Visiting the Idaho City Cemetery

We visited Charles' grave. (I hate the word grave, it is so cold, and empty.) The cemetery in Idaho City is a beautiful place, I always enjoy going there. But some of my children are no longer fond of visiting the place where Charles is buried. It is not unpleasant from the stirring up of painful memories; I think it is just disturbing for them to be standing where their daddy's dead body is buried in the dirt.

A certain daughter of mine is the most disturbed by that murky fact. She is not a fan of the place. I know she prefers to think of her daddy in happy ways -- a living in the Spirit World kind of way -- rather than his decaying body being six feet under. (This is random, but this joke was told at his Life Celebration: Why do they bury lawyers 10 feet under, instead of 6 feet under? Because deep down, they are really nice people.) Charles was an attorney, and he loved all kinds of good jokes. He was the best at dragging out the story, to an exciting punchline.

My kids are so morbid, they brought up how his body would look right now. I told them they were gross, and that I believe because daddy was so good and righteous, his body is likely no longer there, so they do not need to even worry about it. (Look, if you want to go dig in the dirt to prove me wrong, you've got problems.) 

We also discussed the beautiful truth of the Resurrection, when Jesus returns. Charles' spirit and body will be reunited in perfect form. Do you know how we all dream of that glorious day? Some people might just believe it, or preach it in a nice lesson tied up in a gospel bow; but for us, the return of Jesus is everything. To see Charles again, now that will be the BEST DAY EVER! I am not saying I wish that the world would end or anything. I'm just saying I would not be disappointed if the process were expedited a little bit. From what I have learned, the Return of the Savior will be beyond any words I have to describe it.

So, we had a nice drive out to Idaho City. It was a beautiful time to head out there, around 6 o'clock. We had the windows rolled down the whole time, and the kids were screaming and singing at the top of their lungs in pure glee. There is just something about having the wind blowing in your face that is exhilarating. Zoie came along for the ride in her kennel, and she did really fantastic there and back without any troubles.

I had a Pandora station playing through the car speakers, but it cut out pretty quickly into the 45 minute drive. It kicked in again as we drove into the Idaho City streets, and the song that played was "Misty Mountains" from The Hobbit. It made us all laugh in amazement because it was a favorite of Charles'. He loved to sing the low part, and he was a huge fan of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit series. It was the perfect song in that moment, as we approached the cemetery, where the music cut out again.

 The sign to the cemetery.

We got there and it was beautiful. But we did not stay long, because the mosquitos were Alaskan-style bad. It was painful to just stand there for a second. So, we had to get the heck out and quick! (Sammi's prayer was answered!) It is not normally so bug-ridden, but the moisture this year is going to cause some bug problems.

 We took a few quick pictures, and spent a total of 5 minutes there at the gravesite.

 The light was shining right on our family picture.

I wondered what Henry would think about being there. He noticed the pictures of daddy, and our family. We have that same family picture hanging in my room. I did not explain to him what was under the dirt. I don't think he would quite understand, yet. If you ask Henry where his daddy is, he will tell you, "He is dead. He is with Jesus." But really, he has no idea what that means.

 Despite the blood-sucking mosquitos, it was still beautiful.

 Heading back to the car.

 It really is an amazing place: beautiful, charming, and rustic; just like Charles.

The sun through the trees... if I wasn't being eaten alive, I would have pulled out my good camera and gone to town on pictures. My iPhone was all I was willing to spend time snapping shots with.

 Read the sign, it's the best!

 The road to the cemetery.

 A weird building in Idaho City.

We stopped at the Idaho City school park to play for bit. The bugs were not so bad out of the trees and in the sun.

 Zoie was happy to get out and play.

 Sammi was better once we left the place she hates.

 It was a really pleasant evening.

 Playing in the field.

 Enjoying the Sabbath with my family.

 Zoie is learning to fly. She just needs a magic feather and she would be off!

 This picture turned out weird... I did not photoshop it, it just turned out that way.

 Packing Zoie back in the van.

The streets of the city. Charles loved visiting this place. We used to take Sunday night drives to Idaho City, and we would enjoy deep conversations about life-changing things. Now, instead of sitting in the passenger seat enjoying the love of my life, and his tantalizing conversation, I am in the driver's seat, having deep conversations mostly in my head. (And with my children too, when their heads weren't hanging out the windows.) The change, I will admit, is not a desirable one. Charles was such a beautiful part of all our lives. His physical absence is a void for each of us. We continue on and always will... but the separation grows harder still. (It has been more than 3 years now.)

 The drive home was as the sky was growing darker. It was the perfect time of night, really.

 The approach back into the city.

 The sun was aflame as it kissed the horizon goodnight.

The end to our Sabbath day drive was perfect and Heavenly. And even though my emotions were all over the place on the journey (I was feeling so exhausted the entire time, physically and emotionally), I still found time to see the good in the world, the beauty that God has blessed us with, and I could feel the Savior's love for me and my family.

For that, I am so very grateful.

For more about why we chose the Idaho City Cemetery click: HERE 

For another post about the cemetery click: HERE

My Other Therapist

I missed my therapy session today. My guts have been feeling a little weird lately (I will leave out the details), so I did not get to go. Bummer. I was looking forward to therapy... I think? I was ready to go and unleash some pent up things; but instead I got to stay home and "unleash" in an even less pleasant way. TMI? I'll stop there.

I was feeling rather disappointed that I did not make it. I was ready to talk about Charles today. I felt the need to talk out some things.

So, I made a phone call to my other therapist.

Her name is Kary.

She is my sister.

I love to talk to Kary. She is my older sister by 12 years, and so she is like another mother. She knows me well, and has for my entire life. She used to wipe my bum when I was little. That makes us close.

Kary has been through some tough stuff in her life. She went through an extremely challenging time when dealing with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome for years, so she understands the pain of viral fatigue, and the anxiety that goes along with it. So when I complain to her, I know she really, really, gets it. She used to call me when she was in the middle of her violent fatigue battle, and it is amazing how far it knocked her down. She went from high-energy elementary school gym teacher, to barely being able to get out of bed.

She is an overcomer, and she is such a great example to me. She is one inspiring woman! She went from the depths of her illness, to now, where she is serving as the Stake Relief Society President, and she is one busy and active bee. She runs marathons yearly, and is stronger than she has ever been.

She also struggled with infertility for 16 years, so she knows the pain of loss, and not having the righteous desire of her heart. I would like her to write a post here sometime to describe her experiences. Her story is one of inspiration and hope!

Kary was there by my side when I ran my marathon. She flew all the way down from Alaska to stay by my side the whole time, even though I was so much slower than her well-trained legs could go. She never left me. That was so hard for me, you know? Allowing someone to stay by my side, when I was holding them back. I had to harness all of my humility to handle that. I do not like needing help, or holding anyone back.

I would have quit without her. At mile 14, when I hit the wall... I would have been toast. She reminded me that I could do it, that my family was waiting at mile 21, and I just had to keep moving forward. Despite my pain, I followed her lead, and I did not quit, even though I felt like dying. We both made it to the finish line together. I finished the race because of her help.

Our conversation today on the phone was much needed. Kary is in a church leadership position, and so she is in fiery-testimony mode. She was throwing out tools and guidance left and right, and encouraging me the whole time, reminding me that there is hope and happiness ahead, so I should keep holding on to that hope. She bore her testimony of healing and the Savior like it was something she declares on a daily basis. She has lived it, she knows it, and she now testifies with a power that cannot be denied. It is awesome to see how far she has come with Jesus by her side. Knowing she made it through her fire, gives me hope I will make it through mine.

I am grateful I have access to professional help. I am also grateful that I have help from those that I love. It is not always easy for me to reach out and say I need to talk; but it is always easy for me to reach out to Kary, because of all we have been through together.

I am so grateful for my other therapist, my friend, my sister.

She did not even require a copay.

Here we are running the Provo canyon hills. 

We are meant to reach out and lift our sisters up -- not just our blood-relatives -- but all of our sisters who are in need of help, to make it across that finish line. No one should ever be alone. We women need each other, and I am just now realizing how much of a need sisterhood really is. I am so grateful for all the wonderful sisters that I am surrounded by, who lift me up, and help me to keep going when the journey gets hard.

Keep moving forward!

It's Not Pretty When I Cry

I have a problem. Apparently, I try too hard to hold back my real emotions. This is not a therapist diagnosis, just one I have come to realize over the course of time. I brace myself when I enter places that might be emotionally charged, for example: the movie theater, a choir concert, the doctor's office, and the hardest of all is Church.

Before I got sick with EBV/CMV, I was fairly healthy. I might have even had some ab muscles to help me with the "brace myself emotionally" process. I was never sporting a six-pack or anything, but I had a little something under the kangaroo pouch, to help me sit up a little straighter, and breathe a little more freely.

Exercise was my therapy, and my way of clarity.

I have not been able to exercise.

With the sickness, I have lost a lot of my muscle capacity. My body often feels like a squishy-mush that I am carting around on my aching, crunchy, bones. By comparison, last year this time, I was marathon ready. I felt physically strong and unstoppable. I had endorphin-brain, and a body that helped me to feel alive and free. Sure, I struggled, but I had an outlet for my stress.

My body was my friend. My mind was taking me on long-distance runs, almost every Saturday. I would work through my emotional crud, while pounding the pavement. I would come home happy and free. I find that running in nature, is far superior to sitting in an office on a couch, and making a copay to a therapist.

Running free was last year; couch and therapist is this year.

Because this year, well... I feel like a beached whale, violently flopping around, trying to get back in the ocean, so I can be free to swim again. Flop, flop, FLOP! I am not being harsh in my self-description, or overly dramatic. I am just speaking truth; inconvenient as it may be. (Insert struggling beached whale noises here.) 

It could be true, that some of this emotional suppression was part of what released the EBV/CMV beast. The viruses can be reignited by stress. And come on, let's face it: being a widow is stressful. Even if I try to avoid stress, it is always there in my mind, because my husband is dead. (I say that bluntly, but it is reality.) If something bad happens to me now I think, "This bad thing happened, and I am a widow, too?!" You know, like there should be a limit to how much one person should be expected to handle. I am a widow, so nothing bad should ever happen to me, ever again.

That seems fair.

Sometimes I just get really mad that I am a widow. It is a good thing that God is patient with me, and my passionate, fiery, widow-prayers.

One of the reasons I hold back my emotions is because I must; at least in public places. Sometimes I even hold it back at home, too.

You see, I am not a pretty crier.

I have seen people who can cry with dignity and grace; with gentle tears, falling slowly down their creamy cheeks. These people somehow maintain their composure, their bodies remain like a statue, their stone-like faces glistening with the freshness of healthy and beautifully released emotion.

But that is not me.

No sir.

When I cry, my whole everything is involved in the ridiculous emotional-flooding process. It goes something like this...

My lip quivers uncontrollably, my face turns red and blotchy, my eyes get blood-shot, my hands start shaking, tears come pouring down my face, my entire body trembles, and I start heaving like a dog about to vomit. (Sorry for the visual, but it's accurate.) 

I have considered not holding back my real emotions in public. (Yeah, right! I think "letting it go" would be absurd.) Like I said, it was easier before I got sick to keep in the thick feelings, but now... I just can't. And I grow more and more uncomfortable in my own skin, as I go out in the world, suppressing the weight of my widow-heart.

I do think that exercise and being physically fit was so helpful to keeping those feelings at bay -- the physical and emotional is so interconnected -- but I just have not been able to consistently run, or do anything, without feeling totally wiped out for days afterwards. This darn virus has taken such a toll. I have been knocked down to destinations I would have rather not traveled. Oh, what a blessing good health really is.

I will claw my way back to healthy, joyful days. That's been promised to me. So, I hold onto that hope. I am doing what I can to heal; I leave the rest to God. I know that what I have gone through has not been without purpose and a plan.

I am not really sure what I am supposed to do though? I am tired of holding my real emotions back, everywhere I go. Bracing myself makes me exhausted, whether I am sick, or healthy. Holding the deep-stuff back is really so fatiguing. I do feel like so much of my emotional weariness is connected to the illness I have had, and this too shall pass. At least that is what God told me.

But, in the meantime, I cannot crawl into the fetal position while people are enjoying their movie and popcorn, or while sitting next to others, who are trying to be reverent at Church.

As I see it, my only option is to learn how to cry pretty...

Does anyone know how to do that? 

Motherhood is Always Changing

I have been reflecting on my motherhood. I have been looking back over my blog, and picking out pictures where I am in them with my kids. It was kind of funny, there were not very many moments of time when I am actually in the picture. It was rare that Charles had a camera in hand, and unless I passed off the camera to a child (which I have done), or someone else around, then guess who is not in the picture?

I am grateful for the pictures that I do have. It is nice to have some record that I actually exist. I suppose that is one reason to be grateful for the selfie. I think it is so important for mamas to get in the picture, to have a record of life with the family.

I love being the photographer, but I also want to be remembered in front of the camera, not just hiding behind it. Just remember moms, make sure and jump in that picture, too. You will not regret it, no matter what your hair looks like at the time, or if your jeans are too tight from eating too many cookies. In my case, that would be too many pumpkin cookies.

My heart is so full as I have looked over the years of my life with my children. The dynamic of life changes so much over time, but what is always constant, is this heavenly love that I have for them, no matter what age they might be. Life has changed, but inside of me, despite the changes, there is this strong desire to be the mother that my children need. (Notice I said need, and not want, because those might be two different things.) This motherly desire runs so deep, it can be quite overwhelming at times.

Love.

I love my children.

I love them so much, it really does hurt!

Being their mother is something I will always cherish, forever.

I just thought I would post some of the pictures I found of me with my children. I am so grateful to be their mother. I love these babies of mine so much. I'll let the pictures do the talking...