed us was the first real person I'd heard speak with a British accent and it was such a novelty, and we chatted about our teenager who was trying to pretend that he wasn't part of our group, and the agent said he had one of those at home, so I guess it's universal.  Our baggage was waiting for us at baggage claim, we were able to exchange our American cash for pound notes, and we were off to find the bus that would take us to the car rental facility.  Easy peasy.

People think we're nuts to have rented a car in London, and we were.  But at the time, we didn't know how we'd get around to the outside parts of London without trains and buses, so we opted to rent a car for two days.  Only two days.  I'd spent countless hours researching maps and routes and I knew we were ready.  The "seven-seater" car we were given was a joke.  Imagine a VW Beetle with an extra row.  With our bags and people, that's how we fit inside the thing.  At this point we were going on no sleep in almost twenty-four hours, but we were doing fine.  That is, until we left the parking lot.

We got on the morotway (i.e. American freeway) and not even a quarter of a mile down the road, the car started acting funny, and then BAM!!!  

A front tire blew and there was a terrible noise coming from under the car.  The rim was grating into the asphalt and leaving a half-inch indentation for about fifty feet.  Did I mention we could still see the exit to the car rental place in the rear-view mirror?  I'll make this painful story short and say that the tire blew off with such force, that it struck the truck behind us (large food truck), wrapped around his back axle casing him to skid and lose control, and he hit another car.  All because of a blown tire.  Well, in the UK, the police have zero tolerance for any kind of road mishap and will fine/ticket drivers for even having a flat tire. 

Trying to make lemonade out of lemons!

They tried for an hour to get the tire unwrapped from the truck's axle and couldn't.  Those were some POWERFUL physics at play.  The cop looks at the rim that came off our car and said it had obviously been driven for a long time in that condition (this is where he was going to give us a ticket) until we convinced him that it was a rental and we'd been driving less than a mile!  

After a couple of hours on the side of the motorway and going on even less sleep, we eventually made our way back to the car rental place, hobbling in on an old donut tire.  Remember that secene in "National Lampoon's European Vacation" when they get stuck on the roundabout in London?

"Look, kids!  Big Ben!"

I promise to God, England motorways are a nightmare.  I'll leave it at that.

And when we finally make it back there an hour and a half later, what happens?  The rental people charge us for damaging their car.  I'm just gonna end this right here before I start seeing red again. $2,500 for a damaged rim that wasn't our fault.  The next day, we'd discover that our credit card had been lost somewhere along the motorway or in the parking lot or perhaps in the damaged rental car.  Yeah, there went our money and our only way to get cash.

We were now behind schedule by about seven hours.  All we wanted to do was make it to the flat, unpack, shower, and try to catch a nap.  But what happened when we got there?  We found out our reservation was wrong.  Long story and I won't rehash it, but the landlord who met us was going to make us find another place to stay unless I could pay him an extra hundred pounds on the spot to accommodate us.  Cash only.  Remember how I said we could no longer get cash because our card was gone?  I reached into my wallet and pulled out the LAST of our remaining cash and gave it to him, all so we wouldn't be on the street.  That would be all of our cash for the rest of the week, and this was a group of countries that took only cash in most places, especially in the villages.  Great.

I had a mental break-down in front of the landlord who simply looked at me like a deer in headlights.

"Stupid Americans."

When we were finally able to get checked in, I sat on the bed and just cried.  I was so tired, emotionally, physically, and my heart was heavy.  This was Garrett's trip.  This trip was only happening because of him, and everything was going wrong, and we hadn't even been in the country a full day yet.  All of the anxiety and guilt and sadness I felt about the circumstances surrounding the trip came flooding out of me.  For weeks, I'd had nightmares of everything that could go wrong on the trip, and it seemed to have been happening in pieces.  I'm leaving a lot out here, but trust me when I say it was bad.  We'd already run into so many major snags and all I wanted to do was sleep, but I was too anxious to sleep, so I lied there in bed and just shook.  

Finally, it was dark outside and we decided to shower and then head into the village to find some dinner.  The walk through this part of London was quaint and idyllic, despite the terrible day we'd had the horrible welcome into the country.  We found a little Turkish restaurant and the food was excellent.  We didn't plan on eating Turk while in England, but that's what we found, and that's what we had.  On the way back to the flat, we stopped in a little market for some essentials and the clerks got a kick out of hearing our "huge" family speak "American".  We got that everywhere we went, and it was odd!  

Despite the almost ruined reservation and using our only remaining cash reserve to save our hides, our flat was adequate and served our needs.  It was in a quiet neighborhood in northwest London, a little village called "Wilstead Green", and we had part of the second floor in this subdivided townhouse.  

UK Day 1- Getting There

For the sake of this journal, I've decided to omit the boring and frustrating details that contributed to making this trip so difficult.  I'll include a few of them, but no one (myself included) wants to hear or remember the knitty gritty of how so much fell apart and how we almost got a divorce on our fourth day.  That being said, the shuttle picked us up from our house at 9:00 a.m. and our first flight into Atlanta left Salt Lake at 11:15.  The airport wasn't terribly busy and no one got lost.  However, about two minutes before take-off, I discovered that Devin's bag was missing.

We'd spent weeks packing and repacking bags, trying to calculate how to make things fit so we could each get away with one small bag.  I'd even configured a strap to Devin and Lauren's bags so they could attach their car booster seats and drag them wherever we went.  As it stood, Devin had left his bag and booster sitting at the gate and luckily, I noticed just in time and the crew was able to get it (thank goodness it was still sitting where he'd left it) and we were off!

Our first leg was just under four hours and we got into Atalanta about 5:00 eastern time.  I heard that airport is the biggest/busiest in the continental US, and I don't think that was an exaggeration.  We took an extremely long tram to get to the correct terminal for our next flight. We had time to use the facilities and grab something to eat, only to find out that they had overbooked and were trying to figure out where to put our large group.  Fan-freaking-tastic.  At one point I was very worried that we'd get bumped, because 90% of the flight had already boarded, and we were still waiting at the gate.  Finally, we got on , but were all separated around the plane.  Luckily, people were nice enough so the girls were seated together and six rows back from me, and Cody and the boys were together in one row.

I was sandwiched between two LARGE men in the center of the row and I could barely move through the whole eight hour flight.  It was loooooong.  I did a little bit of school work, a little bit of writing, and watched three movies. "Goodbye Christopher Robbin", "Home Again", and "The Shape of Water". We flew Delta, and the flight service was remarkable.  The meals weren't bad, and they were wonderful about making sure our kids were happy and taken care of. I tried to get the kids to sleep, but that was a joke.  I knew we'd be landing in London at midnight our time, and that it would make for a very difficult Friday.  The only one who slept at all was Devin, and I was right.  Only I had no idea just HOW difficult our Friday was going to be.  

All You Need Is Love

Last night I had a dream.

I was in "The Walking Dead". Not in the actual show, but rather living it in real life. It was a post-apocalyptic world and my family was on the run from both Walkers and Survivors. It was terrible and thrilling all at once. I remember having bloody clothes and the washing machines were being used and I was really bugged by it. My bra was soaked red with blood (who's blood, I'm not sure and that's scary) and I was holding my laundry and really upset because I couldn't walk around braless...or could I? Last night in real life, I had to make a late run to the grocery store and I walked into the garage wearing my sweat pants, tee shirt, and no bra. I was holding my purse and ready to get into the car when I realized how inappropriate it would be to go in public braless. But then I thought how amazing it would be if it WAS appropriate. I hope that in the post-apocalyptic world, all women will be braless. After all, there have to be some perks to living like a homeless person. AmIright??

Somehow that dream morphed into something far more poignant and it's had me thinking all morning about what it meant and if it's in line with my true feelings. You see, when you lose a child, one of your biggest fears is how it will all be made right in the Hereafter and how your family will be whole again. I want and need Garrett back as a three year old. I need him to snuggle in my lap while I read to him and I want to make him mac 'n cheese, the gross kind from the blue box. I need to teach him to ride a bike and kiss his boo boos and push him on the swings at the park while he tells me to push him higher. I need all of the things that I've been cheated of, as do my children and as does my husband. All of us have been robbed of a life; not just Garrett's life, but the lives we should each be living with him here.

In the next life, will we pick up where we left off? Will we be transported back to July 11, 2014 and get a re-do? Will all of my children be young again and will Cody and I be young parents? I can't imagine it working that way and it breaks my heart as I try to come up with a solution. In what scenario will I be satisfied? Is it even possible to EVER be satisfied, given what I've lost and been cheated of?

So in my dream we went from running from zombies and worrying about bloody bras, to being in California in an earthquake. I was with my parents, my children, my older sister and my oldest brother. We were sitting around a table in some sort of apartment building and the world was shaking around us. And then I started talking about this cosmic pull that connects us to each other; the energy that flows between people when they love one another. What is it that makes me love my children? Just because they came out of me does not mean I have to love them. But I do, and why? Why do I love anyone? Why do I love my brothers and sisters and parents so fiercely? What is it that would make me lay down my life for any one of them? What makes me love my husband like I do? I was saying all of this as we sat around this rickety table as the world was crumbling around us, and it was as if the words were coming through me but were not my own.

And then suddenly, I knew. I knew that this force between us is so strong, so connective, that nothing in the universe and the infinite space that is time can ever break it. This energy is called LOVE and it is the greatest power ever created. It is so strong and when our mortal bodies give out and die, this power lives on and it is strong enough to create worlds upon worlds. Nothing else will matter when I see my son again; his age, the age of my other children, whether or not they have families of their own...all of it will be of no consequence because the power that connects us, the love between us, will be strong enough to make anything possible. My greatest desires and wishes and all that is owed to me will be manifest.

And maybe that's what the Atonement of Christ is really about. I spend a lot of time thinking that it's too good to be true and that it's more of a bedtime story that has been passed down for thousands of years. Is it myth and magic or is it fact? Does Christ's sacrifice hold the power to really secure my future with my family and give me every desire of my heart? Is it strong enough to really make this hurt go away someday? How does it work?

Love. Such a simple word, such a simple notion, yet powerful enough to mend every broken thing. Christ exuded love from every poor and every faculty as he suffered for us. I don't understand even the tip of the iceberg, but today I woke up believing that in His suffering lies the key to my eternal happiness and that just maybe, love is all that will matter in the next life. And right now, it's enough to get me through another twenty-four hours.

Graduation Fair and Baind-Aids

One year ago I was up on campus for an exam and afterward I headed to the bookstore to get something for another exam.  Graduation Fair was taking place and the bookstore was filled with chaos as people were trying on gowns and ordering class rings and vendors were hawking their graduation memorabilia.  It was March 2015 and my heart ached as I realized I was supposed to graduate the following May.  It had been my plan for a while, ever since I went back to school to study something new.  I would graduate May 2016, take a year off while I interned and applied to graduate school, then I would start grad school in 2017.  Things were choreographed quite nicely and I could look to the future, my future and my family's future, with certainty.  At the age of thirty-four I finally knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life and my career goals were set into play.  

And then on July 12, 2014......

You know the rest.  

Garrett died three weeks before the summer termed ended.  Up to that point I had a 4.0 GPA, something I was proud of and had worked very hard to attain.  I did not finish the term, and I did not go back that fall.  I didn't know if I would ever go back, really.

But I did go back and it was so much harder than I anticipated.  On bad days, I had thoughts of ending my life.  On better days, I had thoughts of just checking out of life, but not ending it.  I cried and screamed each day while the kids were in school, then I picked myself up off the floor and forced myself to study.  It was during this time that I happened upon that Graduation Fair and felt hopelessly bereft.  Then summer term began and triggers came at me from every corner of the world, but I got through it.  I had to almost double up on my class load to make up for lost time, all while finishing the incomplete classes from THAT summer, but I got through it.

And now, I graduate in thirty-six days, just as I planned in the beginning.  Perhaps I should have been kinder to myself and allowed more time to pass before I jumped back into school.  But honestly, I think it is school that has kept me alive this last year.  It has given me purpose and something to work toward and without it, I don't know what would have happened to me.

A year later, today, I took my children up to the University of Utah to participate in this year's Graduation Fair.  As we walked into the bookstore and were met with banners and the hustle and bustle of fellow graduates, a lump formed in my throat and I thought back to this time last year.  I don't know what carried me through to now, but I am grateful.  And as I stood there hand in hand with Devin, I knew I would never take it for granted.

Yesterday I texted a dear friend and asked him if he would like to meet us for lunch on campus somewhere after Grad Fair.  Mike is one of my favorite people in the universe, and he also delivered (well, almost delivered) four of my five children.  It may seem odd to have such a close relationship with your OB, but Mike is different and I've always thought of him as a big brother.  I hadn't seen him since a month after Garrett's death, and it was time to make good on the "Hey, we need to meet up for lunch one of these days" sentiments we always share, but ever follow through on.  The kids are huge fans of Dr. Mike and we lucked out that he happened to be available this afternoon.

After getting my graduation supplies, we headed over to the med center to meet at the cafeteria.  All of our children but Ethan were born there, and I hadn't been back since the day we brought Garrett home when he was a newborn.  In fact, in all the times I've been on campus since going back to school post-death, I have deliberately avoided everything associated with the hospital.  Although my memories of it are only good ones, I ache at those memories.  I literally spent years at that place, pregnant with at least two other babies in tow.  I would maneuver through the parking garage and usually park in the same stall each time, load the kids into the double stroller, and waddle my way to the fourth floor.  It was so routine that I could do it in my sleep.  

But I decided today that it was another band-aid in need of removal.  I needed...no...I WANTED to see the place.  I wanted to remember the good times of stopping at the coffee shop to get a turkey and pesto sandwich while listening to the volunteer pianist playing the baby grand in the lobby.  I wanted to remember walking through the corridors and going up the elevator with my toddlers, dreaming of the day when we would welcome a new baby into our family within those very hospital walls.  

I knew the parking garage would be too painful.  Of all things, I knew that would make me very sad so I opted to use the free valet service.  When we walked into the lobby, memories and emotions flooded me and I smiled and fought tears at the same time.  The kids remembered the place, all of them but Devin because he was only a baby himself when he was there last.  Seeing Mike was like taking a drink of cold water on a hot day.  His very presence calms me and I can always count on laughing when we talk.  When I met him eleven years ago under very uncertain circumstances surrounding my complicated pregnancy with Hailey, I never could have imagined that all these years later, he would still be so important to our family.  So important to me and such a good friend.

After lunch he had to get to a meeting, so we said goodbye.  The kids wanted to go play on the escalators for a while, but I was ready to get out of there because it was becoming too painful.  But I obliged, and then they asked to go explore and see where they were born.  My heart sank. I looked ahead and saw the very elevator that would lead to the fourth floor, to the maternal fetal medicine clinic, and to the maternity wing.  I don't know what made me agree to it, but the next thing I knew we were on the elevator.

When we stepped off, I was immediately hit with the smell.  It wasn't a bad smell, but a very medical smell and one I used to know very well.  I was overcome with feelings of dejavu and it was hard keeping my emotions in check.  I could recall with clarity the last time I'd been in that clinic.  I knew what I was wearing, I knew Ethan was in school, I knew I was pushing Devin in the little blue umbrella stroller, and I knew Hailey and Lauren were wearing the matching striped sweaters Granana had given them for Christmas.  I also knew it would be my last OB appointment ever, and that Garrett would be born the next week.  

After walking through that corridor, I was impulsive and decided to head in the other direction and go through the big metal security doors into the maternity wing.  What was I doing, and why was I doing it?  And then we were there, standing at the check in desk, and I was telling the nurse we were just going down memory lane and wanted to walk through the halls.  She gave each of us masks to wear, but the boys decided they didn;t want to wear masks so they sat in the waiting area near the big doors.  The girls and I walked hand in hand down the hall and when we got there, I knew exactly what room had been mine when Garrett was born.  I stayed there for five days and I knew it.  I saw the door, and I was taken back to the first time I saw Garrett's face.  I knew him and loved him so intensely that my heart felt like it would burst.  It was as if I'd been waiting for him my whole life and when I saw him, I knew him.

I couldn't control the emotion and I stood there and shook all over.  I buried my face in my hands and wept as I remembered.  I remembered the first time he laid on my bare chest and how he nursed like a pro from the start.  I remembered those first few hours in the room together when it was just the two of us.  It was snowing outside and I laid there in the dark room and watched the snowfall out my window.  I was so in love with this new person and I laid there and cried.  I knew it would be my last time to ever experience this kind of thing, and I breathed every bit of it in.  

I starred at the closed door, knowing another mother was on the other side, likely loving on her new baby as well.  I wanted to be her.  I wanted to have those feelings all over again.  I wanted to change everything about the events that lead to Garrett's death.  I wanted to fix everything.  I wanted to go back to a time when I could fully protect my little boy....but instead, I stood there, powerless to change anything.  So together with my daughters, we cried.  

I don't know if it was at all healing to have done what I did today.  All I know is that it has rendered me useless since we got home, and that I've spent the afternoon and evening in bed crying myself dry.  I know I wanted to remember my precious time with my precious baby, and that I've been tempted to do all that I did today for a long time.  Although it hurt tremendously, I think it was good to go back and live all of the goodness one more time.  Sometimes I worry that I will forget the pain, but I want to hold on to the pain.  Sometimes I need it to hurt like it did today, because it reminds me that nothing has been forgotten and that Garrett is as real to me now as he was the last time I saw him.

It was a terrible band-aid to rip off.

Forgive Me

One of the last pictures I ever took of all five kids together.  We stopped in New Mexico, right outside of Albuquerque for gas and snacks before checking into our hotel.  Garrett would be on life support less than 48 hours later.

Agent Scully just found out she has cancer.

As I've watched countless hours of The X Files while binding blankets, I heard her say these words and in my head, I could almost hear Garrett saying them to me.  Forgive me for not making the rest of this journey with you.  It has so, so, so many meanings.  I forgive you, Friend.  I just wish I knew why.

"For the first time, I feel time like a heartbeat.  The seconds, pumping in my chest like a reckoning. The numinous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage. I feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you will read them and share my burden as I have come to trust no other.  That you should know my heart and look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort to me now as I feel the tethers loose and the prospects darken for the continuance of a journey that began not so long ago, and began again with a faith shaken and strengthened by your convictions. If not for which, I might never have been so strong now, as I cross to face you and look at you, incomplete, hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest of the journey with you." 

A Busy Weekend

So much is going through my head right now and I feel the need to spit it out.

We just finished a long but way too short but kind of long weekend with Granana, Gov, Grandma, and Grandpa in town.  We celebrated Ethan's 12th birthday on Friday night at the giant trampoline complex in town, then had a cousin sleepover at our house that night, then the girls had dance rehearsals all morning and afternoon on Saturday, then Granana and Gov flew in that morning, then we had everyone over for dinner that night, then we got to bed WAY too late (after Lauren and I had to make a last minute late-night run to Wal Mart because all of her church shoes were missing, and let's face it, Wal Mart has a bad selection so it was pointless anyway) then Ethan was ordained with the Aaronic Priesthood at church on Sunday.....

And I'm too tired to write anymore about it.  I stayed up way too late working on school work, washing, ironing, cutting, and pinning fabric for quilts, watched a lot of X Files on Netflix while working on quilts (I have such a crush on Fox Mulder), and rather than sleep, I researched more and more and more about the three possible graduate programs I will be applying for this fall.  I'm so stressed about it because I have a lot riding on it, I have one shot to get in, my chances are slim (in one of the PhD programs that I really want to get into, I have about a 5/78 chance of being admitted).  Gosh I'm tired and my brain hurts.

And this weekend my parents and I did much sitting around talking (which I love) and crying about life (which I hate) and namely the children that we have collectively lost.  It's crazy to think that I've lost a child, just like my parents lost a child.  You NEVER want to have that in common with your parents, ever.

Yesterday Hailey woke up in a panic attack from a dream she had, and couldn't get it under control.  Huge fat crocodile tears and lots of hyperventilating.  I couldn't send her to school that way, so she stayed home.  Normally she protests missing school (she is such a scholastic over-achiever and I have NO clue where she gets it from...ha ha ha) but yesterday she quickly agreed that staying home would be best.  Then after Lauren and Ethan left for school, Devin said he always has a stomach ache when it's cold outside so he needed to miss kindergarten and hang out with me, Hailey, Granana, and Gov.  He did not have to twist my arm very hard for me to agree.

Today I checked the kids out of school for lunch and we went to our favorite Mexican restaurant as one last hurrah with Granana and Gov before they had to catch their flight home tonight.  Before they left this evening and then after, my heart ached as I said goodbye again.  They are both getting older and I never know what will happen to them between now and when I see them again.  I hate it.

Angus went with us to the airport and was in hysterics when Granana and Gov got out of the car and walked into the terminal.  He sure loves his grandparents, but he has been super depressed since they left!  Me too, Buddy.  Me too.

Prayer Quilt- A New Project

This quilt is a stock photo, not Garrett's real quilt.  His is sacred and I did not want to post it publicly. 

Our family has had a pretty rough time lately. Lots of tears and confusion and upset which manifests as anger. I guess anger is a disguise we wear for sadness, right? Last night while Cody was at Ethan's basketball game, the three other kids and I found ourselves on the big bed watching Garrett videos on my computer. It wasn't a planned activity, but somehow it happened and we cried hard. We cried ugly. We cried loud. We went through half a box of Kleenex. And then on an impulse, I pulled a box out of our closet that I haven't dared open since the day Garrett died in the hospital. I told the kids that something very sacred lie inside the box and they were all very interested to see what it was.

Moments before they wheeled Garrett into the OR to remove him from life support, they made a cast impression of his precious little right hand. I've never seen the cast or anything else in the box that was put together by the amazing staff at the hospital. The locks of his hair in six individual baggies; one for each of us to keep forever. Gently folded underneath everything, was the prayer blanket that was laid over him as soon as he arrived at the hospital. The blanket was made by a local ministry there in Fort Worth and with the blanket, came a note from the ladies who made it, saying they cried and prayed as they put it together, knowing it would go to a child just before he went to Heaven.

I laid with Garrett under that blanket for several hours as his body fought to stay alive, and ultimately lost. I don't know if I felt the prayers then; I felt nothing but numb. But last night as I held the blanket and tried desperately to breathe in any remaining scent of Garrett, I felt the softness and could somehow feel the energy it carried with it. Maybe it was the energy from the sweet women who made it, or maybe it was Garrett's energy. I don't know. But I believe that energy can not be destroyed; it only changes form and it was still there.

I slept little last night and woke up this morning with a crying hangover. Right now I'm in the waiting room of the girls' therapist's office and I should be writing a paper for school, but all I can think about is that blanket and how I need to make one for another child, another family, who will inevitably suffer our same fate.  And in this moment, I am filled with peace as I think of cutting little pieces of fabric and stitching them together, and offering up prayer to The Heavens that the recipient of the blanket will feel the love and energy of our family.  I will cry over it as I tenderly piece it and tie it together.  And maybe my tears will fall on the fabric and those tears will somehow become strength for the Mama and Papa who will one day cling to it as a last remnant of their child. 

And maybe that Mama will snuggle her baby one last time beneath it, just like Cody and I did.

And maybe I won't stop at just one; maybe I will make a dozen, or three dozen, or enough to comfort every family in the entire world who will lose a child. One can dream, right?

I am thinking about starting a little non-profit foundation called "Garrett's Gift", or something like that.  Fabric and supplies are not cheap, and I want a way for people to donate money or items to the project.  This foundation is only an embryo as I only thought of it an hour ago, but I want it to happen.  I NEED it to happen.  I've been searching high and low for a purpose, to turn our grief into gladness, and perhaps sewing little pieces of choo choo train fabric together can help our hearts mend, if even a tiny bit.  

Right now, there is the tiniest bit of resolve in my soul as I contemplate doing this. And for that, I am grateful.