May God Put The 'Happy' Back In Our Christmas

"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."

~Friedrich Nietzsche

It’s 3:04 in the morning and I have sat here at my computer now for nearly an hour staring at a blank screen. I struggle to find any words whatsoever that clearly express in any way, shape, or form, the monumental loss my family and I have experienced this year. We are devastated to say the least and are all trying to pick up the shattered pieces of our lives and continue on without the man that we love more than life itself. Glade was our…. Everything! He gives a full and exact description to the word, HERO! We feel completely lost without him! And nothing in life hurts more than losing what mattered most! Our lives are forever changed! Our hearts are forever broken!

Every year I have sent out a Christmas card with a picture of my family and words inviting all to share in a, “Happy Christmas” with us. This year as a family we look hard to the Savior to bring back the "Happy" in our Christmas! Our message barely flickers beyond the dark days we’ve had since Glade’s death. Thankfully though, the Savior’s birth brings with it hope and an eternal plan filled with light that lifts and binds us together beyond the darkness of death. We cling more than ever now to eternal truths. In short, we have tied a knot in the end of our tiny string and are hanging on for dear life! I must say though, our handcart feels ever so heavy now as we pull alone without our greatest source of earthly strength.

With Glade’s tragic negligent death, the Crowther family has a real need to express a mountain of gratitude. We have had so many outpourings of love in so many different ways and we feel overwhelmed in how to sincerely express our complete gratitude… you are the angels with human wings that have been tending to us. Thank you for everything and may the gifts you’ve given so generously to us come back to you in rich abundance! 

(Please continue to keep us in your prayers!)                                                        

Much Love, 
The Glade R Crowther Family! 

How To Address My Mail

Today I gathered the mail.

Today I wondered what's wrong with people.

I had a complete melt down!

Seth said, "Dad's gone mom. People don't know."

 I questioned, "Where has he gone Seth?"

Then I lamented through a mountain of tears, 

"His clothes are still in the same place.

Everything here in my home is still in the same place.

We speak of him, we talk of him and we live with him in mind.

So excuse me, NO, HE IS NOT GONE!"

The last two weeks I find myself in a heap every time I gather the mail.

I am nearly to the point where I can't go to the mailbox at all.

There are people who send cards addressed the same as always,

Glade and Faye, Mr & Mrs. The Crowthers etc. etc. etc.  

They address them the exact same way they've always addressed them.

(Thank you ever so much!)

And then there are those who have decided for some bizarre reason

to remove Glade's name from the envelope.

Please do not do that! P L E A S E!

I took the two cards that came in the mail today

And I wrote Glade's name next to mine on them. 

I will never be Faye without Glade. Nope, NEVER!

And while he is gone physically

He will NEVER be gone spiritually and or mentally!

In an effort to inform people. 

Here is how you can address the mail.

Please, don't change what once was!

Below is a sample letter.

This was printed on the back of Glade's funeral program. 

"Death is nothing at all.  It does not count.  I have only slipped away into the next room.  Nothing has happened.  Everything remains exactly as it was.  I am I, and you are you, And the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched unchanged.  Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.  Speak, of me in the easy way which you always used.  Put no difference into your tone.  Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.  Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.  Life means all that if ever meant.  It is the name as it ever was.  There is absolute and unbroken continuity.  What is this death but a negligible accident?  Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?  I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near.  Just around the corner.

All is well.  Nothing is hurt:  nothing is lost.  One brief moment and all will be as it was before.  How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!"            ~William Shakespeare

So in an effort to continue on as normal as possible.

Do not change how you address the mail. 

Please. I need to see his name next to mine. Forever . . . as long as I live!

Random Thoughts

Random thoughts. . . not in any order. Raw emotion spread out on paper. What is today very well may not be what is tomorrow. Then again it may be my hell everyday, from here on out!

I'm tired, I'm lonely, I'm hurt, I'm angry, I'm depressed, I'm discouraged, I'm so sad, and if you can't tell. . . I'm negative. Death has buried me deep in an avalanche of emotion, physical pain and unrest.  Death is a messy thing. It isn't peaceful. The real world can be dirty and gritty and death is even worse. Death is loud and painful, silent and messy and most of all desperate.

Disclaimer: I AM NOT A NORMAL PERSON!

It's Christmas. I have had to shop with happy people. Listening to Christmas music in all the stores has practically done me in. I keep trying to think of Christmas morning with out the one person who made everything about Christmas, HAPPY! Crying has become my pastime. I keep looking for hope through all the rain. Grief does not abound in hope. I cannot bare to think about Christmas without Glade. Grief seeks to destroy joy in any holiday.

It never ends. . . the heavy heartache. It knows no schedule. I don't know what sleep is. I haven't slept a full night since July 29th. Hours that are usually passed with my eyes closed and my mind at rest are now spent awake. The pain of grief startles me continually throughout the night. Just as my mind shuts down and my breathing slows to a state of slumber, the pain vigilantly wakes me and I am present in the dark once more. Grief and heartache are soulmates and they love to entertain loneliness. They have no positive motives. They have devised their plan and executed it. I am now a prisoner. Did you know you can cry in your sleep?

It is amazing everything that stretches through the mind when ones entire life is blown apart by an unfathomable unplanned explosion. My life feels as if it's now been defined by a single moment in time. I don't know how to reassemble the shredded fragments of my heart and when I try to focus on which pieces I should first wire back together, it's an impossible decision. How does one choose? Where does one begin? As I stare at all of it, I am totally debilitated, frozen in a state of unrest. I'm sure it will eventually kill me. And there are moments I hope that it does and I hope it comes soon. Wanting to die is a normal part of grieving. I cannot think about tomorrow.

 My mind works to keep every memory alive, even the one's that bombard me in screaming color, griping me around the neck choking out any consumption of oxygen. I play back every minute of the entire shocking ordeal, I play back every horrendous gross negligent act by people I trusted, people who should have known better, people who didn't care. People who have no business doing open heart surgery without the equipment they need! Greed is not caring or empathetic. Greed has no heart. Greed has only one motive. There will come a day when I will write about it all. There will come a day when I will share every last detail. . . when those who knew better are held accountable. No human being should ever have to go through what Glade went through.

And then there is the continual thought process that wants me to go back and fix everything. . . as if I could. Oh, If only I could. I go over ever detail, lying in my bed completely alone. I sort it out and then sort it out all over again. There is human error and then there is gross negligence. There is no mistaking severe. . .  gross. . .  negligence. And then there are those vivid scenes that grip me in my sleep and I am awake, remembering every haunting detail. I don't have time to list every emotion that storms in and rampages through me leaving nothing in tact, but my body feels the horrific tension of it all and it aches along with my heart. There is no peace, no means to relax, no exit. I am continually tense. Stress has declared itself a permanent resident. There is the sound of silence somewhere far away, too far away. I cannot hear it.  Inside me there are only sounds of human suffering. I can only hear weeping. The intensity rises and falls with my chest.

I feel like I'm going about my life outside myself. People around me are less present than normal. And when they speak, I have to listen harder than usual. Grief is all consuming. There are all different kinds of people telling me all different kinds of things. Verbigeration, verbig, verbig, verbigeration! Some work to rush me through it and they want to tell me exactly how I should feel, exactly what I should and should not express,  what I should be going through,  what I should be thinking, just how they presume it ought to go, and whether or not I'm on the proper grieving schedule. People love to judge how you are doing with your grief. 

Then there are those who don't want to hear about it at all. It's a mental attitude that echoes, "What???" "Your not over it yet?" They don't understand life altering. They have no conception of what real pain is. And they don't know. . .  me. They don't know where I come from, what I've been through, who I am, and most of all where I was going. 

Nothing in life brings more pain than losing what matters most! A house cannot exist without a foundation.

Every person grieves differently. Some people think my grieving should be like their grieving. There are a lot of married people who never become one. I was not one of them. Now the best half of me has been ripped away and unmercifully (for lack of a better word) murdered. Gone is my voice, my eyes, my ears, my heart,  my mind, my reasoning, my sense of purpose, my saneness, my stability, my foundation, my sure footing, my plans, my goals, my happiness, my joy. I feel like I've lost my everything. I feel so lost without Glade.

People tell me I have my family. There is not a day that goes by that I'm not grateful I have my family. Short little analogy: Telling me I still have my head and my body when my arms and legs have been cut off does not make the pain of losing my arms and legs go away! Telling me to just be grateful I have my head and my body does not stop the bleeding or mend the devastating wounds that gape open wide and need immense healing! Losing your arms and legs is a monumental life altering loss that takes a life time to adjust to.

All in all I believe most people are uncomfortable with death. Grief is messy and depressing, people hate depressing, people are not quite sure what to do with death and depression or how to get it to go away and one thing is for certain, they want it to go away and go away quickly. Quick is not something conducive to grief! There is absolutely nothing quick about grief! And no matter what everyone thinks they know about grief there is so much more NO ONE knows about grief. Then there are all the details no one wants to tell you about grief. I believe there is a quick and dirty list you wish you had known about grief before you knew anything about grief.  I am compiling it. And it doesn't matter how much you know, knowing doesn't change any emotion or any circumstance. And knowing does not bring back life! Every human is different. Every relationship is different, therefore every experience with grief is completely different. Oh, there are similarities and then there are those details so incredibly personal you never speak about them. Your lips never utter the truth aloud to another living soul. It's too painful. Instead you commiserate over them and your heart and head try to make sense of it enduring the pain in silence. Then there is the worst, dealing with people who think they know everything there is to know about grief or better yet, people who want to compare war stories, you know, my grief is worse than your grief kind of thing. It all makes me tired, hurt, sad and angry.

Grief has too many arms and legs! The mind of grief has a will of its own! Grief is needy and demanding.

Grief brings an intense loneliness. The chore of being all alone with your thoughts all day and all night, day in and day out is horrifically painful and incredibly heavy. People get tired of hearing about it. Sooner or later you are forced to go inside yourself and suffer alone. Grief is extremely personal and it doesn't fit any mold nor does it fit all of the cliches that are continually expounded upon by people who know absolutely nothing about grief or think they know everything about grief. And even those who do know a great deal about grief, don't know a single thing about MY grief. And there are people who say things about grief that simply aren't true. I had an individual tell me I just needed to change my focus. I sat there in a state of shock. Change my focus??? I wanted to strike back, and then I did the noble thing, I was kind and I withheld my tongue, which, by the way, knowingly would have given a sermon beginning with "Do you know how incredibly stupid you sound right now?" 

I never hold people in contempt for anything they say to me that sounds absurd. They don't know any better. They honestly mean well and that is the gesture I hold onto. I totally understand because I think back now on all the ridiculous things I've said and even all the times I said nothing to someone who just lost their everything. I understand not knowing what to say to someone who has just had their foundation ripped out from underneath them. I get it! Some days I don't even know what to say to myself and I'm the one going through it. I do think the one thing people should do is lower their expectations and give more genuine complements, like, "Wow, you are an amazing person. I don't know how you're doing this ---at all ---I can't even imagine." There is a common phrase, a thought, a kind generality that you can say to anyone who is suffering with grief. It goes like this. . . "I have absolutely no clue what you are going through, but I know from what others have told me that it is incredibly painful ---the absolute worst! My heart aches for you and I am so very sorry and wish with all my being, there was something I could do to fix it all!" If you are uncomfortable with that then do the very best thing, that is, just hug them and cry with them. 

Death is redefining me. I no longer care what people think. I look back on my life and take into account the time I spent worrying about what other people think --- how incredibly stupid! That is no longer a concern. Getting through the day, that is now my concern.  Halle-freaking-lujah! I am done with that! Finally the realization has struck, it no longer matters what anyone thinks. What matters is what I think!  Who cares what you think, my husband is dead. I now have a life sustaining reason to never care ever again what anyone thinks. Gone are the days of manipulation. "Oh, what you're mad at me because I didn't think, say, do, or act the way you thought I should. Sucks to be you!" I have learned a vitally important truth. . . Those who really love and care about me will be at my side, they will stick out the worst of it with me, regardless of any circumstance. I know who those people are because they are the ones who are still right here mopping up the aftermath with me! Those who don't really care quickly dissipate! Yes, those kinds of people fall away fast. I am now in survival mode. I don't have time to worry about what those kind of people think.

Perhaps I'm in the angry stage of grief right now.

Here's a random thread that goes through my mind. . . no one who has a loved one die should ever have to send a single thank you card. That tradition is just absolutely absurd and insanely cruel! And when it comes to death that is the last thing that should be expected of anyone. The sheer number of thank you cards I need to send is overwhelming. Over a thousand people came to pay their love and respect to Glade. Flowers, cards filled with money, gifts of meaningful expressions, it's overwhelming. I am just now slowly opening things. Everything regarding death has to be taken in slowly. I buried my main reason for living. I planned and executed a funeral in a state of complete and utter shock! There is a fog that covers it all. I faintly remember sitting on a bench. I'm still thinking maybe this is just a poorly written script and I can change the ending. Everything is raw in me. Not sending a thank you card has nothing to do with gratitude. There have been so many saving acts of kindness it is overwhelming! There is no end of gratitude in me that keeps my heart alive and pumping. All of the kind deeds done to me and my family have been the knots in the end of our ropes! I see the love and the support and can barely comprehend it. It sustains me. I just can't face the fact though, that it's real. And trying to compile words on a card is impossible right now. I tried to start. It was mentally torturing and the amount of tears it produced was not worth it. Every stroke of the pen  is a reminder he's dead. From here on out every time someone loses a loved one and I will send my expressions of sorrow with a gift, I will attach the following disclaimer, "Please send NO thank you card. . . that's my second gift to you ---save a stamp, I know you are grateful!"

With death, there is no such thing as closure. NO, you do not get over it!!! There is no timeline for grieving. You don't move through it, you move around in it. . . over and over and around and around. The goal is to try and find a place where you can rest within it! You will grieve in some form forever. FOREVER! There is no rushing through it. It doesn't fit anyones schedule. I didn't move in with grief! Grief moved in with me ---and it moved in without an invitation! It will stay with me forever. Grief is a vagabond inside my home. It just wanders from room to room. Grief is stubborn! Grief is like a bad renter you can't get rid of. Yes, grief is going to live with me until I die! And it's going to take me a life time to get accustomed to it. The work now becomes a transition of how to live with it, what room to put it in, how to make it stay there, and how to get along together and find some measure of peace. This is a work that will take me the rest of my days and there are going to be blocks of time that no matter how much ground I've covered the rawness of it all will come back and raise it's ugly head once again! I now know this! This is fact not fiction!

News flash: You can appear to be fine and NOT be fine. Grievers turn into Fakers. In some form at some time you have to pretend your ok. Every emotion is here to stay and now I attempt to go on about my life keeping it hidden so I can look normal. Guilt and Anger are married to each other. They like to fight! Screaming is normal. Even anger aimed at God is normal. Grief doesn't come in 5 neat stages. Grief isn't linear. You don't go through one stage right after another. No, instead you jump randomly through each stage only to continue jumping, randomly landing in and out of each one, never knowing in what stage you are going to land in next. The cycle continues till hell freezes over or so I hear. Then there are those who tell me, "Oh it will get better." People are liars. I don't think it really gets better. In fact I know for a fact it is NEVER going to get better. I just think people learn to live life numb and in constant pain and they tell themselves that feels better. Who wants better, when I had the best!

Grief has made me question my life, my purpose for living, my faith, my goals, my beliefs, my sheer existence, my everything. I don't know who I am or where I'm going or even why I should go at all. And however bad you think grief hurts. It hurts a million times worse! The pain is searingly real! It is physical, it is mental, it is spiritual, it is social, it is heavy, it is excruciating. There are days I wonder how much longer I can stand it. 

You grieve the past, the present and the future. You grieve them individually, you grieve them collectively, you grieve them continually. You can't compare grief or compare losses. Time does not heal all wounds. And being surrounded by people doesn't take away the loneliness --- no, not at all. 

With grief comes shock! There are so many layers of shock within a single strand of grief. Just when I think I've risen to the top layer, I find a million more layers. Every day I wake up expecting that possibly I am coming out of the shock of it all. And everyday I say to myself a thousand times, the man I love and planned my whole life around is dead, what do I do now? Then I realize, I'm still in shock! Even the physical symptoms still present themselves over and over again. 

 I read the other day, “Every journey begins with a single step. No matter how distant or near the destination. That first step is not optional. To fail to begin is to fail the entire journey.” After reading that I tried to contemplate steps and a journey? Questions flood into me. Where am I going and why am I even going there? Take a first step? To where? Which way do I go? How do I move my feet? Do I have any feet? My legs feel like they have been cut out from underneath me. What do I walk on? Glade was my solid ground! He was the sky above me and the earth beneath me! He was my compass, my map, my world, my entire reason for the journey. Death has unearthed me. And I dare not move. 

On July 31st, 2014, I walked through two doors. They were not the doors I would have chosen to walk through. No, my insurance chose for me, a thing we Americans should riot to change! Insurance companies should not have the right to tell people where they have to go to receive medical attention. Competition is a good thing and should be present above all else in the health care industry! After entering those doors, I walked down a long hallway, I sat down in a waiting room. Little did I know I was sitting there waiting for my whole world to shatter!

“In psychiatry there is a certain condition known as, “Delusion of Reprieve.” The condemned, immediately before his execution, gets the illusion that he might be reprieved at the very last minute.” And so it is with death, every day my mind is struck with some delusion of reprieve. And that somewhere, somehow I will discover my husband is not dead. At any moment my life will return to that state of sheer and utter joy and happiness where each and every day just existed plainly, outstanding in the throngs of everything ordinary! How I wish I had ordinary back! Ordinary just may be all that is beautiful in life. People should treasure ORDINARY! 

How I wish I could go back to an dull uneventful average ordinary day. The kind I use to complain about. 
I wish I could hear his footsteps climb the stairs inside the garage after the sun went down. 
I can hear the door open and close. 
I can hear the rustling of bags along with the blessed sounds of human life. 
And like always, I stand at the kitchen sink and wait for those familiar words in those familiar tones, “Hi Honey, I'm Home! I'm Home! I'm Home!” 

Delusion of reprieve! Somehow this is not my life now! This horrible state I am in is not mine. And by some miraculous means I'll be reprieved of it surely! Please God, let me be reprieved from this empty state of aloneness, this condemned sentence called death, this state of sheer hell! 

The bloom on the rose has curled under. The frozen morning air has taken it's toll on each frail remaining bud, they hang listless and shriveled. The purple Astor has grown weary and the Black Eyed Susan's are completely spent. Winter's bitter wind has accosted it's victims. The days grow darker. Death thrives in winter. Every tree fights to hold onto its last leaf, but trees are all too submissive when it comes to nature and her harsh demands. Why can't they hold on longer? I need them to hold on longer, but instead they let go, and stand naked in the bitter cold. Winter with her death march moves through me. The green must die along with the golden reds and brilliant yellows. Vibrant colors are not permitted in winter's cold and barren landscape. There is no color in death. I fear spring will never find me. I fear I am destined to remain frozen.

Today I wore blisters on my hands working in the yard. It felt good to cut back the burning bush. I cut it back hard, in a strict attempt to bring it under control. Then I realized, God is doing the same to me. I feel it. . . His hands. . .  He is cutting me back, cutting me back hard. . . perhaps too hard. In winter, death is imminent. I feel it, parts of me are dying. 

And so my day comes to a close. Thoughts that wound up on paper will possibly mutate and change with some form of new growth within me as it comes, but for now, the night is waiting for our lonely ritual. 

I had a dear friend tell me the other day to try and think of one thing each day I am grateful for. At the end of each day it is easy to see that thing I am clearly thankful for. I'm thankful the day is over. I'm grateful I survived! I"m grateful I'm one day closer to seeing the person I loved with all my heart. I'm grateful I'm going to fight to sleep and then somewhere in the morning's light, I'm going to rise up and try as I may to go at it all again. 

The positive in life is in the rising! Tomorrow, at some point, I will rise in some small fashion! And I will fight the same fight all over again, attempt to conquer the same thoughts, the same random thoughts that are now my constant companions. 

I read it somewhere, I read all about the very thing that I am doing now death has buried me in the deepest emotional grave ever. I am mining UP! In everything I have ever read about grief I stumbled upon the most perfect analogy. It is the very thing I am doing and now I know why it's so hard. I am mining UP! How incredibly descriptive. I am not digging my way in, I am digging my way UP and hopefully OUT! I am digging to find light and air! I'm suffocating! I need to breath and I need to find a place where I can do more than just survive. I gotta say though, I think I've been handed a pencil to dig with. Every day I feel little to no progress.

Life hurts a great deal more than death. At the point of death, the pain is over. "Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us as we live with death." 

Tomorrow it's suppose to rain. In my house it rains everyday. And death has taught me some things can never be fully understood until they visit us personally. 

Death is so very personal! 

Loss hurts more when what you lost mattered most. Those are my thoughts today. 

Thanksgiving And The Veil Is Thin

In five months of coping with death and grief,  I have learned that at times the veil is extremely thin. And on those days when I can scarcely think of taking one single step forward, he comes to me with the means and ways to tie a knot in the end of my tiny frail string of existence.

Gavin and Caroline were driving into Logan Canyon. They were headed to the cabin. Gain loves music. Gavin never ever goes anywhere without his music. Now it's nearly one in the morning and he enters Logan canyon only to find he has no music. Caroline searches. No music! He is fighting to stay awake. Caroline searches his phone for something to keep them both awake. She finds a audio book. Gavin has never had audio books on his phone. It was not just any audio book, but an audio book that has long been special to me. It is a book I have leaned on many times, in my life. It is a book I have read since the beginning of time. Remarkably they pick up where they left off, even though they couldn't remember ever seeing the book or listening to any of it what so ever! Strange and odd that they would just continue listening where they supposedly left off when they could not remember ever having listened to any of it in the first place. Non of this makes any sense since all of it goes against Gavin's nature.

The voice read:

  

"We stumbled on in the darkness , over big stones and through large puddles, along the one road leading from the camp. The accompanying guards kept shouting at us and driving us with the butts of their rifles. Anyone with very sore feet supported himself on his neighbor’s arm. Hardly a word was spoken; the icy wind did not encourage talk. Hiding his mouth behind his upturned collar, the man marching next to me whispered suddenly: “If our wives could see us now! I do hope they are better off in their camps and don’t know what is happening to us.” 

That brought thoughts of my own wife to mind. And as we stumbled on for miles, slipping on icy spots, supporting each other time and again, dragging one another up and onward, nothing was said, but we both knew: each of us was thinking of his wife. Occasionally I looked at the sky, where the stars were fading and the pink light of the morning was beginning to spread behind a dark bank of clouds. But my mind clung to my wife’s image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise. 

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth— that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart : The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way —an honorable way— in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, “The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory.” 

In front of me a man stumbled and those following him fell on top of him. The guard rushed over and used his whip on them all. Thus my thoughts were interrupted for a few minutes. But soon my soul found its way back from the prisoner’s existence to another world, and I resumed talk with my loved one: I asked her questions, and she answered; she questioned me in return, and I answered.  “Stop!” We had arrived at our work site. Everybody rushed into the dark hut in the hope of getting a fairly decent tool. Each prisoner got a spade or a pickaxe. 

“Can’t you hurry up, you pigs?” Soon we had resumed the previous day’s positions in the ditch. The frozen ground cracked under the point of the pickaxes, and sparks flew. The men were silent, their brains numb. 

My mind still clung to the image of my wife. A thought crossed my mind: I didn’t even know if she were still alive. I knew only one thing— which I have learned well by now: Love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases somehow to be of importance. 

I did not know whether my wife was alive, and I had no means of finding out (during all my prison life there was no outgoing or incoming mail ); but at that moment it ceased to matter. There was no need for me to know; nothing could touch the strength of my love, my thoughts, and the image of my beloved. Had I known then that my wife was dead, I think that I would still have given myself, undisturbed by that knowledge, to the contemplation of her image, and that my mental conversation with her would have been just as vivid and just as satisfying. “Set me like a seal upon thy heart , love is as strong as death.”

Frankl, Viktor E. (2006-06-01). Man's Search for Meaning (p. 39)

What makes this so profound are the prayers and the thoughts I had been wrestling with as they drove. They didn't know I was crying and sobbing in my bed. They didn't know I needed to feel loved beyond measure. When death comes suddenly the mind plays tricks. I needed desperately to know Glade loves me, that he has always loved me. I had been begging and worrying and pleading for answers. Our love was real, right? I didn't just imagine it.

When Gavin got to the cabin he told me all about his strange experience. His comment, "Dad is worried about you mom. He wants you to know how much he loves you. That you were and are is everything, the love of his life, even still, always and forever. He loves you so much!"

I read this every night before I try hard to fall asleep. I read it when death wakes me repetitively throughout the night, I read it when I can't stop crying, I read it while I look at Glade's picture to calm my troubled heart. I have it on my phone. it goes everywhere with me and nothing has brought me more comfort.

There is life after death! The body may cease to go on but the Spirit continues to live and thrive! Our loved ones are not as absent as we devastatingly feel. They are closer than we know. They come to us in our darkest hour and tend to our most desperate needs. They wait upon us through a thin veil and I know they are close, reaching through the portals of heaven to save us in our loneliest hours!

These words were meant for me! Glade found a way to deliver them. I needed them, I prayed for them. And the spirit testifies to me of the truth in it all. 

Advent Scripture Calendar For December

Happy Anniversary

I miss them both! They were married, I believe in 1942. Happy Anniversary to a unique couple. I love this old photograph. Their wedding cake sitting on top of the car. Priceless! Love you mom and dad!

Grief Is My Landscape

It has been one month ago today that I walked through two doors. . . two doors that have forever changed my life in a most devastating way. And now I find myself without the one person who gave everything else in my life meaning, the man in this picture. Grief is now my new landscape. And I am having the hardest time navigating this dismal bleak terrain. I'm not sure how to function. My whole world and everything in it has been turned upside down, around and around. My entire world has been shook to the max, like a two year old with a snow globe shaking relentlessly with an obsession to see the snow fall over and over again. And my tears rain down and freeze hard against death's bitter cold! How to go forward without the person I love more than life itself is completely foreign. Every night in my heart I plead in an attempt to call him back. And in the morning light I do not want to go. I do not want to rise up and walk this path. I struggle to find my footing and I fear it will never be sure again.  

Tonight, I'd like to write about so many topics; topics on health care and the real meaning behind it, topics on greed, topics on trust, topics on the difference between human error and gross negligence. Yes, today I'd like to write a thesis on subject matters that have changed my life, I shall save my tragic learnings however, for somewhere down the road, another day perhaps, when I have the energy to think and the desire to breath. 

Tonight I'm going to try to focus on one single topic much different than those mentioned above. Tonight I'd like to write just a few words on something I believe can be a life line in the drowning effects of grief ---that of the simple element of gratitude. 

Gratitude is a subject that doesn't immediately come to mind in the face of grief. I think it is monumentally hard to be grateful when grieving, but then again my world is cloaked in negativity. Death feels very negative.  And the reality of grief is that it cannot be avoided. Death shoves you into the hellish realm of sorrow and grief almost with provocation. And it seems my emotions run unrestrained, unchecked, unbridled, rampant with everything that shreds the heart. Every negative disparaging feeling wants to attack like a wild animal waiting in the dark. . . disappointment, sadness, anger, despair, fear and even guilt. And all of it springs on me with a gale like force. There is no fighting it. I have not the strength to do so. Grief feels like a torrential current that smashes you up against the rocks again and again and then when your heart, body, and soul is crippled and totally spent it tows you under to depths you've never seen before, holding you down hard, refusing to let you up for air. I have had thirty days of the worst hell I've ever known and I've buried a son, I've seen grief before. I remember the ugly face of death. I have walked this hell bent road before. Everything inside me is completely spent, used up, broken and beaten, or so it feels. And yet strange enough, in rare moments when I can't go on, I feel gratitude quietly covering my anguished shredded soul. It comes in unannounced and tends to me with great mercy. Perhaps gratitude rests on the wings of faith, and it comes to perform its mighty rescue in the gentlest way. And when I feel the current of grief is too swift and too powerful and the undertow to strong for my broken heart, it is gratitude that hands me a small ore of hope in which to row upward for air and safer ground. 

When grief holds me down under the water so long I feel my lungs heave with the last breath, I grapple for air by opening up my phone and turning to a folder I created with pictures. This is where gratitude lives. Every photo brings a memory that cannot be erased. The photo you see here is just one of many that convulses my body up and out of the drowning effects of grief. I hold onto it for dear life, sleep with it next to me and I see gratitude resuscitating me, pumping my chest hard to bring life back into my lungs. I am so grateful for nearly 38 years of love in my life with a man like no other! And I will continue to count each year with this man I love. We are still one in heart and soul. We are still together in spirit. Few people get the quality of togetherness we had. My 38 years beats most people's 60 years hands down. 

As I thumb through images where love is captured and framed, gratitude speaks to me in a quiet voice. "Your love is not dead. While he is gone your love is still firmly here. It is a bond that can never be broken. He is yours forever. Your love is eternal. Your love is sealed by God Himself. This life is not the end. You are made for the eternities. You will always be one, together forever in every symbolic way that matters. . . and nothing, no, not even death can change this solid fact."

Tonight I am grateful for God's love. I am grateful for my temple covenants! I am thankful for God's sealing power on earth. Even in my times of anger towards Him, I am grateful for every blessing He has bestowed upon my life. I grew up in a home with a lot of contention and I prayed hard as a child and as a teen, that I could someday find a man in which I could have a happy home with. I don't know how many times I said over and over again, "Heavenly Father. . .  Please . . . all I want in this life is a HAPPY HOME." God delivered in a most magnificent way. And then He followed it up with a million more blessings, He followed it up with eight children. There is nothing so great in this life as a happy home! NOTHING! And that doesn't mean that sometimes there isn't moments of unhappiness. What it does mean, is that at the base of it all, both the times when your kids are driving you nuts or your spouse is driving you nuts, it doesn't matter, happiness rests securely at the base of it all and every member of the household knows it. My home has been a place where everyone knows they are safe and they are supremely loved, even in times when the wheels come of the cart for a bit. Everyone knows every member in the family will be there to help put them back on. No matter what, if your a Crow, you know everyone in the family has got your back! And I am grateful to say I have had the very best in happy! The blessings in my life are uncountable. There are to many to lay a number to. They are present all around me and even in death they are sure. Mostly tonight I am grateful for the love of one man. The greater the love the greater the devastation and I will never not be broken without him, but our love will go on and we will reunite again in the eternities. I will live my life as if he is just in the next room. I will continue to live my life with him in it! Don't be alarmed if you see me talking and there is no one next to me. I am going to conduct my life as if the man I love is right here with me!

My son said it best. "I have no doubt that as immortal spirits we all struggle with endings because our spirits are eternally wired. . . I am so grateful for the memories that remain with us. Nothing can ever take them away. I am also tremendously grateful for friends and family, they are my crutch in times when I feel so broken. Moving forward does not mean forgetting, it means choosing happiness and growth over hurt and stagnation." Such wise words!

I'd like to thank everyone for all the kindness you have shown to me and my family. Yes, as my son simply stated. . . you have been our crutch. In the beginning we started making a list of every kindness, trying hard to keep track of it all. The list has now exploded out of control and has become totally impossible to keep track of. I have received cards and letters, gifts of all sorts, money that will buy a granite tombstone, I could go on and on. And I weep out of gratitude for the love that blankets me. I know the words, "Thank You" seem so trite in the face of all we've received, but trust me they are not. All of these acts of love have been holding us up above water, they have been giving us life sustaining air. My whole family is grateful to all of you who have been so tender to us. 

There is one more thing I am most grateful for. That is all the prayers and fasting that has been done and still goes on for me and my family. Those pleadings have been a giant life line to us. I have to tell you, when the nightmare struck, I called out for serious prayer and fasting. Those pleadings, your pleadings ---to a gracious Father in Heaven bought us precious, precious time. And with that time we got to love a little deeper and say things we wouldn't have had the chance to say. Those prayers and fasting got me one more, "I Love You!" and one last squeeze to my hand. They are little events that will hold me tight against the storms that grief now delivers up without notice. There is no way I can repay such a debt to all of you who spent your time exhausting the Lord, but gratitude rests heavy in my heart and I am keenly aware! I can in no way express my thankful heart enough. I will be forever grateful to you all. Those prayers and fasting worked a small tender miracle! A miracle that will never be forgotten and will sustain me, personally on those days that feel dark and lonely.  

I feel bad I have not been able to speak. I feel so broken inside. Words will not come out of my mouth. I can't visit, I can't talk, I can't answer my phone. I struggle to do the simplest tasks. And I think this will go on for some time. I don't understand it at all and I feel bad I have withdrawn myself so. I am a person who takes a long time to process things, sort things out, ponder, sit with it, if you will. Please forgive me. Again I am grateful for my children. They have been right there with me, holding me up and together. They have not left my side and my heart is filled again with gratitude. I thought I had eight kids because I wanted lots of love around me. Little did I know it would become a sustaining love for a time like this. So on this night when the tears fall and I struggle to find sleep, I try to see with grateful eyes, hoping gratitude will somehow begin to usher in healing. 

Many people have asked, "What can I do for you?" Again, my reply is the same, "Please continue to pray for me and for my children. And would you please pray that I can feel this great man of mine with me every day. I desperately need him. Will you pray that my children can feel him near as well. And that he will continue to be close to us, blessing our lives continually.  

Now. . . one last thing! Do you love someone? Tell them today. Stop them and take a hold of them and look them in the eyes and express your love in a monumental way! Spend time with the people you love. UN-distract yourself! Focus in on what really matters. Speak the positive. Say it OUT LOUD! Complement, lift, and applaud the good you see in those you love. Put away your nit-picking, disguard your grudge, forget your anger, your announce, what ever it is that is preventing you from doing the real work in life, LOVING PEOPLE!  TELL THEM, over and over and over again! Let go of the small and the insignificant! Take up the real and the valuable! Spend more time and love a little deeper. Forget yourself! Put someone else's needs above your own. It is the most important thing you can do today. Live in the present. Love in the present. Even as much as we made our time count, my vision is clear today and people spend a lot of time making much to do about nothing! Satan is so clever at distracting us, busying us, tricking us into spending our time on that which has no value.  So take it from me, words of wisdom from a woman who thought she had all the time in the world! You only have today! Take my advice. Love much while you can! 

   

Hopeless Dawn - Joyful Morning

There is one question I wish people would not ask me. . . "How are you" or How are you feeling"? I know they are well meant questions filled with love.  The problem is, they are questions I cannot give an honest response to. Every time either sentence is offered up, I am forced to tell a lie. How am I doing or feeling or thinking? You do not want the real answer.

Hopelessness is a state of mind and heart I feel myself drift in and out of since Glade's passing. Glade was my compass here on this earth, the man who gave my life complete direction and filled my every hidden intricate need. What ever vital thing is needed to sustain life, Glade was it. He was and forever will be my vital! The horrific negligent details surrounding his death and the complete shock of its finality have led me into a barren wilderness of grief where hopelessness threatens me at every turn. And I know not which way to go. . .  or perhaps it is that I don't want to go now at all.

When you love little you lose little. When you love greatly, you lose all. . . or so it feels. It is said that to despair is to turn your back on God. Therefore I stand at the threshold of all despair, just barely outside the door, and I try to find and face the light! Right now that light looks meager. It is as if it barely flickers at all. And in some very real way, in moments where all the same repetitive dismal thoughts wash over me, I fear my steady trail of tears will extinguish it all together. The flame is weak and vulnerable and I fear it will never have enough oxygen to survive.

To attempt to put into words any description of death would be futile at best. Death is different for every single soul. It is not the same for any one of us, even though we may experience similar parts of its razor sharp blade. Relationships are as different as any two people in them and therefore death is as well.

I will say this though. I feel death's knife carving me up!

Only God knows what it will make of me. There are no words for this pain with all its intensity, a large part of me has been brutally severed. . . cut off completely. . . and now the shaving and whittling continue and feel myself along with my soul being grotesquely shaped into something entirely different than anything I had ever planned on. I fight to hold onto feeling the old parts of me, the parts sustained by an incredible love that always healed me and made me whole.

 This last week has been horrendously hard. Mt. Everest looms in front of me. And I suppose this is how the ups and downs will go for the rest of my life as I now begin my climb. I am ill equipped! The other night I prayed for something to comfort me. I needed relief from the worst pain I have ever felt. I needed relief from the intense carving. Des laid in bed next to me and read. As she did I felt oxygen fuel my tiny flame of hope.

"I am truly honored to follow at this pulpit the President of the Church, even the prophet of God, Spencer W. Kimball. My thoughts today have been centered on the land of his forebears, even Great Britain.

London, England, is steeped in history. Who has not heard of Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, or the River Thames? Of lesser renown, yet priceless in value, are the truly magnificent galleries of art situated in this city of culture.

One gray, wintry afternoon I visited the famed Tate Gallery. I marveled at the landscapes of Gainsborough, the portraits of Rembrandt, and the storm-laden clouds of Constable. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the third floor was a masterpiece which not only caught my attention but captured my heart. The artist, Frank Bramley, had painted a humble cottage facing a wind-swept sea. Kneeling at the side of an older woman was a young, grief-filled wife who mourned the loss of her seafaring husband. The spent candle at the window ledge told of her fruitless, night-long vigil. The huge gray clouds were all that remained of the tempest-torn night.

I sensed her loneliness. I felt her despair. The hauntingly vivid inscription which the artist gave to his work told the tragic story. It read: A Hopeless Dawn.

How the young widow longed for the comfort, even the reality, of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Requiem”:

“Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

And the hunter home from the hill.”

For her and many others who have loved and lost dear ones, each dawn is hopeless. Such is the experience of those who regard the grave as the end and immortality as but a dream.

The famed scientist, Madame Marie Curie, returned to her home the night of the funeral for her husband, Pierre Curie, who was killed in an accident in the streets of Paris, and made this entry in her diary:

“They filled the grave and put sheaves of flowers on it. Everything is over. Pierre is sleeping his last sleep beneath the earth; it is the end of everything, everything, everything.” (Vincent Sheehan, trans., Madame Curie: A Biography by Eve Curie, Garden City, New York: Garden City Publishing Co., 1943, p. 249.)

The atheist, Bertrand Russell, adds his testament: “No fire, no heroism, no integrity of thought and feeling can preserve an individual life beyond the grave.” And Schopenhauer, the German philosopher and pessimist, was even more bitter. He wrote: “To desire immortality is to desire the eternal perpetuation of a great mistake.”

In reality, every thoughtful person has asked himself the universal question, best phrased by the venerable, perfect, and upright man named Job, who, centuries ago, asked: “If a man die, shall he live again?” (Job 14:14.) Through inspiration from on high, Job answered his own question:

“Oh that my words were now written! oh that they were printed in a book!

“That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever!

“For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. …

“In my flesh shall I see God.” (Job 19:23–26.)

Few statements in scripture reveal so clearly a divine truth as does Paul’s epistle to the Corinthians: “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” (1 Cor. 15:22.)

Frequently, death comes as an intruder. It is an enemy that suddenly appears in the midst of life’s feast, putting out its lights and gaiety. It visits the aged as they walk on faltering feet. Its summons is heard by those who have scarcely reached midway in life’s journey, and often it hushes the laughter of little children. Death lays its heavy hand upon those dear to us and at times leaves us baffled and wondering. In certain situations, as in great suffering and illness, death comes as an angel of mercy. But for the most part, we think of it as the enemy of human happiness.

The plight of the widow, for instance, is a recurring theme throughout Holy Writ. Our hearts go out to the widow at Zarephath. Gone was her husband. Consumed was her scant supply of food. Starvation and death awaited. Then came Elijah, God’s prophet, who brought to her, through her faith, heavenly peace.

We remember also the widow of Nain. She grieved over the loss of her son. Her abiding faith, her earnest prayer, brought forth a divine gift. The Lord Jesus Christ returned to her and to life her precious son.

But what of today? Is there comfort for the grieving heart? Does God remember still the widow in her travail?

Not far from this tabernacle there lived two sisters. Each had two handsome sons. Each had a loving husband. Each lived in comfort, prosperity, and good health. Then the grim reaper visited their homes. First, each lost a son; then the husband and father. Friends visited; words brought a measure of comfort; but grief continued unrelieved.

The years passed. Hearts remained broken. The two sisters sought and achieved seclusion. They shut themselves off from the world which surrounded them. Alone they remained with their remorse. Then there came to a latter-day prophet of God, who knew well these two sisters, the inspiration of the Lord which directed him to their plight. Elder Harold B. Lee left his busy office and visited the penthouse home of the lonely widows. He listened to their pleadings. He felt the sorrow of their hearts. Then he called them to the service of God and to mankind. Each looked outward into the lives of others and upward into the face of God. Peace replaced turmoil. Confidence dispelled despair. God had once again remembered the widow and, through a prophet, brought divine comfort.

The darkness of death can ever be dispelled by the light of revealed truth. “I am the resurrection, and the life,” spoke the Master. “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.” (John 11:25–26.)

This reassurance, yes, even holy confirmation of life beyond the grave, could well be the peace promised by the Savior when he assured his disciples:

“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27.)

“In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you …

“That where I am, there ye may be also.” (John 14:2–3.)

Out of the darkness and horror of Calvary came the voice of the Lamb, saying, “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” (Luke 23:46.) And the dark was no longer dark, for he was with his Father. He had come from God and to God he had returned. So also those who walk with God in this earthly pilgrimage know from blessed experience that he will not abandon his children who trust in him. In the night of death his presence will be “better than a light and safer than a known way.” (From “God Knows,” by Minnie Louise Haskins.)

The reality of the resurrection was voiced by the martyr Stephen as he looked upward and cried, “I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God.” (Acts 7:56.)

Saul, on the road to Damascus, had a vision of the risen, exalted Christ. Later, as Paul, defender of truth and fearless missionary in the service of the Master, he bore witness of the risen Lord as he declared to the saints at Corinth:

“Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures. …

“He was buried, and … he rose again the third day according to the scriptures. …

“He was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve:

“After that, he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once. …

“He was seen of James; then of all the apostles.

“And last of all he was seen of me.” (1 Cor. 15:3–8.)

In our dispensation, this same testimony was spoken boldly by the Prophet Joseph Smith, as he and Sidney Rigdon testified:

“And now, after the many testimonies which have been given of him, this is the testimony, last of all, which we give of him: That he lives!

“For we saw him, even on the right hand of God; and we heard the voice bearing record that he is the Only Begotten of the Father—

“That by him, and through him, and of him, the worlds are and were created, and the inhabitants thereof are begotten sons and daughters unto God.” (D&C 76:22–24.)

This is the knowledge that sustains. This is the truth that comforts. This is the assurance that guides those bowed down with grief out of the shadows and into the light.

Such help is not restricted to the elderly, the well-educated, or a select few. It is available to all.

Several years ago, the Salt Lake City newspapers published an obituary notice of a close friend—a mother and wife taken by death in the prime of her life. I visited the mortuary and joined a host of persons gathered to express condolence to the distraught husband and motherless children. Suddenly the smallest child, Kelly, recognized me and took my hand in hers. “Come with me,” she said, and she led me to the casket in which rested the body of her beloved mother. “I’m not crying,” she said, “and neither must you. Many times my mommy told me about death and life with Heavenly Father. I belong to my mommy and my daddy. We’ll all be together again.” To my mind came the words of the Psalmist: “Out of the mouth of babes … hast thou ordained strength.” (Ps. 8:2.)

Through tear-moistened eyes, I saw my young friend’s beautiful and faith-filled smile. For her, whose tiny hand yet clasped mine, there would never be a hopeless dawn. Sustained by her unfailing testimony, knowing that life continues beyond the grave, she, her father, her brothers, her sisters, and indeed all who share this knowledge of divine truth can declare to the world: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” (Ps. 30:5.)

With all the strength of my soul, I testify that God lives, that his Beloved Son is the firstfruits of the resurrection, that the gospel of Jesus Christ is that penetrating light that makes of every hopeless dawn a joyful morning.

In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen. " Thomas S. Monson