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| April 2021 Conference |
It's Conference weekend, and it was strange this year, kinda like everything is lately, since you left.
I look at other pictures, back through the years, and so many times we had blankets spread all over the carpet to protect it from sticky finger and greasy popcorn. The room was (relatively) crowded. This year it was pretty much Daddy, Michael and me, plus sometimes the dogs. No blankets, no Conference bingo, no wheelchair, no beeping...
It was hard to pay attention, somehow. I kept going back in time to when I would get up during the intermediary hymn to get your food, or do your treatments, or whatever.
Or the several times we were in the hospital, in the PICU, and I would miss talks because it was time for rounds, or specialist visits or, I don't know, something...
I need to get back to the temple. I haven't been since the day we dressed you, and for so long before I didn't dare go anywhere I had to turn off my phone. I need that comfort, that guidance.
This new freedom still seems strange.
This week is concert week for Westlake ballroom so I'll go by and pick up Linnaea on Tuesday and Thursday, and she'll hang out with me on Wednesday because I don't work that day. Deborah said she'd try to pay attention to her phone so I didn't have to come in, and I reminded her that I don't have to get home to sign anyone out...
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| April 2011 Conference |
Aaron, I didn't think I really had any "what ifs" regarding you. When you left, I took it on faith that it went the way it was supposed to go. But lately, they've plagued me. So I cling to the promise that you would be here until your mission was fulfilled. I have to. And I'm working on changing those "what ifs" to "even ifs".
I'm trying, really I am. And sometimes I do okay, maybe even good. But then it seems to bubble up again and I'm just, well, something...
Here's what I wrote while I was trying to listen and take notes today:
This is hard, my whole body hurts (probably from sitting on the couch all day yesterday). It seems weird to not be needing to do so many things for you in between conference sessions, or even during. This is the 26th conference since you were born and it is the first time you're not here. I feel sluggish. I try to listen but am distracted. I just want to crawl back in bed. But I'm trying, I'm listening, trying to be where I can to recieve help.
A couple things that stood out to me were that He knows me, knows my pain, and wants to bless me. Miracles have not ceased and there are angels among us (are you one of them?). And by consistent effort, even slow effort, I can maintain momentum and not be completely at the mercy of the waves that seek to pull me under.
So I will. I will keep trying. And I will keep acknowledging when it's hard, 'cause it is hard! Those feelings are important, and I believe that my grief is due to my love for you. But while it will not "go away", I can grow in it and through it and around it. So I'll keep moving forward.
I mean, what other choice really is there?
"When we trust God and His love for us,
even our greatest heartbreaks can in the end work together for our good."
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