Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
I can't believe it. Today you would be nine months old! That means you have spent as much time out of my tummy as you spent in my tummy. If you were here and healthy right now, I think you would be crawling around and getting into mischief. That sounds good to me.
Sometimes I think about all of the things we are going to miss out on together. It makes me sad. I won't ever see you kick a soccer ball or lose a front tooth. You won't ever ask me to borrow keys to the car and I won't ever get to watch you fall in love (at least here on earth). I think about all of the things we are going to miss out on and then I remember. . . I remember all of the things we did get to do together, Gav. I have changed your diaper (and a trach!). I have cleaned up your boo-boos and calmed you when you were upset. I have held you and rocked you and I have played with you on the floor. I have kissed you and cuddled you and held your little hand. I have looked into your eyes and heard your thoughts. I have given you a bath and washed your hair. I have prayed and fasted for you. I have been there to witness blessings given to you and I was able to hold you until you took your last breath. I am a lucky momma Gav, because of you. I have felt so much peace because of you and I have felt Heavenly Father's love because of you.
I miss you so much, Bug - but I am grateful for you and Heavenly Father's eternal plan. I am grateful for the tender mercies that Heavenly Father gave us. He blessed our little family with you. I know you didn't have to stay three months, but you did. You gave your mommy and daddy something to remember and good times to reflect on. How grateful I am to have been part of this experience. I think of you everywhere I go. Your daddy says that you are the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last thing he thinks about at night. We love you Gav. And whatever you are doing, please know that you were and continue to be loved.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
And then I thought about this story . . . Jairus and his daughter. I am sure that many of you know the story. I don't want to get all preachy, but it reminded me of how much I need to be still and depend on the Savior. In this story Jairus has asked Jesus to come heal his (only) daughter who is dying. Jesus agrees and as they try to make their way through the throngs of people Jesus stops to preach and heal others. Jairus is getting frustrated and then turns to the Savior and essentially says, "Why are you stopping? My daughter is dying!" To which a ruler of a synagogue informs him, "She's already dead." I can only imagine Jairus' thoughts, his anxieties and grief. He must have imagined that if they were able to get there quicker the Savior could have healed his daughter before she died. But, the Savior says to Jairus, "Fear not: believe only, and she shall be made whole." The Savior was telling Jairus to be still. He was telling him to not be fearful or anxious. He was telling him to have faith that all would be made right. I just love this picture. I think it tells the story in a single scene. Jairus and his wife are grief stricken - as one would be if they lost a child. Christ then lets them weep before he raises her. In this picture the Savior is standing at the door entrance of their home. To me, His presence in the doorway is symbolic of the fact that He is willing to lift our burdens if we let Him in. If we ask for him. And when we ask for Him, he will still our fears, grief, pain and worry. We just have to be still and let Him in.
This post kinda sounds preachy . . . I know. But I felt like I had to write this one down before I forgot it. :)
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Okay, aside from that little rant . . . there was some good perspective in this book. Here are a few quotes that I liked.
"How easy is it to falsey measure our fortunes. When we have more money, health, honor, or pleasure, are we winning? Not necessarily, for our ills and fortunes are tests, not grades."
"As our Father beholds the expanse of agony and sorrow, he focuses on each broken heart personally. He also discerns the best timing for comfort and relief. He arranges to have friends, mortal and heavenly, gathered around each drama of suffering in an attendant drama support."
"Suffering makes our quiet companion more discernible. The veil, especially the part covering the heart is thinner. He consoles, 'Be of good cheer,' and he whispers, 'I will lead you along.' "
Saturday, April 19, 2008
His father was one of the speakers and at the end of his talk he said, "Life is good." I have reflected on that all day. Can I say life is good? This man just stood in front of 500 people and essentially said, "Today I will bury my son - I will not see him for the rest of my mortal existence and life is good." That sentence has played over and over in my mind. Life is good. Life is good. Is my life good? I have buried my son as well. I have empty arms. And most of all I have a broken heart. Is my life good? This caused some serious refection for me. And I have decided that . . . yes . . . LIFE IS GOOD. A good life doesn't mean we are free from pain or a broken heart. It means that we have hope - and I have hope. I think that is one of the only things that keeps me going day after day. I may not have a perfect knowledge of the plan for our little family, but I do have hope and faith that this life is not the end. My son lives too - he is a faithful, valiant son of our Heavenly Father and he is doing much to bring the gospel to those who haven't had an opportunity to hear about it. I am so grateful this father has enough faith to stand and say, "Life is good."
I left the funeral feeling a renewed sense of hope and gratitude for my knowledge of the Plan of Salvation. I don't think I could have this very specific testimony without the experience that we have had with Gavin. Many times I have to remind myself that something "good" has to come from this experience. Gavin was sent here for many reasons, but I truly feel like one main reason he came here was to teach me how to return to my Heavenly Father and strengthen my testimony in His gospel. I was so grateful to feel that reassurance of my testimony during this funeral. Knowledge does not mean that the hurt disappears . . . it only means that we understand that the hurt won't last forever and that there is more to this existence than this mortal life.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
- Richard G. Scott
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
2 Granny Smith apples
Then go to confession. Quickly.
here is the site for the recipie http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2008/02/apple_dumplings/
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
My wife was the perfect mother for our son, Gavin. I’m sure many of you have read his story and know just how special he is. It takes a special mother to have a special son. Her patience, love and understanding during the three, sweet months we had with Gavin will forever be remembered. Her faith, perseverance and hope since then will not be forgotten.
As her husband, I want her to know how much I love her and how much in love I am with her.
Lindsay loves, laughs and lives to the fullest. I have never met anyone with so much genuine love. Her passion for life is amazing and even though she has experienced extreme sadness and pain, she cherishes each day. She makes me a better man.
I love you, baby.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
My sweet Baby Gavin. I am so glad we picked this name for you. Your first name had been your daddy's favorite name for a long time - even before we knew you were a boy. And your middle name, James . . . that is a strong and faithful name in your momma's family. It fits you well, doesn't it?
Gavin, I don't know if you know how much we wanted you. How anxious we were for you. You should have seen the look on your daddy's face when I told him I was pregnant. I remember crying on my knees to our Heavenly Father asking Him to please let me keep you. I wanted you so much. That night we thanked Heavenly Father for you and our new little family. This was long before I really knew you Gavin. Oh, how you would change my life.
July 27, 2007 - that's your birthday Bug! It was a day filled with a plethora of emotions. I remember the first time I saw you. You were silent, Buggy. It scared me. The nurses told me you were okay, but I knew it wasn't true. Babies cry and move when they are born and you did neither. They took you away Gav. Your daddy tried to follow you but had to come back to momma's room. Then the hardest part came. A very kind nurse came to tell us that you weren't healthy. "We don't really know what is wrong," she said. Your daddy dropped to his knees and sobbed. And Gavy, even though I was heartbroken I felt peace. I knew that we would do whatever you needed.
The first time I saw you laying in your NICU bed it scared me. Your small 5 pound body was hooked up to wires and monitors. You had an IV in your sweet little forehead which made your eyes swell up. You still didn't cry, my baby. You laid so straight in you NICU bed, but gradually you started kicking your legs. Your daddy gave you a priesthood blessing that night. Do you remember that Gavy? He blessed you with a strong body, mind and spirit. We had hope Gavin. We were praying for our miracle.
Most of all Gavin, I want you to know that we received our miracle. It is you. We found out after you left us that you shouldn't have lived those three months. You are such a good son. I know you were tired. I still remember looking into your eyes late in August and hearing the words, "Momma, I am so tired." We had faith to heal you son, but that was not your plan. You have taught us and given us a more purposeful existence. You have taught me what pure love feels like. I miss you Gav. It's hurts to not touch you or hold you. I miss the peace you radiated from your little crib. I miss you holding on to my finger and on occasion staring into my eyes telling me, "It won't be as bad as you think it will be momma." I drive by to see you every single day to tell you I love you - I have not missed a day. Do you ever hear me? But Gavin, for as much as I hurt, I have peace because sometimes I can hear you. I can hear you whisper, "Momma, I am not that far away."
I will write again soon Bug. Please know that I love you.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
As we drove to the hospital I kept asking the question "WHY?" We all know how many times I have asked that question, and I felt frustrated that Heavenly Father would let this wonderful guy have such a trial. And more than that . . . I felt I could relate to the sadness his parents were experiencing. I know what it feels like to be the parent hanging on to every single word a doctor says and not knowing the end outcome of your child. I know what it feels like to know that there really isn't anything you can do to help your son and that his life depends on the Lord's will.
I started to feel more of my self pity and despair as we approached the hospital and the area of town that I now know like the back of my hand. Then the thought came to me, "Stop thinking about yourself and help someone else." So, I did. I spoke with his mother for awhile and I could relate somewhat to the pain and anguish she was feeling. I felt I truly could empathize with her on some level. I have been that mom before. I have been the mom sitting at the hospital waiting for doctors, tests, surgeries and praying for any positive improvements of my son.
As I left the hospital and went home I thought of nothing but my friend and his family. Later that night when I crawled into bed I realized I hadn't felt self-pity since I had arrived at the hospital. Stepping outside of my own hurt to support someone else truly helped me. Sometimes I feel like I am so involved in myself and my situation that I ignore so much around me. Last night helped me see the bigger picture. We are here to help others and carry each others burdens. I know I may not have done much for this family . . . but they really have no idea how much they helped me last night.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Here is an excerpt from one of her recent posts . . .
Before all this, I’d shrink away from trauma like cooties. Oh isn’t that terrible and get me outta here was pretty much my instinctual response to anyone pinned to the concrete under an anvil. Not that I didn’t care, or wouldn’t listen, or wasn’t moved. I was simply clueless and oblivious, and preferred to stay that way.
To a point, we all saunter through life like doo de doo and lah di dah until an explosion blows the blinders off our eyes and we realize that all along, we’ve been sauntering along the edge of a precipice.
Then, we can hardly move one foot in front of the other. We whimper with backs pressed against the wall, the one misstep that will send us to our doom playing over and over again in our heads. From time to time the pathway narrows so that our toes hang off the edge, and we are paralyzed.
For some of us, that explosion is the slipping of an embryo, the loss not of a formed being but the potential of one. We can now see the precipice and we tremble and wail for intervention, for our blinders.
For others, that explosion is the NICU. Or the death of a six-week-old son or two-year-old daughter or fourteen-year-old son or thirty-five year-old wife, or any other number of unfair events that give us sudden vertigo.
Despair comes in two flavours, did you know? There’s the ever-popular Rage, the anger that makes you want to rip the heads off anyone and everyone you meet. Then there’s Self-Pity, the woe-is-me that’s even more crippling than the rage.
Standing there peering through the window of someone else’s trauma, you whine friggin’ lightweight. This person thinks they’ve got it bad, but THEY DON’T KNOW BAD. They haven’t had a baby die.
But here’s what you don’t know. Someone else is peering through your window, whining friggin’ lightweight. This person thinks they’ve got it bad, but THEY DON’T KNOW BAD. They haven’t - insert imperssively horrific event here-.
The thing I love about her honesty in this post is that she openly admits we all have difficult burdens to carry. And we can't compare them. I recognized that every single person will feel disappointment, sadness, loneliness and grief at one point or another in their life. I hope that I will be able to "mourn with those that mourn" more effectively now. . . Gavin has changed so much about me. Knowledge of eternity brings more comfort that I think I am able to comprehend - but living on earth without him is excruciating. I am grateful for my blessings. I am grateful for my eternal family. However, a mother and father still suffer when their 94 day old son dies. I know this is part of the plan, but it hurts and I know that others hurt too because of one reason or another. I read a quote the other day that said, "If life hurts, then you are growing." I don't think it means we have to be in agony all of the time - I do think that we are intended to have joy, but agony is an earthly emotion that we have to know. Every single person will feel grief for on reason or another - and then they will grow. I know I never was promised a perfect life, but I was promised that my trials would be met with blessings. I do believe there will be an end to sorrow and there will be a time where we will all feel nothing but peace and joy.
So, I guess what I am trying to say is that this is my truth for the day. Brutally honest as it may be . . . it's the way I feel today.