Easter

I have been reading all the Easter blogs from all the other mothers today. I am staarting to feel really inadequate. All these amazing women who share how grateful they are for the resurrection and did all these beautiful easter traditions. And then I reflect on myself.

I was one of those people who loved holidays. I would sew themed halloween costumes for my kids and they would win contests. My poor kids didn't get to choose what they wanted to be. I would inform them, "This year we are doing the Wizard of OZ. Jessica, obviously you will be Dorothy. Andrew you will be the Tin man, Warner you will be the scarecrow. And Garrett, you will be the lion." The next year, "Poccahantis." The next year "Peanut's Gang." ETC.! My husband and boys think that all the silly decorations of holidays are useless and hide them from me. But I would always fight, and get my way, even if I have to hang the lights on the house myself. But not anymore. I seem to have lost my fight.

I always had this Christmas clock that would chime every hour with a different carol. I found out after christmas that it broke and was thrown away. I didn't even notice it was missing until January. I hung the lights on the house, but they didn't work and never bothered to figure out why. I've started just giving the kids the cash for Christmas, where I used to love shopping for the perfect gift. I have become lazy about it.

Saturday night about 10:00 I decided that I had better get a few pieces of candy for the kids for Easter in the morning. At least go through the motions. So I got the few things that were left at Wal-Mart. Only spent about $10, and they each got about 10 pieces of candy. Then they had to get 3 bingo's in conference bingo on Sunday before they could have their candy. It is as though holidays don't exhist in our house any more.

I just feel bad that I am not the same bubbly holiday person that I once was. Are my kids suffering, or do they even care? I dread holidays now. It feels like work and pressure. And the sad thing is, I thought I was in a different place. I thought I was doing so well. I guess how I handle holidays isn't the grand measure of how I am doing, but I want to be like all those other amazing angel moms.

Please don't get me wrong about Easter though. I am so grateful for Christ and His atoning sacrifice. I am so grateful that I will see my son again. I believe it is all true. I just don't feel like I have the energy to display it even though it is swelling in my heart.

So to any of you Angel moms out there that read this, You are my hero today! Thank you for being such a great example.

Andrew's Angel Day

I have determined that the expectations that I put on Andrew’s Angel day are way too high. I go out of my way trying to make it such a special day, that of course it will fall short.

In the past the boys have gone on a “ride” on both Andrew’s birthday and his Angel Day. But this year we had no working machines so that was not a possibility. So instead, I tried to do things that I knew deep down the boys would not appreciate, or even enjoy, and somehow, because I wanted them to enjoy it, miraculously they would. I must remember that they are still teenage boys, and hanging out with their friends ranks much higher on their list than going to the grave with the family.

So in my clouded wisdom, the first stop was to get CTR rings. I saw some great rings that you can’t even tell that they are CTR rings, which is good, because my boys wouldn’t be caught dead in CTR rings. Lately my boys haven’t been making the best choices, so I thought, if they got CTR rings to remember Andrew, this would help them want to make better choices so we all can return with Andrew someday. They appeased me, because are they really going to tell me “no” on Andrew’s Angel Day? I don’t know why I thought they would be excited about the idea. So I kept asking them over and over, “Do you like your ring?” Duh! Have I not lived with these boys their entire life? They kept saying yes, and are still wearing them, but I am waiting for the day they just lose them.

Next stop was the grave. I have always known the kids opinion about the grave, and yet, I am sure they are going to love decorating it for Easter. We did, and it was fine, but not the “moment” I was hoping for.






They all goofed around blowing the air horns and shooting each other with the dart guns that they conned us into buying at the Dollar Store. Which truthfully, what do I want? Do I want them to stand around and cry? No. Then how can my expectations be met, if I don’t really know what I want? I am sure they are acting exactly how Andrew would like them to act. It isn’t like we need to stand around and “reflect” because we reflect all of the time. So, ultimately I should be happy with how the grave went. I also picked one of each color of the plastic Easter eggs and set them on Wyatt’s grave. As I set them down, I thought they seemed more fitting on Wyatt’s grave, since he would only be 2 ½, where Andrew would now be 18 ½, and would probably have nothing to do with silly colored eggs.

Then Garrett went to hang out with some friends, and the rest of us went to the gym. It began to feel like “just any other day” at this point.

On Saturday, I just felt uneasy, as if I didn’t really experience Andrew’s angel day. So I decided to go to the grave by myself. I took a folding chair and my iPod and just enjoyed my surroundings. I listened to my favorite song, “Heaven Was Needing a Hero”. I cried, and that made me feel better. I walked around a little.

I noticed another family with several members at a grave. I felt somehow connected to them. I wondered if it was an angel day or a birthday. I wondered if it was a parent, a spouse, or another child. It’s not like you can just walk up and say “hello. What brings you here?” I am sure there is a rule about that somewhere. They were still there when I left so I didn’t go by to look at the headstone, but decided that I would the next time I went out there.

Some guy rode up on his bike, walked all around, and talked, nonsense, loudly on his cell phone. I started to get irritated. Doesn’t he know I am grieving for my son? I did feel he was being rude. But I didn’t say anything, and left.

On Sunday, my mom called and said that they went to Andrew’s grave. They asked if I had ever noticed this one or that one. Then they asked about the very grave that I was noticing on Saturday. It was the grave of a 15-year-old girl that died the day after my 15-year-old Andrew. I thought, how could I not have heard about this? I understand the thought that it was the day after Andrew died, and I am not sure I would have noticed if the earth stopped turning. Which, for me, it did quit turning. But I really think I would have heard about another 15-year-old dying the day after my 15-year-old. I googled her name, trying to learn what I could about this girl. I came up empty handed. It is crazy what drives bereaved mothers? I have to go up to the grave tonight to make sure I have the spelling right and see what I can find out. I worry that people reading this will think that I am this crazy stalker. But I mean, it is another teenager, the day after mine, in the same cemetery, in a town as small as St. George. I have to know! I can’t help that I feel connected? Are we connected? Or am I just crazy. I am hoping it is a little of both.

Food for thought

This post is more about food than it is for thought. I have come to the realization that I have absolutely no control over food.

There are times that I have become completely dedicated to a weight loss program and lost the appropriate amount of weight. The very next day I am gorging myself with all of the items that I have been deprived of. Although I think I have always had this tendency, since Andrew died, I have spun out of control. It started when I would bury my grief in a tub of ice cream. I would roboticaly shovel the ice cream straight from the carton into my mouth. I would bake and eat a chocolate sheath cake every day for months.

Then disgusted with myself, and trying to prove that I was above this, I would deprive myself and lose the weight....and then gain the weight all over again.

Today was the day that I was going to eat right. I even talked to my sister, and she was going to be my support. But then, I saw the menu at work and decided I couldn't pass up the meatball sandwich. Yesterday I couldn't pass up the chili cheese dog. And now I feel SICK! And somewhere in the back of my head I am justifying that it is ok because it is Andrew's Angel day is tomorrow. It has been 3 years. No one expects me to eat well when I am anxious about "that day".

How could making myself feel sick possibly make me feel better about losing my son? What is the parallel here? Because I just don't get it. And yet, every time I feel bad, or like I have no control over my life, I eat CRAP.

So the "thought" in the "food for thought" that I have come up with, is that if I feel worse about my food choices, and the pain in my stomach is strong enough, maybe there won't be any room left for the actual grief, therefore I won't have to feel it. That is my uneducated guess.

So tomorrow, on Andrew's Angel day, I will make a conscious effort to have a wonderful day so that I have something wonderful to post. But I don't think I will post what I eat.

Hidden Treasures

It is bitter sweet when I come across something that belonged to Andrew. I like to think of them as hidden treasures. Last week I was cleaning out my closet. Even though I knew it was there, it still caught me by surprise when I pulled out Andrew's backpack. I didn't remember that it was his until I opened it and saw his binders and papers. I looked inside, let the memories flood for a moment, then I zipped it back up and tucked it back to its resting spot in the back of the closet, next to the bag of clothes that Andrew was wearing when he had his accident.

Two nights ago I found another hidden treasure. In my drawer was Andrew's seminary journal. I had to chuckle because every so often there was an entry from the teacher telling Andrew to write more and have better recall. He also told him to stay alert at all times. This made me laugh because I can see him talking to his neighbors, goofing around, or just sleeping. Even with his lack of attention, on August 23, 2006, he wrote this:


"The Spirit world is here. Spirits of dead people hang around the earth. The kingdom of the Lord will protect you. If you never get married in the temple you will be a ministering angel to someone in your family that is righteous."

This was definitely a hidden treasure.

Back to Work

I remember a week after Andrew died, sitting at the little table at the gas station, eating Subway, with Greg. My cell phone rang and it was the manager from Cracker Barrel. He wanted to know when I was coming back to work. He insisted that he was not pressuring me, but I still felt guilt and pressure. He suggested that I just come back to work, and if I need to just sit in my office and cry that would be fine. I remember thinking what possible good could this do? What is the allowed grieving time for a working mother? I guess the textbook says two weeks, because that is what I did.

Andrew died on Monday March 26th and I was back to work on Monday April 9. One day after Greg’s and my 19th wedding anniversary and 2 days before Jessica’s 17th birthday. I don’t think we celebrated either of them.

I remember feeling scared to walk into the front doors of work. I didn’t know how I was going to face everyone. I wanted to go straight to my office and hide. I walked through the kitchen and everyone had the same look on their faces that said everything with out saying anything. I could feel the avoidance. No one knew what to say to me, so they said nothing. A few said, “I’m sorry.” While others said, “How are you?” with their tilted head and “that look.” They were praying that I would just say, “fine” or “good” so they could feel like they had done their part in being concerned, without really having to deal with me. “Fine” or “Good” is pretty much that standard answer that I offered. I would have loved to talk about Andrew, but knew that this was more than anyone could handle.

I am not sure how I didn’t lose my job over the course of the next few months. I was never on time. No one knew whether I was showing up for work or not, or at what time. When I was there I am sure I didn’t do a very good job. I hated every moment I was there. I just wanted to be with my family, in my little bubble.

In May, my sister decided to participate in the triathlon. She, along with several others, was participating in memory of Chris, who died while participating in the swimming portion of the triathlon the year before. I took a few hours off of work to go support her. I watched as she swam out into the lake. The people that swam out with her started coming up out of the water. The people from the next heat were coming up out of the water. She was not coming out of the water. Panic started to set in. It felt as though someone had set a cinderblock on my chest. I was staring to lose it. Had she drown? Had I lost my sister too? Was this even about her? Or was it about Andrew? Or was it about, how I would have to deal with losing them both? Eventually, the boat brought her in. She had been struggling in the water, and after getting kicked in the face one too many times, she was done. The pulled her into the boat. Unfortunately, we had no way of knowing that she was relaxing, out on the boat, while everyone waiting on the shore was having a “come-a-part.”

I left the lake and went back to work. I was a wreck. I was bawling. I called my boss and said that I need to give my notice. I was no longer a functioning, rational person, who could run a retail store. I hadn’t been thinking straight for a long time, and this was my breaking point. When I tried to quit, my boss talked me into taking a medical leave, in hopes that I would want to return. I must have been doing something right, or maybe they hoped that after a leave of absence I would start doing something right again. So I went to a therapist who determined that I qualified for the medical leave because I was depressed. For 13 weeks I was on medical leave. When the medical leave ended, I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t make myself be that functioning person again. At least not yet. I also needed to be with my family and couldn’t bear the thought of 60 – 80 hour weeks. I couldn’t bear the thought of all the time I had lost with Andrew, due to work, and refused for the same thing to happen again with any of my remaining children. So I quit.

Like I said, I have limited memories of life after the funeral. For the next year, most of my memories consist of sleeping, sitting in the recliner, watching TV, and eating ice cream straight from the carton. I ate a lot of ice cream.

Thank you

My memories after the funeral are so limited. I am struggling to recall any given moment. I remember the “hustle and bustle” being over and having the feeling of “now what?” I remember moving to the basement at Greg’s mom’s house and staying in the dark, sleeping. I didn’t know what to do with the rest of my life. Would someone please tell me what I am supposed to do in this situation, so I can please move on to the next phase of my life?

I remember sitting at my mom’s house, on the couch, while my sister wrote the thank you notes for everyone on “my side.” She was more than happy to do them for everyone on “both sides” but Greg felt this was impersonal and thankfully declined. He said that he would do them himself. I knew that I didn’t have the mental capacity to do the thank you notes in the appropriate time frame, if ever at all. I remember wondering if people would be upset if they found out that I didn’t write the notes. I was so grateful for everyone’s generosity. I wanted them to be sure to know how grateful I was. If not for my sister, they would never know. So at the risk of someone thinking I was a slacker, I let my sister write the notes. I know we talked and shared memories of Andrew, but truthfully, I remember mostly nothing from this time.

My sister asked me if I remembered my dad telling me that he didn’t think that it was appropriate for us to use the left-over money that was donated to us to go out to nice dinners. I don’t recall this conversation, but I am sure that my thinking was I feel terrible and if a nice dinner makes me feel better then I am sure it is ok. I wonder, now, if someone may have donated to us, then saw us out eating, and thought, “Well, I guess that is how they are squandering my generous donation.” So I would like to publicly apologize to anyone that may have been offended. The money lifted so many burdens at that time. Between insurance and donations we were able to pay for the entire funeral, pay past due bills, and have some money to live on while I took a leave from work. We were and are eternally grateful.

The Funeral

We entered the chapel. Overwhelmed has never been such an inadequate word as it is in this instance. Hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds, of people overflowed out of the church. More than 500 (June 25th update...I read in my journal that about 1000 people attended)people sat in rows, chairs, on the stage, stood on the sides, stood in the foyer, and waited on the lawn. The sight was incredible. I felt so much love for Andrew and our family. It wasn’t until I stood in front of the congregation to speak that I felt the magnitude of it all. I stood there, and looked out. I looked to the back and sitting in chairs, up on the stage, a sea of football jerseys. Dixie Pride was there for my boy that day. I could barely take it in. I cannot describe the pride and love I felt at that very moment.

Others spoke, I spoke, I am not sure what any of us said. We have an actual video that I keep thinking that I will get out to see if the words that came out of my mouth were even English. Again, one of those “not present” moments.

But what I do remember most…the song. A friend of the family sang a solo, “I Stand All Amazed.” It was a beautiful song…to most. I must explain. She has a very trained, opera-like, voice. And what may be beautiful to some, is just down right funny to three 10 – 14 year old teenage boys. So here we are, in the front row, on display, and it starts. First, the quiet shaking of stifled laughter. Then the snickering. Then the uncontrollable laughter. I am sure Andrew is laughing it up, as well. I am thinking, this is wrong…on so many levels. The boys are actually ducking behind the casket to be out of the eyeshot of the vocalist. I lean over to try to stop the madness. There is no use. So what do I do? I tell them, “Well, at least make it look like you are crying.” Why do I even care at this point what others think? And with that, Dallin (10) puts his arm on the casket, bows his head, and puts on quite the crying (laughing) show. I have to admit, I too was laughing, along with the first few rows that have caught on, by now. I wonder when I tell people this story if they too will think it is funny, or just terrible. But I just find it terribly funny.

The funeral was over. It was 2 hours long but it seemed to end as soon as it started. We followed the casket outside.

The football team was lined up along the sidewalk by the hearse.



Groups of teenagers and adults were huddled and sobbing. It was all so very surreal.



Andrew was loaded into the back of the hearse and we climbed into the limo.

In movies you see the families quiet or crying in the limo. Not our boys. They were so excited, rolling down the windows, waving at people, feeling so important. And rightfully so. We are important, especially on that day.



The graveside was nice. I felt awkward and didn’t know what I should be doing. Should I be the grateful host and be running around greeting everyone, thanking them for coming? Should I sit quietly in my seat, under the tent? Why is it so ingrained in me, to try to do what is expected or normal? This is not normal, so therefore they have not made the “How to act at you child’s graveside” manual.



It was time to release the dove, to meet up with the doves that have gone before. We were symbolically releasing Andrew to join his relatives in heaven. When we opened the box, the dove didn’t want to go. I don’t believe this was a parallel to Andrew, because I believe he was ready, and truthfully, already gone and working. As I said before, I think he hit the clouds running. But for whatever reason the dove wasn’t cooperating. So Dallin was grabbing the dove, and about squeezing it to death, trying to get it out of the box. We all started to panic thinking Dallin was going to kill this bird. So before we knew it, all of our hands were on this bird. Some of us were trying to save it, while others tried to release it. Finally, I am sure out of self-preservation, the dove took off. The others circled with him. And it was beautiful.

We said the prayer, and the ceremony was over. I felt awkward again. So I walked to the limo. I thought this part is over, on to the next thing. I was sure everyone wanted to get back to the church to eat, and I didn’t want to hold anyone up. Looking back, I wish we had lingered. I would have liked to stay with Andrew just a little longer. Watching Andrew get lowed into the ground probably would have had the same effect as the closing of the casket. So maybe it was the right thing to do. What is the right thing to do? My family followed me to the limo, and off we went. Leaving everyone there at the graveside. I don’t know why I keep thinking about weddings, but it reminds me of when the bride and groom drive away with everyone watching, wondering what their new life is going to be. This did feel like us leaving our old life at the cemetery, and a new unknown life was beginning.