This was an eventful week for our family. My oldest turned 16 and my youngest was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In our church children can choose to be baptized once they turn eight years old. She actually turned eight the beginning of February shortly after Kendall’s bone marrow transplant, but she felt very strongly about waiting for her dad to come home before getting baptized. Kendall so wanted to be able to baptize her. She’s had an emotional time coming to grips with the idea that Dad wouldn’t be able to baptize her, but I’m proud of her for working through and getting to a point where she could make this decision for herself.
Yesterday was a blessed, but also emotional and at times difficult, day. At least for me. Despite her tears and anxiety leading up to that day, my cute girl was practically glowing and so happy all day. I’m incredibly grateful. It reminded me a lot of how I felt during Kendall’s public viewing the night before the funeral. I don’t know if I have ever felt so full of joy, and on such a spiritual and emotional high. I recognize what a gift from God that was.
This has been an especially difficult week for me. You would think that events like birthdays or a baptism would be the hardest to get through, especially as we have so many “firsts” without Kendall in this first year. But funny enough, the things that have been the hardest for me this week have all centered around church.
We had an extra stake conference last Sunday because our stake president was being released (called as a new MTC president in Lima, Peru). I was feeling some trepidation leading up to it so opted to stay home with the kids and stream the meeting at home. I’m glad I did, because I was an absolute emotional wreck. I sobbed, uncontrollably, through the majority of it. My poor children – I’m usually careful to give in to my hardest emotional moments in private, usually late at night when they’re in bed (nights are really terrible).
Who would have thought that stake conference of all things would have been so incredibly triggering? But if you rewind back to our last stake conference in March, I was listening to the talks in the car on my way up to the hospital when I got an emergency call from Kendall’s doctor saying that things were critical and I needed to get there right away. In fact, I was still listening as I went up the elevator, so worried about what the situation would be when I got to Kendall’s room, when right at that moment our stake president mentioned a story about Kendall and something that had been shared during a conversation when he got his temple recommend. I wasn’t really prepared for the scene I walked in to, but it was by far the most gruesome and upsetting of the whole experience (and the scene I struggle with with PTSD flashbacks). Sitting and listening to stake conference last Sunday brought all of the terror and pain and fear and horror and grief of that day rushing back. I don’t know if I have fully recovered emotionally since, as I’ve felt like I’ve been on the verge of tears and barely holding it together all week. So yes, the baptism was emotional for me. I teared up throughout it and then just sat and cried through the closing song. Not a proud moment, but afterward I went to bed and binge-watched Netflix, trying to numb my feelings and escape a bit from any responsibilities.
Today was hard for me too, which caught me by surprise. It was our first week back to “normal” in person church meetings with Relief Society the second hour. I don’t know what it was exactly, but somehow the thought of being at church again without Kendall with us hit me especially hard. The last time, pre-COVID, that we were at church, was before Kendall got sick. It was one thing attending church again when everything was still different with pandemic precautions, but every part of today seemed like such a reminder that Kendall wasn’t there and should have been. Even small things like setting up a microphone (he was the technology specialist before he was sick) and making copies in the library (his other calling) felt triggering. I really struggled trying to keep it together. Even leaving church felt different today, and wrong, somehow.
Perhaps this is oversharing, or far more details than anyone would care to read about, but I don’t think that grief is something we talk enough about. I’m part of several widows groups, and there are a lot of people who really struggle or think something is wrong with them when they admit the level of their grief. Or they can’t believe that it will ever get any better. Because even with my faith, and my support network, this is so so hard. There are moments when it literally feels like I won’t be able to survive the pain. Nights are so unbelievably terrible.
But already there are glimpses and moments when the pain lifts for a bit. When I don’t feel like I’m treading through molasses just to do the simplest of tasks. When for just a brief moment I care about something. I think of last Monday, sitting around the table and playing a game with the kids, when there was genuine, spontaneous laughter. I think of my youngest’s face lit up and so joyful after her baptism. And I’m trying to better understand what it means to hand that pain over to my Savior, who already suffered for me in Gethsemane. I know that, and while the actual doing and trusting and exercising faith in His promises isn’t easy I really do have the desire to believe. And that’s a start. President Russell M. Nelson said, “The more you learn about the Savior, the easier it will be to trust in His mercy, His infinite love, and His strengthening, healing, and redeeming power. The Savior is never closer to you than when you are facing or climbing a mountain with faith.”
I do trust that I can be healed, both mind and body. But I don’t think that I get to skip the pain – it’s the price of loving deeply. And I don’t know all of the lessons I will learn, the person I am becoming or will be on the other side. It’s OK that I simply can’t do this on my own. I don’t want to forget the lessons I learned during Kendall’s illness of how much I need to consistently rely the Lord. He is aware of me. He loves me. And I can find hope in that.