We knew it was coming, cleaning out our mother's house. It was a "someday" thing my mom would laugh about. She said, "oh, you'll have so much fun someday," knowing how large the job would be. I don't think SHE even knew how large the job would be.
My sister had the idea to have a yard sale, an "estate" sale. I've organized and had many through the years and knew this would take weeks to pull off. So, starting weeks ahead of a chosen date for the sale, I started pulling everything out of cupboards and closets. Just the amount of glass items was staggering but the number of sweatshirts, sweaters, coats and shirts was astonishing. Each nook and cranny, room, closet, cupboard, basement and shelf was filled to over brimming with items.
Two women from Salt Lake vintage stores came and bought many vintage clothing pieces before the sale. I was glad these cool clothing pieces would have new homes with lots of different people!
We had planned to have the estate sale at the end of August but soon realized we would not be ready. We moved it to the first weekend in September, Labor Day weekend. We knew we would lose some people to vacations that weekend but we needed to do it. We chose to have a two-day sale on Friday and Saturday. It took many hours and many days leading up to that Friday to get things ready. I spent the day Thursday at mom's getting tables set up. We borrowed tables from Karla Wheeler and SueMarie Lamaker, used about five from mom's house, used several Amy had in the barn and I took my huge tables and all my card tables. I think we had about 16 tables set up. I put tablecloths on most of them to make them look nice. We didn't want people to have to look at anything on the ground. I borrowed ladders and pipes from Paris Ruffell next door to set up long clothing racks. We also used mom's and Amy's clothing racks and an armoire. They were jam packed with clothing.
The whole front lawn was used and it was set up like a boutique with similar items grouped together in rows of tables. There was a table of flamingo items, one of all sunflower items, one with Americana - red, white and blue things, one with 2002 Olympic things, one with Coco-Cola paraphernalia. One held all kitchen items - plastic things, decor, utensils, pans and more. One table had all clear glass items. Another had all vintage colored glass. Several huge tables held more than 300 sweatshirts (I quit counting at 300). The racks held shirts, sweaters, jackets, coats, skirts, pants, etc. We used a long horizontal ladder with boards on it to display blankets, sheets, pillows, stuffed animals and linens. One table had holiday items - Halloween, Valentines, Easter and Thanksgiving. We had decided not to put any Christmas things out because we didn't have time to go through all of them. There were stacks of record albums on the front porch - more than 100. We set up the bookshelf from the TV room to hold books.
We pulled furniture out to sell - mom's couch and matching chair, her twin bed, the stereo, end tables, etc.
I had advertised the sale on KSL and Facebook and we put Jan's truck down on main with a poster on it. I got dollar bills and quarters from the bank for change. I took food for us while we stayed since we were going to have to spend the days and nights there. Riley has been wonderful and supportive throughout our marriage of me having to spend many nights at mom's house and this was no different - he stayed alone in Provo while we spent that time in Springville but also came and helped when we needed it.
Jan and I slept under the stars the first night. I slept on the twin bed and Jan slept on the couch. We went to bed late - 2 a.m. and talked for a while, laughing and reveling in what we were about to do. But we were so tired. I awoke at 5:20 a.m. and got up to get going for the day. She soon followed. We had put in our ads "no early birds" but people came at 7 a.m. as we were still putting things out. We were selling items before 8 a.m., the real start time. Hundreds of people came! We had about a 5-minute respite during the day and people continued to come even after dark. We had floodlights set up for us to work (not for people to look) but people came and we sold things anyway. We made $1,400 that day! We were astounded! We had sold the furniture and many other items at prices that were sometimes a little higher than you'd see at a yard sale. But since the volume of stuff was still so high, we lowered prices on Saturday. We spent hours Friday evening and into the wee hours of the morning finding more stuff to put out. We only slept a few hours than night too, still under the stars. We made $600 more on Saturday. Amy and Todd also made about $600 on things they sold.
Amy and Wolf were there both days. Amy brought us breakfast each morning. Andrea came on Saturday to help. A friend, Cynthia Hinkson, brought us many snacks and drinks.
We had fun. Many old friends of mom's and ours came by. We reminisced about the house and the time spent there. We gave armloads of clothing to friends, insisting mom would not charge them for her things. Tears were shed and hugs given. A picture of our mom was taped up out front for all to see, a photo from her years in the JayCees that a neighbor brought by. Some friends who came by: Kirk Roberts, JoEll and Paula Swenson, AnnaDale, Dawn and Rusty Wheeler, Marty Twelves, Pat Porter, SueMarie, Paris and Karla (all neighbors), Robert Carter and his wife, LeeAnn Gabbitas, Cynthia Hinkson, Chris Kelly and his family (the plumber who has worked on mom's house and yard), Jeff Carter, Cyle Cope, Adam and Holly Beck (who lived in our ward but bought the house across the street from mom's. Adam helped move big items outside), Callie and Brigham McKay, Alison and Penny Parker, Desi Parker and Gena Roe (who helped me load things to take to DI at the end of the sale). Good, good friends. I've probably forgotten to write some down. Paul and Kathy and their family came too - they had just returned from Africa. All the great grandkids got to pick what they wanted. The grandsons and granddaughters did too - all gifts from grandma.
At the end of the day on Saturday we were completely exhausted but knew we had to continue the sale the following weekend. There was just too much stuff. So we did it all again. We worked all afternoon on Friday to set it up again. Jan and I slept on the dining room floor that Friday night. It was getting chilly outside. We talked and laughed as we laid there and I pointed out we had probably slept in every room in the house except the kitchen and the laundry room and two bathrooms. I know I've slept in my old room, my sister's room, my brother's room (caretaker's room), my mom and dad's old room upstairs, the TV room/mom's room (the past five years), the pink bathroom (laying on the floor by the heater vent when I was sick), the living room (sleeping in front of the fireplace after coming home from skiing) and now, the dining room where the dining table used to be. It was good to be with my sister. We've gotten closer through all of this ordeal.
Before the sale I moved many 50 cent and dollar marked items to the front sidewalk and put a big FREE sign there. One man asked if there was a limit on what he could take. We told him he could take what he wanted. We put clothes and shoes there too. It was practically all gone at the end of the day.
We made another $500 that Saturday, practically giving things away for $1 or free. All told, we made $2,500 to put into mom's account. This estate sale was bittersweet. It was hard to see all of mom's things laid out on tables with sale tags on them rather than in the house where they were so familiar to us. It was sad to let some things go, like the stereo that we played records on as teenagers, but a young man was thrilled to buy it and about 50 albums. It was the right thing to do. Mom's life is coming to an end. She has what she needs in material things and care at the care center. More importantly, she is loved. You don't need shirts and colored glass to help you survive, endure and enjoy this earth life - you need love. And that is never ending.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Sunday, September 27, 2015
My Mother's Last Days - Sept. 27, 2015
It's surprising my mother is still here on earth. It seems as though she should have passed weeks ago, her body is tiny. She barely eats. Her clarity of mind only frequents us on occasion. Yet she persists. I wonder if there is a goal she subconsciously has, like living until Oct. 1 - her wedding day. Or knowing her children are all right with each other. Or is it just a battle she'd rather not wager - her spirit is ready to go but her body isn't. Death is a curious thing. It isn't convenient but has to be entertained when it arrives.
Life is about change. We tumble through childhood, rush adulthood way too soon as teens, then spend the rest of our lives making our way as spiritual beings having a human existence. Sometimes bodies leave earth in nearly perfect states - like my niece Stacie and my friend Dave Henson. Other times bodies are crippled and broken or have worn out like the aged. All involve change at all seasons of life. We grow from tiny babies to adults. We gain and lose weight, hair and sanity. We reach peaks of human ability then start the slow decline from those peaks. Change is constant and good if we are changing for the better.
We are moving through this life to get to the next. Some get there faster than others. Some languish, like my mom, but eventually get there. What is on the other side of the veil? Is there sadness in heaven? Do we look back at earth and mourn the loss of that period of time in our eternal journey? Or are we glad it's over and we see with new spiritual eyes, the glory that lies ahead? The joy ahead must be staggering.
Are we busy helping those still on earth and if so, how are we helping them? Do we whisper in their ears or appear in their dreams to urge them to do all that is required for good? Who is whispering in my mom's ears? She has mentioned my dad and her parents, her brother and her friend Paula in the past few months. Are they taking a break from heavenly duties to usher my mom through this difficult time? They must know the day of her departure. They must know the reasons she is still here.
I seek comfort from a loving Heavenly Father. I pray for patience and to be prepared when the day comes my mother will take her final breath. I've said goodbyes. I've held her and sobbed out my love to her. I want better for her than what she has right now - she deserves to be free from this earthly body, to walk and see again. To laugh again! She has been my best friend for 55 years. She will be my mother throughout eternity as I am sealed to her and my dad. I miss her already but I know when she's truly gone, I will feel a void like no other. Yet my faith in Jesus Christ and His gospel will fill that void. I have that sure, comforting knowledge and it heals my wounded heart.
Life is about change. We tumble through childhood, rush adulthood way too soon as teens, then spend the rest of our lives making our way as spiritual beings having a human existence. Sometimes bodies leave earth in nearly perfect states - like my niece Stacie and my friend Dave Henson. Other times bodies are crippled and broken or have worn out like the aged. All involve change at all seasons of life. We grow from tiny babies to adults. We gain and lose weight, hair and sanity. We reach peaks of human ability then start the slow decline from those peaks. Change is constant and good if we are changing for the better.
We are moving through this life to get to the next. Some get there faster than others. Some languish, like my mom, but eventually get there. What is on the other side of the veil? Is there sadness in heaven? Do we look back at earth and mourn the loss of that period of time in our eternal journey? Or are we glad it's over and we see with new spiritual eyes, the glory that lies ahead? The joy ahead must be staggering.
Are we busy helping those still on earth and if so, how are we helping them? Do we whisper in their ears or appear in their dreams to urge them to do all that is required for good? Who is whispering in my mom's ears? She has mentioned my dad and her parents, her brother and her friend Paula in the past few months. Are they taking a break from heavenly duties to usher my mom through this difficult time? They must know the day of her departure. They must know the reasons she is still here.
I seek comfort from a loving Heavenly Father. I pray for patience and to be prepared when the day comes my mother will take her final breath. I've said goodbyes. I've held her and sobbed out my love to her. I want better for her than what she has right now - she deserves to be free from this earthly body, to walk and see again. To laugh again! She has been my best friend for 55 years. She will be my mother throughout eternity as I am sealed to her and my dad. I miss her already but I know when she's truly gone, I will feel a void like no other. Yet my faith in Jesus Christ and His gospel will fill that void. I have that sure, comforting knowledge and it heals my wounded heart.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
My Mother's Last Days - August 12, 2015
I hold my mom's hands. They are warm with blood still coursing through them. I watch for her heartbeat, it softly shows through her thin sweater. She has been alive in her body for 86 years and nearly three months. She has used her body for good: serving, loving, teaching, supporting. I imagine the time when my mother's heart will stop and her hands will grow cold. I'm afraid for that time. I can replay videos of her laughing, talking, vibrant with life. I can remember holding her in big hugs or kissing her on her forehead. But once she's gone I will not be able to touch her again. I can't capture that, as hard as I try.
Her smell will remain on her clothing, the fragrance "Beautiful" was hers and always will be. I'll buy a bottle to remember. I will look at photos and listen to sound bytes. I will taste the foods she loved - corn on the cob, fudge, rice pudding. I can smell, see, hear and taste things to remember her. But I won't have her to touch. It makes me sad. I will miss my mother's touch. I look forward to the day when I pass through the veil and find my mother with open arms, ready to give me the hug I'll want for the rest of my life.
Her smell will remain on her clothing, the fragrance "Beautiful" was hers and always will be. I'll buy a bottle to remember. I will look at photos and listen to sound bytes. I will taste the foods she loved - corn on the cob, fudge, rice pudding. I can smell, see, hear and taste things to remember her. But I won't have her to touch. It makes me sad. I will miss my mother's touch. I look forward to the day when I pass through the veil and find my mother with open arms, ready to give me the hug I'll want for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
My Mother's Last Days, August 9, 2015
I haven't written for a few weeks. I went to girls' camp and got out of the habit. My mom is in my thoughts every day though.
Yesterday I was at her house in Springville. Amy and Wolf were there and we were continuing the job of moving everything out of closets and rooms to one main area where we can sort and get things ready to sell. I washed a zillion pieces of glass. Amy stacked a zillion sweatshirts and sweaters into various piles. My mom liked things and yet she nurtured relationships. I know relationships trumps things, hands down, in my mom's book.
Wolf got tired and needed to be rocked. There isn't a rocking chair in the house so I went to the front porch and sat in my mom's blue rocking chair where I'd sat many times over the years. I rocked a baby boy and sang to him. As I gazed out over the yard and the big tree I began to cry. This little boy won't know his wonderful great-grandma. He won't get to run through the yard or climb the big tree we all climbed as kids. He won't get to run through the screen door, hearing it bang behind him like we did. My heart aches for the loss of my mother and she's still here. The house isn't the same without her and yet it holds so many memories and so much promise for the next family who will live there. I wish it could be us or one of our kids but it can't. We have to let it go. We have to let my mom go. We can hang on to memories and make new ones, different ones that don't involve a big tree or a blue rocker. It will be hard but Heavenly Father is helping every step of the way.
Yesterday I was at her house in Springville. Amy and Wolf were there and we were continuing the job of moving everything out of closets and rooms to one main area where we can sort and get things ready to sell. I washed a zillion pieces of glass. Amy stacked a zillion sweatshirts and sweaters into various piles. My mom liked things and yet she nurtured relationships. I know relationships trumps things, hands down, in my mom's book.
Wolf got tired and needed to be rocked. There isn't a rocking chair in the house so I went to the front porch and sat in my mom's blue rocking chair where I'd sat many times over the years. I rocked a baby boy and sang to him. As I gazed out over the yard and the big tree I began to cry. This little boy won't know his wonderful great-grandma. He won't get to run through the yard or climb the big tree we all climbed as kids. He won't get to run through the screen door, hearing it bang behind him like we did. My heart aches for the loss of my mother and she's still here. The house isn't the same without her and yet it holds so many memories and so much promise for the next family who will live there. I wish it could be us or one of our kids but it can't. We have to let it go. We have to let my mom go. We can hang on to memories and make new ones, different ones that don't involve a big tree or a blue rocker. It will be hard but Heavenly Father is helping every step of the way.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
My Mother's Last Days - July 21, 2015
I won't be able to write for the next few days. I'm headed to girls' camp and technology is banned, happily by leaders, not so happily by the girls. I couldn't get a signal anyway - Camp Shalom is 10,000 feet and coverage is poor for cell companies. So it's easy to be obedient and I want to focus on my girls anyway.
My mother continues to decline. She moans incessantly and makes little sense when she speaks. She's talked of her parents being dead, of my dad dying, of a baby boy being born dead, of frogs, fire engines and how she'd be better off dead which is really the only sensible (in that it makes sense, not that I agree) thing she says besides "I love you." She gets agitated easily and the volume of her moaning rises if you try to adjust her head or feet or make other changes. I've heard her moans as I've stepped in the front door of the care center and mom's door was closed. Her room is quite far from the front door.
One aide gave her lorazepam and morphine on top of each other last weekend. It knocked my mom out and the aide achieved her goal - to have my mom be quiet. We complained and she was removed from med tech duty and banned from my mother's room. My mom continues to moan. There is a man who lives at the care center. He moves about in a motorized wheelchair. He eats his meals alone. I'm not sure of his ailment but he can speak slowly and be understood. One day this week he heard my mom moaning and he took a stuffed bear to her. I thanked him today for it. He slowly explained he heard her crying out a lot. He wanted to help.
Some people help by being tender and patient, holding her hand and telling her it will be alright. It sometimes soothes my mom but most often she remains agitated until she is given some authorized meds. I don't understand her moaning. I get frustrated and wonder why it doesn't bother her to listen to it go on and on. Does it help her to moan? Is it a comfort to her? The Latin meaning of dementia is "to depart one's mind." I know her mind is still there. She sometimes talks to us like she used to, even joking at very rare times. But what is it that descends over her mind to disconnect thoughts, blanket with a fog or trigger moaning? I hate dementia. It's one of the most unfair, awful, frustrating diseases humans have to endure. And I don't understand how and why my mom was targeted. We have longevity on both sides of the family - people who lived to be over 100 and they were coherent to the end. Why does my mom have to suffer this horrible end to her wonderful life? Perhaps we'll know when we move through the veil to the other side. I know she'll be happy to find out once she gets there. It will be sooner than later, of that I'm sure.
My mother continues to decline. She moans incessantly and makes little sense when she speaks. She's talked of her parents being dead, of my dad dying, of a baby boy being born dead, of frogs, fire engines and how she'd be better off dead which is really the only sensible (in that it makes sense, not that I agree) thing she says besides "I love you." She gets agitated easily and the volume of her moaning rises if you try to adjust her head or feet or make other changes. I've heard her moans as I've stepped in the front door of the care center and mom's door was closed. Her room is quite far from the front door.
One aide gave her lorazepam and morphine on top of each other last weekend. It knocked my mom out and the aide achieved her goal - to have my mom be quiet. We complained and she was removed from med tech duty and banned from my mother's room. My mom continues to moan. There is a man who lives at the care center. He moves about in a motorized wheelchair. He eats his meals alone. I'm not sure of his ailment but he can speak slowly and be understood. One day this week he heard my mom moaning and he took a stuffed bear to her. I thanked him today for it. He slowly explained he heard her crying out a lot. He wanted to help.
Some people help by being tender and patient, holding her hand and telling her it will be alright. It sometimes soothes my mom but most often she remains agitated until she is given some authorized meds. I don't understand her moaning. I get frustrated and wonder why it doesn't bother her to listen to it go on and on. Does it help her to moan? Is it a comfort to her? The Latin meaning of dementia is "to depart one's mind." I know her mind is still there. She sometimes talks to us like she used to, even joking at very rare times. But what is it that descends over her mind to disconnect thoughts, blanket with a fog or trigger moaning? I hate dementia. It's one of the most unfair, awful, frustrating diseases humans have to endure. And I don't understand how and why my mom was targeted. We have longevity on both sides of the family - people who lived to be over 100 and they were coherent to the end. Why does my mom have to suffer this horrible end to her wonderful life? Perhaps we'll know when we move through the veil to the other side. I know she'll be happy to find out once she gets there. It will be sooner than later, of that I'm sure.
Monday, July 20, 2015
My Mother's Last Days - July 20, 2015
My mom got mad at me once, sort of. Other than this one contrived instance, I don't remember my mom ever getting mad at me. I'm sure she got frustrated, especially when we were little, doing naughty things like painting the fireplace with peanut butter and chocolate powder. But there was never true anger. I love that so much - that I have gone through 55 years of life knowing my mother never showed anger towards me.
So the one instance happened in about 1977. My friend Lisa Robertson and I were inseparable. And we were boy crazy. In the summer we slept over at her house or mine, nearly every night. We decided to sleep at my house one night for reasons of proximity. We usually slept in the yard somewhere; it was too hot to sleep in the house. The night we chose was a watering night meaning my parents had their watering turn where water came down the ditch and they got to dam it off to flood the lawns and garden. We decided to sleep on the front porch, something we'd never done. And we had a plan to meet some boys. Lisa was interested in Tracy and I like Kelly. They were "older men" - friends who lived east a few blocks, hence our choice for my house. We fluffed up our sleeping bags to look like we were in them and took off, walking to Tracy's. We found them on Tracy's front lawn waiting and sat down to talk. Really, we were only talking. I don't think we were there very long when my mother pulled up in my dad's truck, rolled down the window and very slowly said, "Get ... In ... This ... Truck." We were mortified, jumped to our feet and got in the truck. I'm sure we were apologizing all the way back to our house. I don't remember where or if we slept. Lisa was so worried my mom would tell her parents and they'd kill her.
The next day my mom was making apricot jam. She had two beholden slaves. We peeled and pitted apricots for hours, Lisa whispering, "she's not going to tell my parents, is she?" My mother acted angry. She was silent which was not her usual self. She was usually vibrant, happy, chatty, laughing. But she was getting mileage out of these two wayward teens who she saved from, I'm sure, utter destruction.
She told me, maybe years later, that she wasn't angry but had to appear angry in the situation. It also didn't hurt to keep it going the next day because she got so much work out of us.
I am grateful my mom never truly found a reason to get angry at me. I did do some stupid things as a child and even more as a teen but she always showed patience and calmness toward me, even in trying situations. She talked things out rather than blowing up. I'm sure she prayed for guidance at times. We became best friends early on in my life. Best friends don't hurt each other. It's not even a matter not trying to hurt someone; when you love deeply it comes easily to treat someone well. She loves deeply. I love her deeply and always will.
So the one instance happened in about 1977. My friend Lisa Robertson and I were inseparable. And we were boy crazy. In the summer we slept over at her house or mine, nearly every night. We decided to sleep at my house one night for reasons of proximity. We usually slept in the yard somewhere; it was too hot to sleep in the house. The night we chose was a watering night meaning my parents had their watering turn where water came down the ditch and they got to dam it off to flood the lawns and garden. We decided to sleep on the front porch, something we'd never done. And we had a plan to meet some boys. Lisa was interested in Tracy and I like Kelly. They were "older men" - friends who lived east a few blocks, hence our choice for my house. We fluffed up our sleeping bags to look like we were in them and took off, walking to Tracy's. We found them on Tracy's front lawn waiting and sat down to talk. Really, we were only talking. I don't think we were there very long when my mother pulled up in my dad's truck, rolled down the window and very slowly said, "Get ... In ... This ... Truck." We were mortified, jumped to our feet and got in the truck. I'm sure we were apologizing all the way back to our house. I don't remember where or if we slept. Lisa was so worried my mom would tell her parents and they'd kill her.
The next day my mom was making apricot jam. She had two beholden slaves. We peeled and pitted apricots for hours, Lisa whispering, "she's not going to tell my parents, is she?" My mother acted angry. She was silent which was not her usual self. She was usually vibrant, happy, chatty, laughing. But she was getting mileage out of these two wayward teens who she saved from, I'm sure, utter destruction.
She told me, maybe years later, that she wasn't angry but had to appear angry in the situation. It also didn't hurt to keep it going the next day because she got so much work out of us.
I am grateful my mom never truly found a reason to get angry at me. I did do some stupid things as a child and even more as a teen but she always showed patience and calmness toward me, even in trying situations. She talked things out rather than blowing up. I'm sure she prayed for guidance at times. We became best friends early on in my life. Best friends don't hurt each other. It's not even a matter not trying to hurt someone; when you love deeply it comes easily to treat someone well. She loves deeply. I love her deeply and always will.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
My Mother's Last Days - July 19, 2015
I didn't write yesterday. Life pushes and pulls me from a million different directions and time slipped away before I got a chance to write.
Being Sunday, I want to reflect on my mom's activity in the church, her love of the Savior and her testimony. As with some people in the church, my mom went through stages of activity in the gospel throughout her life. My mom and dad were married in the Salt Lake Temple on Oct. 1, 1947. My mom was 18; dad was 19 - a young, madly-in-love couple. They chose to be sealed for time and all eternity so I know it was important to them on some level.
My siblings have memories of my parents not going to church in their early years. I know Kelly and I were blessed when we were babies - there are pictures of that day. My memories of church go as far back as I can remember. We went to Jr. Sunday School in the basement of the 8th ward church in Springville. There were wooden pews and the sacrament was passed. The chapel had a loft with stairs to it. You could go upstairs if the main floor was crowded with worshipers. I remember being baptized by my brother Paul and confirmed the next day by my dad in sacrament meeting.
My mother served as mutual president when Kelly and I were little. I remember her telling me she asked to be released because having twins was just too demanding. But she told stories of going to girls' camp at Timp Lodge behind Timpanogos and Gold and Green Balls, church bazaars where ladies crocheted, knitted and baked to raise money for the church budget, I think. So I know she was involved in church activities and my memories are that we were a family who went to church.
I'm not sure how much my mom and dad went to the temple in the first 20 years of their marriage but they did go with my brothers as each received their endowment in the temple prior to their missions and I prepared for marriage. They attended sealings of children and grandchildren in various temples. I saw my father and mother become more active in the gospel, accepting a calling to do proxy sealings weekly in the Provo Temple.
In mom's later years she received her patriarchal blessing and she loved to go to the temple. She is a big advocate of prayer. I sometimes think she has a straight link to Heavenly Father; that he listens and answers her fervent prayers. I've heard her pray for long periods of time in a meaningful, non-repetitive way. I know He hears her.
Mom has shared her testimony with me. She believes in God and His son Jesus Christ. She loves the gospel of Jesus Christ. She has spoken of Joseph Smith and his role in the restoration of the gospel. She has been a wonderful supporter of missionaries, sending money to each grandchild who served a mission. Without even saying a word, I know my mother lives and loves the gospel. She is the epitome of Christlike love, sacrifice, forgiveness and kindness. She has turned the other cheek many times and has been blessed for it.
Mom wanted to die with a current temple recommend. That will happen, thanks to a wonderful bishop and stake president who renewed it last fall by going to visit her rather than her going to them.
I'm grateful for my mom and her love of the gospel. We joke she has earned sainthood because of her dealings in this life. I believe she will be exalted and that she is one of God's chosen daughters. I can't wait to spend eternity loving the mother I loved on earth.
Being Sunday, I want to reflect on my mom's activity in the church, her love of the Savior and her testimony. As with some people in the church, my mom went through stages of activity in the gospel throughout her life. My mom and dad were married in the Salt Lake Temple on Oct. 1, 1947. My mom was 18; dad was 19 - a young, madly-in-love couple. They chose to be sealed for time and all eternity so I know it was important to them on some level.
My siblings have memories of my parents not going to church in their early years. I know Kelly and I were blessed when we were babies - there are pictures of that day. My memories of church go as far back as I can remember. We went to Jr. Sunday School in the basement of the 8th ward church in Springville. There were wooden pews and the sacrament was passed. The chapel had a loft with stairs to it. You could go upstairs if the main floor was crowded with worshipers. I remember being baptized by my brother Paul and confirmed the next day by my dad in sacrament meeting.
My mother served as mutual president when Kelly and I were little. I remember her telling me she asked to be released because having twins was just too demanding. But she told stories of going to girls' camp at Timp Lodge behind Timpanogos and Gold and Green Balls, church bazaars where ladies crocheted, knitted and baked to raise money for the church budget, I think. So I know she was involved in church activities and my memories are that we were a family who went to church.
I'm not sure how much my mom and dad went to the temple in the first 20 years of their marriage but they did go with my brothers as each received their endowment in the temple prior to their missions and I prepared for marriage. They attended sealings of children and grandchildren in various temples. I saw my father and mother become more active in the gospel, accepting a calling to do proxy sealings weekly in the Provo Temple.
In mom's later years she received her patriarchal blessing and she loved to go to the temple. She is a big advocate of prayer. I sometimes think she has a straight link to Heavenly Father; that he listens and answers her fervent prayers. I've heard her pray for long periods of time in a meaningful, non-repetitive way. I know He hears her.
Mom has shared her testimony with me. She believes in God and His son Jesus Christ. She loves the gospel of Jesus Christ. She has spoken of Joseph Smith and his role in the restoration of the gospel. She has been a wonderful supporter of missionaries, sending money to each grandchild who served a mission. Without even saying a word, I know my mother lives and loves the gospel. She is the epitome of Christlike love, sacrifice, forgiveness and kindness. She has turned the other cheek many times and has been blessed for it.
Mom wanted to die with a current temple recommend. That will happen, thanks to a wonderful bishop and stake president who renewed it last fall by going to visit her rather than her going to them.
I'm grateful for my mom and her love of the gospel. We joke she has earned sainthood because of her dealings in this life. I believe she will be exalted and that she is one of God's chosen daughters. I can't wait to spend eternity loving the mother I loved on earth.
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