It's not you, it's me

This time of year is so exciting for parents.  Summer is drawing its last breaths and Fall is slowly beginning to spread its colors.  Crayons, notebooks, pencils, and backpacks line almost every aisle of every store.  For some this routine is old hat-- you and your kids have done this before, the new clothes, shoes, supplies, maybe it's even your last year doing the dance.  For others it's a first and it is very exciting, this back to school thing.

Then there's some of us, scrolling through our social media feeds when we are unexpectedly hit by a picture of your first-timer.  The one we were pregnant with together.  The one we both anticipated and planned and dreamed for at the same time.  Your "baby" that's not really a baby any more.  You cried, she held your hand, he tripped as he crossed the threshold of the classroom, you snapped pictures, then they smiled and waved as you walked away, leaving them to this new adventure.  The pictures you proudly display to all the world, "my baby started school today."  And I'm staring at the screen with tears rolling down my face, your baby that my baby played with, your baby that we joked would date my baby, is starting school today, and mine is not.  And I can't bring myself to click the "like" button or double tap the picture like I have many of my friends' older children's back to school posts.

It's not you, it's not your child.  It's me and my child.  Somewhere deep inside I am happy for you.  I even think your little girl, in her skirt, leggings, princess shirt and pigtails is darling, and your boy in his button-down plaid and crisp jeans is very handsome, but the grieving mom in me can't bare to look at the picture long enough to really appreciate these things and show you that, even with a simple click of the mouse.  Because with each picture of your child, who is growing up, learning, and LIVING I am reminded that mine is not.  I am reminded just a little bit more of how much I miss her. I still like you, I still think your kid is great, but I just can't bring myself to witness this particular milestone with you.

(Anti)social

Before I get into this post I want to make it clear that this is not about anyone but me, this is a problem I have struggled with since losing Ethne and none of this is a reflection on any family, friends, acquaintances, or even strangers.

In high school I was known as a bit of a flirt, I had lots of friends, and was busy with lots of extra curricular school and church activities.  When I moved on to college at SUU I got involved in music, had a fun job with a lot of people I liked, had good roommates, and dated quite a bit.  BYU-I was a little different, I still had a good job, I kept dating, but I didn't exactly have roommates my first semester there, and only had two while I was engaged.  The point is, I was fairly outgoing.   After Lawrence and I got married things changed some, but we still enjoyed having friends over for dinner and/or games.

Then the accident happened and Ethne died.

Since the accident I have struggled with social anxiety.  I struggle in large groups of family or friends.  Part of the reason I struggle is because I am afraid of running into triggers then having people wonder why I am crying for what may seem to be no reason.  Meeting new people is also a struggle because they often don't know about the accident and they didn't know Ethne, losing it around new people is even more difficult and terrifying.  Making new friends is tough because they often don't understand that new people who didn't know Ethne are harder to talk about her with.  Family events can be particularly difficult since there tends to be cousins, nieces, and siblings that can cause me to break down.  I also struggle with small talk, and tend to keep to myself at large gatherings.

I pray for strength, I put on a brave face, and I try to get out there, despite the struggle.  I need friends just like everyone else, it's just hard sometimes.  So if you invite me to something and I turn you down, please don't take it personally.  Keep trying, keep talking to me, it means a lot, even if I don't show it well.

Ethne was here

I've had a lot of what I call "Ethne was here" moments lately.  Moments when my boys do something so characteristically "Ethne" that I can't help but think of her.  Moments when I know that, even though Mr. E doesn't remember her, and Baby J never knew her in this life, I get a witness that they do know each other.  These moments are sweet tender mercies to me.

Chocolate toast

Snuggles on the couch with blanket and a pillow (or daddy)

hanging out on mommy and daddy's bed

Sleeping Babies

When I was in elementary school (I don't remember what grade) my class read on of the "Little House on the Prairie" stories.  In it Papa Ingalls was not home overnight and a bear (I think) came too close to the cabin and Mama Ingalls had to scare it away.  After the incident the mom picked up her sleeping baby and rocked with him.  My teacher explained to us that holding a sleeping baby can be one of the most comforting feelings.  I didn't understand it at the time.

Now I do.

There is just something about having an innocent child tucked in your arms that can calm almost anything.  Their rhythmic breathing, the sound of their tiny snores and sighs, and the complete and utter trust that they put in you when they sleep while you hold them seems to make everything else melt away.  This is one of the reasons I love to check on my boys each night before I go to bed.  No matter how tough of a day we have had, no matter how much yelling I may or may not have done, no matter the number of time-outs, the frustrations, or stresses, even just watching my boys sleep is incredibly comforting-- bonus points if I get to snuggle one or both of them for even just a few seconds while they snooze.  And during those quiet moments I can sometimes catch glimpses of Ethne.

The first time I saw Ethne after the accident was when we went to the funeral home to dress her.  I thought she might look like she was sleeping, but I was wrong and it made things so much harder than I thought they would be.  We were told that we could hold her if we wanted to, and before we saw her I did, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it once I saw her.  Her precious body just lay there on the table, stiff and cold, no sweet breaths, no tiny snores or sighs, she didn't even smell like herself.  Her head, face, and body looked bruised and pale and her perpetual mischievous grin was gone.  It hurt my heart so much to see her that way.  We slowly dressed her--with me bawling and Lawrence doing most of the heavy lifting (and work)-- in her sparkly Christmas dress, with Disney princess panties, tights, black shoes, and an elephant necklace.  I held her cold hand for most of the dressing, too lost in my grief to recognize that the body on the table wasn't really my little girl, but only her mortal vessel.

The funeral was different.  Before the funeral I took some medication that left me a bit dazed.  Add to that all the people and the whirl of activity and I was in a very different state.  I was still very sad, I cried through all of the viewing and funeral.  Our funeral director tried to allow for us to have time alone to hold her, and I was very much looking forward to it, but because of the throngs of people who came we ended her viewing late.  So during the family prayer I held my baby girl's body for the last time.  It wasn't near long enough.  It was the most alert I had felt since the accident, she was wrapped in a blanket made by loving hands and holding her Ariel doll.  As long as I didn't look at her face, covered in makeup, I could almost believe that she wasn't gone.  It was almost like she was sleeping in my arms.  Then it was over-- someone took her away from me, despite my protests-- and I had to accept that that was it.  It didn't go over well.

Since then I have come to realize that the body I held that day, the one that we put in the ground in the white box, was only Ethne's mortal vessel.  She still lives, just on a different plain, as a spirit.  She is with us often and instead of me holding her while she sleeps to calm myself, she holds me in my times of need.  It is strange, as a parent, to have that role reversed, but one day it will be the right way around again-- because we are an eternal family.

Brave Samantha

March 20, 2015 marked the 69 anniversary of Grandma and Granddad's wedding.  They were able to celebrate it together, surrounded by family and loved ones that they haven't been able to celebrate with for some time.  Meanwhile, those of us left behind celebrated Grandma's life.

Despite this time of year being a busy time for Lawrence's work he was able to work out some time off so we were able to join the rest of the family for Grandma's funeral and a family reunion of sorts.  This reunion included Lawrence's sister, Heidi, and her family, who moved across the country over a year ago.  We haven't really gotten to spend time with them since they moved, so we were very excited to see them.

In the past I have shared that Heidi's oldest, Samantha, has a special place in my heart.  She is my first niece, Ethne's best friend, and a sweet and special little girl.  On this trip I was able to enjoy almost 5 whole days in her presence.  We talked, painted fingernails, read, listened to music, and snuggled.  I can never get enough time with this precious girl.

But sometimes it can be too much...





Being with Samantha can help fill the void I feel with Ethne's absence, but at the same time being with her also seems to make me feel that void more poignantly.  For a short time my arms are filled with a little girl, some of my time can be spent doing the things that I did or would be doing with Ethne, and I love that Heidi so willingly allows me this privilege and that Samantha is such a willing participant.  But all the same, she is not mine, I don't get to take her home with me, kiss her boo-boos, hold her as she sleeps, or many of the other things that mommies get to do with their little girls.

Time with Samantha got to be too much one night as we were in Idaho with everyone.  Marilyn (my mother-in-law), Samantha, and I were in the kitchen and Marilyn was talking to Samantha about how proud she was of her.  Marilyn talked to Samantha about school, making friends, and being brave (Samantha is notoriously timid).  Seeing Grandma and granddaughter having this heart-to-heart was more than I could take as I longed for my Princess to have that opportunity and to be there with me.  I went outside to have a good cry.

As I was outside crying I reflected on the conversation Samantha and Marilyn had been having, especially the part about being brave.  As I was thinking I heard a whisper in my mind that, at the times Samantha needs to be particularly brave, Ethne is by her side, helping her.  My mind saw a distinct picture of Samantha and Ethne holding hands, facing the scary world together.

Heidi and her family spent Monday night with us before flying home early Tuesday morning.  I got up and helped them gather their things, children, and get loaded into the car.  Just before they left I stole a quiet moment alone with Samantha.  I told her what Ethne had told me about helping her be brave.  Samantha smiled, nodded, and told me that she knew that Ethne has been with her and even  shared a specific experience with me.  It never ceases to amaze me how in tune this sweet niece of mine is and how close she and Ethne still are.

I am thankful for my testimony of life after this mortal existence and for experiences that bear witness of this truth to me.  I am thankful for loving family and the strength they lend to me.  I am so very thankful for Samantha and the bond she and Ethne still share and the way Samantha is able to share that bond with me.

Red Headed Little Girls

They find me.  Everywhere I go.  Sometimes it feels like they might be following me.  But the logical part of my brain realizes that it's really just me noticing them in a way I didn't before.

I see them at the park, playing with younger kids, helping them up the stairs and down the slides, stopping them from falling or jumping off something that is too high.  I see them getting mani-pedis on a girls date with their mom.  They're at the store, shopping for cute clothes, or helping wrangle younger siblings.









I see them and a part of me falls apart.

I follow a very popular mommy blogger's instagram.  She has a little redheaded girl.  Her daughter is close to the age Ethne was when we lost her.  I may have to unfollow her instagram.  Each picture tugs at my heart, reveals a new crack, or reopens one that has at least scabbed some.

When we're in public I have to turn away from redheaded little girls.  Sometimes I think it will be ok, I realize that these girls aren't my Princess, but then they flash a mischievous smile and my dam bursts.  Seeing them makes me wonder if Ethne would be like these other little girls.  If her hair would be as long, if it would hang straight or bounce in ringlets.  I wonder if she'd still have the ever present glint in her eye that made you wonder if she was up to something.  I see them doing fun things with their moms and I feel cheated in a way, because I don't get to do those things now.





Part of dealing with grief is learning to live with this jealousy.  Learning to look at these little girls and realize that they are not mine, and that they aren't causing this torment on purpose, or really at all.  It isn't their fault that they remind me of Ethne, or that this reminder makes me miss her even more.

I love little red headed girls, even if they do make me cry.  So if you see me turn away from your red head, don't take it personally, just know that it's part of me dealing with my grief.

Angelversary 3

I have this problem, I think that it is a problem I have always had to some extent, but it has gotten worse since the accident.  My problem is that I tend to live in the now.  Some may not think that is a problem, but when it comes to planning ahead it really is.  I tend to ignore dates and times and just take life one day at a time, not really thinking ahead and often not planning ahead for events and milestones like birthdays, anniversaries, etc.  Since the accident it has been worse.  This is in part due to the haze that I have been living in, too depressed to really acknowledge much, but also because I put in somewhat of an extra effort into avoiding thinking about certain days that roll around each year.  The day I most try to avoid thinking about is, of course, February 6.

No matter how I try to avoid it, the day comes, every year.  And this year marks Ethne's third angelversary.  She has now had more angelversaries than she had birthdays.  And it isn't fair.  It isn't fair that every November 11 we visit a cemetery instead of hosting a party for a happy little girl.  It isn't fair that every February 6 I am reminded of the worst day(s) of my life.  It isn't fair that, instead of getting to watch my Princess grow and learn each year she is invisibly watching over me.  It isn't fair that twice a year, every year, I basically start the grief cycle over again, denying that these days will come without Ethne here, I get angry with myself for avoiding thinking about it and not planning anything, I try to get out of the day even happening by considering just sleeping right through it, I cry and cry, then I finally come up with something to do, some way to mark these days that I try to avoid.  These two days, almost exactly 9 months apart have become the two most anticipated days of my year, and not in a good way.

The Haze

This has been a very difficult post for me to write, and part of me feels like it is a bit of word vomit.  With every post I think long and hard about what I should write, what I need to write.  I feel like I am often inspired to write the things that I do.  This is one of those posts that I know I have needed to write.  What I share in this post is personal, deeply personal.  I have tried to write a post like this multiple times and every time I let it sit in the blog archives as a draft or I delete it because I am afraid of sharing such personal things.  Recently, however, I have been feeling a particular push to get this post written.  I don't know why or what has triggered this sudden feeling of urgency, but it's there and I can't ignore it.  So please, if you read this, be kind and understand that, unless you have experienced the same things in the same ways that I have, you just don't really understand it the same way.

This is my last post in the five stages of grief from Elizabeth Kuebler-Ross.

"Depression — "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die soon so what's the point?"; "I miss my loved one, why go on?"
"During the fourth stage, the grieving person begins to understand the certainty of death. Much like the existential concept of The Void, the idea of living becomes pointless. Things begin to lose meaning to the griever. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and sullen. This process allows the grieving person to disconnect from things of love and affection, possibly in an attempt to avoid further trauma. Depression could be referred to as the dress rehearsal for the 'aftermath'. It is a kind of acceptance with emotional attachment. It is natural to feel sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty when going through this stage. Feeling those emotions shows that the person has begun to accept the situation. Oftentimes, this is the ideal path to take, to find closure and make their ways to the fifth step, Acceptance."

"Depressed mood is a feature of some psychiatric syndromes such as major depressive disorder,^[2] but it may also be a normal reaction to life events such as bereavement, a symptom of some bodily ailments or a side effect of some drugs and medical treatments."

Not long ago I realized that I had been living in a sort of haze.  I was on some kind of auto-pilot, going through a lot of the motions, not really putting a whole lot of thought and effort into many of the things I did regularly.  I developed a sort of daily routine with Mr. E and later with Baby J that allowed for me to remain in this sort of waking sleep.  This wasn't a new thing, it started round about the time I woke up in the hospital and what I suspected about Ethne was confirmed.  That means that for the better part of two years I was in this haze.

My days (pre Baby J) looked something like this:

Get up when Mr. E got up, about 8-ish, feed him breakfast, get him dressed, let him pick a show or movie.  Once the show or movie was going Mr. E and I would hunker down on the couch together and I would fall asleep while we snuggled.  Around noon I'd feed him lunch, he'd play until 2-ish when I'd put him down for a nap/quiet time.  While Mr. E napped I'd usually veg, binge watching tv shows, napping, or folding laundry.  Mr. E would get up and play or watch tv while I fixed dinner, often it was something easy, a recipe I had memorized.  We'd eat, more snuggling or bath time, then bed for Mr. E about 8:30.  Every day looked roughly the same with little variation.  After Baby J the days were somewhat similar, just with nursing sessions in between and Baby J involved in the cuddles.

* * *

Not long after the accident several people suggested I go to counseling.  So I went.  The therapist would sit in her chair and ask me to talk about my feelings.  The problem was, I wasn't sure what exactly I was feeling at the time.  All I knew was that it felt like my heart had shattered, but was somehow still beating-- the shattered pieces rubbing their fragile edges together cruelly as they tried to pump pudding thick blood through my veins.  My world revolved around my kids and Ethne had been at the center of my world for just over two years, that was suddenly gone.  Yes, I still had Mr. E, and I thank heaven every day for him, but for a month or so after the accident I wasn't allowed to pick him up and I could hardly hold him by myself, much less get on the floor and play with him.  I had to spend my days practically being babysat, unable to do so many things for myself.

I remember one night, while we were staying with my parents, the week after I had been released from the hospital, I was in bed and Mr. E was supposed to be going to sleep, he was in a crib in the same room as Lawrence and me, and he started crying.  No one else was upstairs, I was trying to call for someone to help, but no one could hear me.  So I got up, very slowly made my way around to his crib, and tried to comfort him.  I couldn't stand up unsupported so I was leaning heavily against the crib, I couldn't look down at my distraught baby because of the neck brace, but I could hear his cries and I could feel his tender arms reaching, grabbing, begging for me to pick him up.  I cried, he cried, and Lawrence finally came back to find us in this mess.  I think that was when the severity of my injuries really sunk in for me.  I also think that's when depression started to take hold.  Yes, I had been very sad before, but the reality didn't quite sink in until that moment, when I was unable to help my baby when he needed me.

Just like I wasn't able to be there for Ethne.  And now she is gone from this mortal sphere.

After that incident I just started doing the bare minimum.  I quit seeing the therapist, it was just frustrating and emotionally draining to sit and talk to this woman who didn't understand at all and I could never explain my grief to her.  Many of the same people urged us to go to a group for bereaved parents, so we did.  This was better, to be with people who understood better what it felt like to suddenly have your world fall out from under us.  Lawrence noticed the haze creeping in more and more as I avoided callings in church, stopped reading my scriptures regularly, etc.  He shook me awake some, helped me get back into some better habits, and they helped immensely.  But I was still weighed down, blanketed by this haze that wouldn't let me fully engage.  I also got better at hiding it, putting on a good face when people were around, but it was always there, just below the surface, waiting for my facade to come down.

* * *

I don't remember exactly when it happened, but it started some time between Baby J coming home from the NICU and his second surgery.  I was able to stick my head out above the clouds a little at a time, and I liked what I saw.  So I started making more of an effort to keep my head out of my hazy clouds.  I still had snuggle time with Mr. E, because that is something he needs and enjoys, but I wasn't sleeping through it all the time.  I also started getting down on the floor with my boys.  I worked with Baby J as he tried to master rolling and sitting up.  I wrestled with Mr. E.  At first it was hard to hold my head above the clouds for long, and these play times and times of real engagement only happened occasionally, and were short-lived, but I found that, as I did them more, the stronger I became and the easier it was to stay up above the haze.

I can't say that every day is all sunshines and rainbows now, that is definitely not the case, nor do I ever expect it to be.  All I expect of myself is that I keep trying, and the days when I'm not strong enough to ride above the haze I will take and try to be stronger the next.

"Sorrow comes in great waves... but rolls over us, and though it may almost smother us, it leaves us.  And we know that if it is strong, we are stronger, inasmuch as it passes and we remain." ~Henry James, "Letter to Grace Norton" Henry James: Selected letters

I have come to realize that I don't want my boys to grow up thinking of me as their sad Mommy, their barely present Mommy, their sleepy Mommy.  I want them to have memories of playing with me, of happy days spent engaged and involved.  So I will continue to try to hold my head above the haze that is the depression of grief.  It is an every day struggle, and sometimes I lose.

The days that I win often have a lot in common.  They are days when I stay busy.  Days when I don't sit on the couch and watch movies and tv.  To have more winning days I find that I have to start the day engaged, I cook breakfast (sometimes something as simple as oatmeal does the trick, but usually it has to be more), I try keep the tv off much of the day, I exercise, we have family scripture study and prayer, I color with Mr. E, I tickle Baby J, we have picnics and playdates, run errands and do chores.  I have found that keeping busy helps keeps the haze at bay, I can still feel it looming-- it is always there, but being busy and engaged help keep my head up.  I still find time to snuggle Mr. E, it's his favorite part of the day, but I try limit the time spent in mindless pursuits.  I also work hard at reading scriptures daily and having personal prayer, sometimes I am better at it than others, I really do have to work at it.  I am by no means perfect, and it is going to take a lot of time before I get this really figured out, but as long as I recognize what is happening I can find tools to combat the haze of depression.

Little Brother

Dear Baby Brother (I),

Just last week you celebrated your 5th birthday.  You were pretty excited about it and knew just what you wanted... Legos, or more specifically, The Flash legos and super hero legos (I pointed out that they were pretty much the same thing and you rolled your eyes at me).  You were so excited over all your presents, even though the Flash legos weren't among them.

I wonder if you noticed how hard it was for me to watch you do these things that Ethne should have done exactly two months earlier.

I remember well when you joined our family.  You came via foster care and were in sad shape-- your tiny body was bruised and broken, and I am willing to bet that your heart was too.  I was visiting while you stayed in the hospital and Mom spent a lot of time there with you.  Ethne was about 5 months old and was there when you came home.  She was certainly ahead of you in so many ways, but you two seemed to bond as she rolled around and climbed on you while you tried to adapt to your new home.  Then mom broke her toe/foot and we knew that meant you were there to stay, it just took the state a little longer to figure it out.  I watched from afar (mostly) as you healed and grew.




Then we moved to Utah.  That bond that you and Ethne shared in the beginning remained and became stronger as you spent more time together, especially as I student taught and after I went back to work.  You were still behind Ethne, developmentally.  You two were a team against Mom/Grandma-- you'd cause the trouble and Ethne would report.  Those beatings you took as a baby had slowed down your learning and Ethne was running circles around you in verbal skills, gross motor skills, and especially fine motor skills.  She showed you the things she knew, like how to drink from a straw and regular cup, how to use a spoon and fork, and she talked your sweet little ears off.  You watched her carefully, you listened to her stories, and you followed suite (now it's nearly impossible to get you to stop talking).  She was not only your niece, but your best buddy too.  We thought you two would grow up together, be best friends forever, but that was not to be.

I hope that you know that, even though it is sometimes hard for me to see you grow up without her, I love you.  I know that you are meant to complete our family.  You filled a hole that we didn't even really know was there until you had filled it.

I'm so glad Ethne had you there to show her how to get into mischief and make messes.

I'm sorry that she's not around to help you make those messes and to help keep you in check when you try to steal her lunch or do something naughty.

There are days when I just can't muster up the strength to see your smiling face, to count the increasing candles on your birthday cakes, to watch you cross another milestone that Ethne won't get to cross along with you, and days when it is all I can do to not cry as I watch the way you play with Mr. E and Baby J in ways that I imagine she would.  Please forgive me when I can't be there.

I love you, and I think that's why it is sometimes so painful, because I love her too.

Love,
Your big Sister

With Hope

I was talking with a friend recently and she told me about a conversation she had with another of her friends about grief.  They were discussing how long it is ok to grieve after the loss of a loved one, especially children and spouses (the second friend lost her husband two years ago).  Both came to the conclusion that it is ok to grieve for the rest of your life.  The first friend then asked the second how she continues to live her life each day.  The second friend told her that she does it for her kids and for hope.

I have often been asked the very same question, "How do you do it?  How do you live each day after such a great loss?"  Usually I shrug my shoulders, which is really a terrible answer, or rather, not an answer at all.  But then I think that maybe I was so noncommittal about my answer because I didn't really know how I do it myself, or maybe because it has been difficult to put it into words.  But I think I found my words...

"Hope is what guides me, it is what gets me through the day and especially the night.  The hope that after you're gone from my sight it will not be the last time I look upon you."  ~"A Knights Tale"

I was watching this movie and these words really stood out to me because they ring so true.  The friend of my friend is right, I get myself out of bed every day for my boys and for my husband.  They are my motivation every day because they get up and live every day too.  The boys may not feel the loss of Ethne as keenly as Lawrence and I do, but I think they feel it at least a little, but even if they don't feel it at all, they need me, and I need them.  And Lawrence needs us too.  However, there are some days that are harder than others, even with boys that need me and life that is required to be lived, sometimes the thing that pulls me out of bed and gets me going is hope.

It is a hope that nothing but the Gospel of Jesus Christ can give me.  No where else can I find the teachings of eternal family.  No where else can I learn that I will get the chance to not only see Ethne again, but also raise her in a perfect world where she will not suffer temptation.  No where else can I find the peace in the knowledge of a loving Savior who was born to this earth to suffer not only my pains and sicknesses, but also my grief and sadness, and that of those around me, and all mankind, as well.

It is armed with that hope and that knowledge that I am able to "do it."  To get myself out of bed every day, despite a huge hole in my heart and my family, to continue to follow the counsel of the Prophet and other church leaders, and to continue to read my scriptures, pray, and attend the temple.  Because, without that hope, and without that knowledge, none of it would really be worth all the effort.  So instead of giving up I hope and because I hope I can live.

So it is with hope that I go into this new year and face all the really hard days (our 3-year angel-versary, Ethne's birthday, other holidays), because this new year brings renewed hope that I am one more year closer to seeing Ethne again.

Tangled

A post or two back I mentioned watching Tangled with Mr. E on Ethne's birthday.  I also mentioned that the end of the movie hit me in a way it hadn't before.

After Ethne passed I tried to avoid certain triggers, including certain movies she loved.  We didn't watch "Despicable Me" for about 8 months after the accident.  I still haven't watched "The Little Mermaid," and it wasn't until a few weeks ago when Mr. E came to me with it in hand did I really sit down and watch "Tangled."  Mostly I sat and snuggled Mr. E while he watched and I distracted myself with games on my phone, Facebook, and other things.  But I really watched it on Ethne's birthday.  We sang along with the songs, we laughed, and I cried.

In the beginning of the story Rapunzel is taken by an old witch who keeps her true identity secret.  When she is taken she is an infant with lots of blonde hair.  Through a series of tests and adventures Rapunzel learns who she really is and finally returns to the anxious arms of her loving parents.  She no longer looks the same as she did when she was a baby.  In the end she has short, brown hair, and is a young woman-- but despite her changed looks, her mother is able to recognize her and embraces her, grateful to have her daughter back in her arms.

Now I am not, in any way, suggesting that I think Ethne has been taken from me in a malicious way, but she is gone from my sight, for a time.  The scriptures and prophets teach that our spirits take the form of our adult selves, only perfected (no scars or flaws, Ether 3:16 and Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph F. Smith [1998], 131–32).  Watching the end of Tangled had me wondering if I will recognize Ethne when I see her again.  Despite suggestions that the Millennium could happen in my life time, I am of the impression that I will pass away before then.  This means that the next time I see Ethne she will be in her spirit form and will therefore be an adult and not the little girl I said goodbye to two and a half years ago.  It made me very sad to think that I might not recognize her.

I thought about it all day on her birthday.  We were so busy serving, loving, and celebrating that I didn't get a chance to talk to Lawrence about it until late that night.  He reminded me what President Ezra Taft Benson said, "Nothing will surprise us more than when we get to heaven and see the Father and realize how well we know Him and how familiar His face is to us.”  Lawrence then told me that he believes it will be the same way with Ethne.

I sure hope so.

I hope that there will be no question for me the next time I see Ethne.  I hope that I will recognize her beautiful smile and be able to embrace her the way Rapunzel's parents do her.  But I do know, that either way, I will be so very grateful to have my Princess in my arms again.

10:20 am

Sweet Ethan returned to the loving arms of his Father in Heaven this morning. My heart breaks for the loving family he has left behind but I am also so very grateful for temples and eternal families.

Christmas Eve

Last night was Christmas eve for the VanLeuven family.  And what a night it was!  Follow the link and be sure to watch all four videos, but if you only watch one, watch the 10pm video and listen to the sweet things Merrill says to Ethan about Christmas.

http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=32083427#oowaOauefpIcMA8A.01

Yesterday and Today

A week ago I asked for help with a semi-secret project and I'd like to now share that project.  A week ago is when we found out about Ethan and his prognosis.  About a week before that my mom asked me to help her contact people and ask them to help us shower Ethan with birthday cards.  When we learned that his time was limited we knew we had to act quickly.  So we both posted to Facebook (blocking his parents and other family from seeing the posts) and asked for birthday cards to be sent to us to deliver to Ethan.  Over the weekend I collected several cards which we delivered on Sunday.  Over the next few days I collected even more cards, about two dozen that I took to Ethan on Wednesday so he would have them for his birthday celebration on Thursday.  I'm am happy to report that the cards continue to roll in and I will continue to deliver them as long as they keep coming.  I feel blessed to be able to help in this smallest of ways and to make these days just the tiniest bit brighter for Ethan and his wonderful family.

The story has gone national!

http://www.today.com/video/today/56292584#56292584

See his birthday celebration here (make sure to watch all 4 videos):

http://www.ksl.com/index.php?sid=32074766&nid=147&title=utahns-celebrate-holidays-with-terminally-ill-boy-for-the-last-time&fm=home_page&s_cid=topstory

A Little Early Halloween

Little Ethan is nearing the end of his battle.  He has been given 2-8 weeks.  No matter when he finishes his mortal fight it will be far too early.  But his family and neighbors are doing what they can to help make these some of the best days by helping him and his family celebrate his life.  A local news channel found out about it and are doing a series of stories about Ethan and his amazing friends and neighbors as they celebrate Ethan and his favorite holidays this week.  Here's the first of the stories:

http://www.ksl.com/?sid=32047963&nid=#ijxrWTzjUCQ7P2si.01

Mr. E's haircut

In case you haven't noticed, all three of my children have red hair.  It was one of the first physical traits I noticed about Ethne when they laid her on my chest after she was born.  It's also the first thing the nurses have all said to me about each of my babies.  We are often stopped by strangers commenting on how cute/cool/neat/pretty/etc. it is that both the boys are red-heads, and often we are asked if dad (who usually isn't with us) is a red head or where the red comes from.  I love the red.  I love that, even if my kids look nothing alike when they are older (who am I kidding, they all look like little clones), they will have this one trait that ties them together.

a tiny piggy after the hair tie had been removed

Ethne never had very much hair, much to my dismay.  When she was a baby I always made sure that she had a bow or headband on so that it would be obvious that she was a girl.  I asked hairdressers for tips to help it grow, I considered heeding the myth that shaving/cutting it would make it grow faster, and I tried to style it as soon as there was even a hint of length to do so.  By the time she was 18 months old or so I was finally able to put tiny pigtails in it.  She tolerated my neuroses well and let me comb, pull, and otherwise manipulate her hair to my heart's desire.



You can't put piggies, even tiny ones, in little boys' hair.


A few months back I told our hairdresser that I missed having hair to style so we gave Mr. E a faux-hawk.  Lawrence wasn't a fan, neither was Mr. E.  Then I just kind of let it grow (cue Frozen puns).  It got longer, and started to curl at the ends.  It covered the tops of his ears.  There was enough for some fairly decent piggies, maybe even a small braid or two.  People started to comment that it needed cut-- and I knew it needed it.  Long hair just didn't suit his personality, or our family, but I was loath to cut it.  Then Lawrence needed a cut, so they both went in.  This was not Mr. E's first haircut by any means, but for some reason I was hesitant.  Mr. E sat up in the barber's chair, let her put the cape on him, and held mostly still (for the first time) while he watched videos on Lawrence's iPod and his hair got cut.  He was such a big boy and made us proud.  And then he really was a big boy.  With his hair short and matching daddy's my Mr. E looked grown up.

It made me a little sad.



Sad because he didn't look so much like a baby any more...

Pre-haircut, by about a month

But more sad because he didn't look like Ethne any more.

matching haircut with daddy

I struggled to get used to the new cut.  It took me a few weeks to really put my finger on the reason it was bothering me.  It looked good on him and he was happy about it.  Then, one night, while I was checking on him and tucking him in before I went to bed, it hit me.  I cried.  He didn't have hair like his sister any more and that made me sad.  It wasn't like he had never had short hair before, he has been having his hair cut since just after his first birthday, but I had also never let it get quite so long before.

I think I can safely say that, after that night, I have accepted his new haircut.  It makes him look very handsome and more like the big boy he so very badly wants to be.  It makes him look like Mr. E.

I have learned that I probably shouldn't let it get so long again.  This monster called grief has it's way of sinking its teeth into so many aspects of life and I just never know when it is going to strike again.  But all the same, I couldn't live without it now, because to live without it would mean to forget Ethne and how she has touched my life-- and that is not something I am ever going to allow to happen.

Discomfort

Shortly after the accident I came to realize that grief makes people uncomfortable.  Those that associate with someone who is experiencing grief often don't know how to act or what to say.  Even now that I am in the thick of it it is hard to find words or actions to comfort, ease, or otherwise help someone who has just begun to grieve.  So many sentiments are so often repeated that they begin to fall on deaf ears, and others, though well meaning, can take too much effort to accept.

One such sentiment that so many so often use is "let me know how I can help," or variations of the same.  While I fully believe that those who say this do so sincerely, it often takes too much effort on the part of the griever to take others up on this offer.  When you are in the midst of a crisis of any kind you are bombarded by things that need done, emotions, and-- often-- well-wishers.  In any situation this is overwhelming, but when grieving it can be especially so.  I suggest just go and do, instead of offer.  I have had many experiences with such generosity.  For example, after I broke my arm I wasn't about to ask for help, but my mom, aunt, and a great friend all brought me dinners during the first week so I didn't have to cook.  They didn't ask or vaguely offer to do it, they said they were going to do it, and on which days, and then did it.  It was such a blessing and relief to have that help while I was trying to figure out how to do everything with one hand.  If you want to help choose something you want to do, when you want to do it, and then check with the person(s) that it will work for them.

It is also good to know that the people that are grieving are uncomfortable too.  From the outside looking in it is hard to know what to say or do, but it is the same on the inside.  It's hard to know how to respond to people, it's hard to know what to do in the situation, and it's hard to think ahead to answer many of people's questions, or how life is going to go on after the funeral (or other event) is over.  Sometimes the grievers meet new people and it gets uncomfortable again as these new people learn about the grief.  Other times situations arise that cause the grief monster to rear its ugly head and this can cause discomfort too.

Sometimes the best way to deal with all this discomfort is to just start talking.  Those of us who are grieving are not all that different from those who aren't plagued with this monster.  We want friends and companionship, it's just a little harder for us when people who don't know what to say avoid saying anything (or avoid us all together).  Some people don't realize they are avoiding someone who is grieving, and sometimes we don't realize that we are being avoided.  It is uncomfortable and difficult all around.  Just realize that a person dealing with grief is often more introverted and less likely to start a conversation and take the initiative-- they will probably thank you for it.

Another part of all this grief and child loss business that often makes people uncomfortable is how/if to talk about the lost child.  I realized, a year and a half ago, that I need to talk about Ethne.  I need people to know that she was is part of our family and is ever present in my thoughts and heart.  I came to the realization that not sharing her and her story with new people I may meet is like denying her, and I cannot deny her.  It seems that many times when I mention her to people, especially newer people in my life, they don't know what to say or how to react.  I often find myself telling people about my three redheads and I see the confusion on their faces as they look at my two boys, count heads, and can't figure out where I get the number three from.  Most people don't ask, but some do, I think most assume that the third must be in school or at home.  Others who know are still often awkward, not knowing what to say.  To be honest (this goes for me, not necessarily others) just acknowledging that she did indeed live, and then moving on would make me more comfortable than ignoring what I've said-- even a polite nod would be better than nothing.  Realize that, if the parents (and/or other family members) are talking about the deceased it is ok for you to talk about them, and to acknowledge them.

More than anything patience is the key.  Some days a grieving person will seem normal and happy and others we may not be able to get out of bed.  Be accepting and realize that, we really are fairly "normal" and have many of the same wants and needs as everyone else.  Be our friend, and realize that, just like you, things may be difficult or uncomfortable for the griever too.

Ethne's Headstone

Ethne's headstone was placed at her grave about a week before Memorial Day 2012.  Since then we have posted many pictures of it, but have never really talked about it or the images we chose to have engraved on it.

We have seen a lot of different headstones with a lot of different styles, stones, engravings, and images.  We wanted it to be special and to memorialize our Princess, but also classic.  We decided on grey granite because it's easy to keep clean and less likely to crack or break.  We also didn't want something high profile so we went with a flat stone with a slight angle to it.  We wanted anyone who saw it to be able to get a glimpse into the personality of Ethne.  Obviously we had her name, birth date, and death date engraved on the head stone.  We wanted there to be a vase or other receptacle for us to put flowers or other decorations in, so there is a hole for that at the top of her headstone.  We chose to have an elephant for obvious reasons-- Ethne and her "ephant" were inseparable-- but also because elephants never forget, and we will never forget.  The minion was also twofold in that it comes from one of her favorite movies and that it represents her personality so very well, she was so loving and willing to help, but also playful and mischievous.  There's a tiara, because she is and always will be our princess.  Last but not least is the inscription "Daughter of a King."  This inscription also has two meanings for us.  The first is superficial and plays into Lawrence's nickname for her-- Princess.  The second is more meaningful and comes from a beautifully written and illustrated children's book by the same title.

To summarize the story:  There is a farmer's daughter whose clothes are old and patched, she plays with the other town children and some of the richer children tease her, but she doesn't let this get to her because her parents have taught her that she is a daughter of the King and that he loves her, no matter what.  As she grows she has other experiences that teach her about being a daughter of the King and of how she can go to the castle to live with him some day.  She eventually marries a young man who has also been taught that he is a son of the King and they work together to be able to live in the King's castle one day.  They have children of their own and raise them in the knowledge that they are also children of the King.  Finally they grow old and take their journey to the castle.  The journey is hard, but they have each other for help and support.  Along the way they meet others on their way to the castle and they help these others along their journeys.  Eventually they make it to the castle and the King greets them, by name, with open arms and welcomes them home.

It is such a beautiful and profound story that teaches of each person's worth and of our mission here on earth in such a way that even children can understand.  It was one of Ethne's favorite bedtime stories and made even Lawrence tear up when he read it to her.  In so many ways this story and inscription remind us of our Princess.  She was so kind and loving to everyone and she knew that she was a princess.  It also reminds us that, not only will our father, the King, welcome us with open arms when our journey is through, but also that Ethne will be there, a crooked grin on her face, and her arms wide open and ready to give us great big hugs.

We hope that all those who see her headstone get at least a small clue of who she was is.

A Post I Have Been Thinking About for a Long Time, Featuring Robin Williams

When I was about 15 years old I earned my Eagle Scout award.  My mom wanted me to get it before I turned 16 because she was worried that if I waited that long I might not get.  Upon completion we arranged my Eagle Court of Honor and sent out some announcements to family and friends.  Unbeknownst to me, my mother had found the addresses of a few other people to send invites to.  I believe it was right after my court of honor that my mom came to me with a stack of letters to open.  The majority were cards of congratulation from all of the living US presidents - including Bill Clinton (who was president at that time).  Even though I haven't agreed with all of them, I truly still appreciate their responses, even of they were generic.  But there were two others that were included that I couldn't wait to brag about to my friends.  One was a letter from Dave Thomas - the founder of Wendy's, and the other included an autographed picture that said, "To Lawrence, Congratulations!  -Bob Hope" I was hoping to put a picture of it on here but it's still at my parents house apparently.  Growing up I loved listening to comedians.  I would retell their jokes and learn their routines.  I even remember doing a pantomime from Red Skelton for a talent show in Elementary School.  Skelton and Hope were hands down my two favorites.

In college, I began making it a habit to get the autographs of performers I was able to meet.  People I admired like Byron Stripling, Brian Bromberg, Wycliff Gordon, The Bar-J Wranglers, and others.  The wall in our bedroom shows about half of them right now.

When Melissa was pregnant with Ethne, we attended a Brian Bromberg concert at BYU-Idaho.  One of the things we asked him to sign was a poster for our unborn daughter.  He very graciously did and we were proud to have gotten Ethne her first piece of "Swag."  We keep that poster in her memory chest.

After she died I was looking for ways to help keep her memory alive, while trying to bring some happiness into our home.  I found a website online that had a list of celebrity addresses and decided, in secret, to take some of the case sleeves of Ethne's favorite movies and get them autographed in her honor.

I came up with different variations of a letter that I sent out to each actor (trying to personalize each one) and included a return address so they could send them back.  I don't remember who responded the fastest but I think it was Zachery Levi with our Tangled sleeve.  It even said, "Love & Blessings.  You'll be missed."

Shrek 2 was returned because the address for Mike Meyers was incorrect.  Muppet Treasure Island was also returned with a card thanking us for the support, but that Mr. Oz does not respond to personal correspondence.  At least they sent something and gave us back the sleeve.  We were grateful for that.

We also Got back Cars with a signature from Larry the Cable Guy, who also signed it as Mater.  We really thought that was neat.

I think Melissa's favorite had to be from Jodi Benson - the voice of Ariel.  She not only signed the sleeve, but included an additional signed picture of her and returned the letter I sent her.  At the bottom of the letter she said, "I'm incredibly sorry for the loss of your precious daughter.  I can't imagine... May God comfort you both daily - God Bless."  That personal touch really meant a lot to both of us.

The one that I think I was most excited about was our sleeve from Robots.  This is a movie that Ethne loved so much she scratched it and made it unwatchable when she tried to put it in the DVD player herself.  I planned on sending it to a couple actors from the film including Ewan Mcgregor and Drew Carey (another one of my all time favorite comedians), but out of fear of losing it I kept it after one signature - Robin Williams.  The movie sleeve was signed along with another picture and included a generic letter from his office.  I don't know if the signature is really his, but I also won't allow anyone to convince me otherwise. You see, Robin Williams was another big comedic influence growing up.  Although I was not familiar with how vulgar he could be, I did know that he had a personality that could make anyone laugh.  When I was little I remember waking up in the middle of the night and laying down on the floor by my parents' bed.  To help calm me down from a bad dream, or something, they would turn on Nick-At-Night (It was probably so I would just let them sleep).  I remember two shows that I would watch - Mr. Ed, and Mork and Mindy.  Mr. Williams was one of the first celebrities I could identify.  I remember hearing once that he could be hard to work with on a movie because he was always making everyone laugh.  I remember thinking that I wanted to be like that-- someone who made everyone around him happy.


Upon hearing about his death I was quite saddened.  When I found out it was a suicide, it hurt me.  I don't know what he was going through and I am glad that I don't have to deal with the same pains and sufferings he did.  I view this ending as the greatest tragedy to a life that I admired.  Again, I don't know his whole story, but what I did know I enjoyed.

As I write this next part, I want it to be understood that I personally feel that suicide is never the right path.  It is tragic, selfish, and, if you look at the eternal perspective, it is not a simple way out.  It does have consequences.  That having been said, since Ethne's death I have seen suicide from a different perspective.  Be careful judging someone who chooses this path (Matthew 7).  We don't know what the Lord knows.  While I still know that it is wrong, I also know that God loves us as his children.

After Ethne's death we joined a grievance group that was headed by a man who's boy had committed suicide a few years before.  He talked about suffering with depression that was so strong he had contemplated it himself.  He said that going through that gave him more insight into what his son was going through.

Later on, I met someone who told me about a friend who committed suicide while preparing to go on a mission.  Even though it had happened a little while before, I found myself praying for that family and hoping that they had found strength in the gospel.  I then thought about that boy's situation and prayed for understanding on how God would deal with this situation.  I still don't know, and am very grateful for a Heavenly Father who is both just and merciful who does know, but the following quote did come to my mind:

“The Prophet Joseph Smith declared—and he never taught a more comforting doctrine—that the eternal sealings of faithful parents and the divine promises made to them for valiant service in the Cause of Truth, would save not only themselves, but likewise their posterity. Though some of the sheep may wander, the eye of the Shepherd is upon them, and sooner or later they will feel the tentacles of Divine Providence reaching out after them and drawing them back to the fold. Either in this life or the life to come, they will return. They will have to pay their debt to justice; they will suffer for their sins; and may tread a thorny path; but if it leads them at last, like the penitent Prodigal, to a loving and forgiving father’s heart and home, the painful experience will not have been in vain. Pray for your careless and disobedient children; hold on to them with your faith. Hope on, trust on, till you see the salvation of God” (Orson F. Whitney, in Conference Report, Apr. 1929, 110).

The Atonement is for all of us.  I don't know what the eternal destiny is for Mr. Williams, all I know is that he and his family are in my prayers.  I pray that they may all come to know the truth.  I even pray that Ethne might even have the chance to help guide someone who was influential to me from my youth.  Many of you, if not all of you, prayed for us when we were first suffering our loss.  Take a moment and pray for the Williams family and any others who are suffering losses and affliction.  They need help just like we did.  I testify to you that it is important.  Never in my life have I felt the strength of the prayers of others like I did when Ethne died.  I literally felt that faith carry us for a long time.  Only 2 other times in my life have I felt that and neither of those times were the feelings as overwhelming as then.

To all of the celebrities that we contacted (or at least tried to) we thank you for your talents and that you shared them with us.  A very special that you to those who responded.  We only had one letter that we never heard back from, and for all we know it was because by the time he was able to get back to us they were no longer forwarding the mail from our apartment we left a little over a year ago.  And to Mr. Williams, we pray for you as we say farewell to someone who I still maintain is/was the greatest cartoon voice artist ever!











-Lawrence

(Ir)rational

As we grow and learn in this world we often develop likes and dislikes.  Often these likes and dislikes stem from strong emotions regarding the subject.  For example:  from the time I was about 3 years old I wanted to play the flute.  That's a pretty young age to want something so specific, but I associated the flute with my (then) favorite Aunt, Debbie, and I wanted to be just like her.  Now I play the flute, studied it in college, and teach it to other aspiring musicians-- I still associate it with my Aunt.  Along with these likes and dislikes we often develop fears.  These fears are also usually tied to strong emotions.


About 4 or 5months after the accident I was home alone with Mr. E.  He was napping and I was engaged in some household chore or another.  We were living in an apartment that was part of a large complex.  Suddenly the quiet afternoon was interrupted by the rapid thump-thump-thump sound that only the spinning blades of a helicopter make.  I couldn't help it, I started hyperventilating and crying, the sound was so close.  I looked out my bedroom window and saw the helicopter coming closer and it was obvious it was landing near my apartment.  Then I noticed the life flight emblem.  My breathing and crying became more frantic.  Despite my belief that you should never wake a sleeping baby, I ran to Mr. E's room and pulled him from his crib.  I remember repeatedly saying "they can't take my baby, he's mine, you can't take him."   After several minutes of crying, and shouting at the helicopter that couldn't hear me, and rocking my now upset baby, the logical part of my brain took over and I called Lawrence (I think he was at work) three times in a row-- our signal that something is wrong.  He called me back talked a little sense into me and told me to call my parents.  I finally called my mom and she came and picked us up.  I'm pretty sure I was still hysterical when she got there, even though the helicopter was already gone.  Shortly after arriving at my parents' house I was able to calm down and the whole incident seemed a bit irrational to me.  I was so terrified that the helicopter was going to take my baby away and I wouldn't see him alive again.  But really, how irrational was it?

Even though I don't clearly remember the events immediately following the accident, and I certainly don't remember the helicopter taking Ethne away, that is what happened.  I remember my little girl, alive and trying to open a container of yogurt in the back seat, then I remember snippets of my own helicopter ride, then waking up in the hospital knowing that she was gone.  The helicopter took her and I never saw her alive again.  I still have problems with helicopters.  It doesn't matter if they are life flight or not, I have a small panic attack whenever I hear a helicopter close by.  It used to be worse, but since we moved we hear them flying over our house more often than we used to, so the panic has decreased some.  The logical part of my brain still realizes that panicking every time I hear a helicopter isn't exactly rational, but I can't help it.

Another fear that triggers a bad reaction is cement trucks.  Again, I don't remember the truck hitting the car, but they still frighten me and especially when I am driving.  This can be a problem since I live in Utah and there is always road construction and therefore a fair amount of cement trucks on the road.  I have learned to deal when they are far away, but I really panic if there is one right by me (in front, behind, or on either side).  I have learned to pull over when possible to avoid being too close to a cement truck, but when it's not possible I have to talk myself through and will often drive slowly to allow myself some space from the cement truck.  The latter solution may anger some other drivers, but it's far safer than me having a full on panic attack while driving.

Unfortunately this accident left me permanently scarred, both physically, mentally, and emotionally.  But I am learning to live with all my scars.