Turning

For the last 2+ years I feel like I've only been going through the motions of believing the gospel. I've gone to church, said my prayers and been decent at reading the scriptures. I've read and prayed with my kids, fulfilled my church callings and participated in church meetings. I've shared head knowledge, or what I once firmly believed, but felt like a fake even as I shared. But something has been missing, and I'm pretty sure it's been the Spirit.

When Mom decided to go on hospice care I unknowingly started to sever my ties to deity. When she died I tried to turn to God, but couldn't. I tried to take comfort in temple covenants, but the hurt was too new, too raw, and I was too angry.

The anger and raw pain have subsided over the last 2 years, leaving a dull ache that flares up at times, but I still haven't repaired my severed relationship with God. Over the last few months I've felt a gentle pull to turn to Him, but not until last night could I identify my feelings.

Stephen and I went to the adult session of stake conference, where 2 speakers told their conversion stories, then others spoke on repentance. They were nice talks, but I didn't let them get through to me. Finally, our stake president spoke. He quoted President Uchtdorf's April 2016 talk about the Good Shepherd.

"What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?

"And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing."

I felt at that moment that, right now, I am the one lost. What a realization!

"Our Savior, the Good Shepherd, knows and loves us. He knows and loves you.

"He knows when you are lost, and He knows where you are. He knows your grief. Your silent pleadings. Your fears. Your tears."

"It matters not how you became lost--whether because of your own poor choices or because of circumstances beyond your control.

"What matters is that you are His child. and He loves you. He loves His children."

Now that I know I'm lost, I have a very important choice to make. Do I want to be found? Or do I want to keep floundering on my own? I haven't enjoyed just going through the motions without feeling connected to my Savior, but have kept going on my own anyhow. I'm no longer angry, just lonely and sad. I think I have the broken heart necessary to humble myself...but where do I even start?

I read the rest of President Uchtdorf's talk this morning, and thankfully, he had some insights for me.

"'Turn...to me.'

"'Come unto me.'

"'Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you.'

"This is how we show Him that we want to be rescued.

"It requires a little faith. But do not despair. If you cannot muster faith right now, begin with hope.

"If you cannot say you know God is there, you can hope that He is. You can desire to believe. That is enough to start.

"Then, acting on that hope, reach out to Heavenly Father. God will extend His love toward you, and His work of rescue and transformation will begin.

"Over time, you will recognize His hand in your life. You will feel His love. And the desire to walk in His light and follow His way will grow with every step of faith you take."

I really enjoyed our stake conference today--the first time I've really enjoyed a church meeting in a long time. I think it was because I'm finally receptive to feeling the Spirit. It's been a long time that I just haven't wanted to feel anything--to open myself up to feeling God's love--even though it's what I've needed...and known that I've needed. I just haven't wanted it enough to open myself up. But I think I am ready now. 

"You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt. But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.

"He will rescue you.

"He will lift you up and place you on His shoulders.

"He will carry you home.

"...we can have confidence and trust that our loving Heavenly Father can and will rebuild us. His plan is to build us into something far greater than what we were--far greater than what we can ever imagine."

Well, here I go...turning to the Savior and trusting--hoping--his promises are sure. 

Easter Sunday

This morning I woke up crying. Thinking about what Christ's resurrection means to me brought on a barrage of emotions that I wasn't prepared for. Because He lives, I can be with my family forever--a thought which brings great happiness and peace to me. But that thought also reminds me that I am not with all of those that I love right now. And that thought brings me a sorrow that, even while I have hope and faith, makes the tears flow.

All morning long I debated whether or not I would go to church--I couldn't decide which would be worse, staying at home with too much time to think or hearing people's testimonies of how we can be together in eternity because of Christ's Atonement (because I'd just cry the whole time). As I walked down to take care of the chickens I had the thought that it would be just fine to stay home--there was no shame in taking time for myself.

So I sent everyone except Ruthie off to church, and decided that even though I'm sad, I'm still going to take care of myself--not just lounge around in my pjs all morning. Ruth was happily pushing a stool around the house, so I decided to sneak in a quick shower. No sooner than I got in than Ruth crawled into the bathroom, sat outside the shower and cried like her heart was breaking. For the whole. Shower.

It got me thinking--all that was separating us was a shower curtain. But Ruthie couldn't see me or be with me, and that was all she wanted. She wanted me. Not the knowledge that I was so close. Not hearing my disembodied voice. She just wanted me--my physical presence, my hugs, my comfort.

Sad Ruthie!

I guess that's what I want today, too. My pain isn't overwhelming or incapacitating, but it is real and it is there. So I'm going to let myself feel it and embrace it today. And then I'll come out of it again--because of my hope and faith in my Savior. Because through Him I know I'll be with Mom again. I still hurt, but I also have hope.

Griefburst

For the last 8 weeks I've been attending a Hospice group for the bereaved. It has been absolutely wonderful for me. There are about 13 of us with 5 co-facilitators, and we have grown pretty close over the weeks. At first there were lots and lots of tears, and I kept my head down most of the time, but over the weeks of mourning together we have started laughing more--it has been a transformational experience for me.

Anyhow, we use a book called, "Understanding Your Grief: Ten Touchstones For Finding Hope and Healing Your Heart" by Alan Wolfelt. In it, the author talks about "griefbursts"--times when an uncontrollable sense of grief overcomes you, often out of the blue. Well, I had one today. What triggered it? My wonderful 13-year-old daughter acting like a 13-year-old. (Imagine that!)

Last night Elise went to a ballet performance and didn't get home until 10 p.m. At 10:30 I went down to check on everybody, and her light was still on. She had dance this morning beginning at 8:30, and when Elise doesn't get enough sleep she is (like her mother) grumpy. Sure enough, this afternoon while cleaning the house (our Thursday afternoon activity) she was tired and grumpy. And I was annoyed. Why hadn't she figured out (I've certainly reminder her enough times!) that she needs to get more sleep or she's ornery?!?

At that moment I remembered when I used to spend the night at Apryl's house and, inevitably, would be grumpy the next day. Mom would threaten no more sleep-overs if I couldn't be nice the day after, and I would think how unfair she was and that I certainly wasn't being grumpy, and why was everyone acting so awfully towards me?

And then the tears started. I just wanted to call Mom and tell her about Elise and ask for her advice. She'd laugh and laugh, and soon I'd be laughing, too, a little abashed that that is exactly how I used to act, but anxious for Mom to remind me how wonderful daughters are, even when they are 13 (or 35) and tired and grumpy and completely irrational.

There is no one quite like a mother. No one who knows your ins and outs and sadness and triumphs (because it's never bragging when you tell your mother!) and even when she doesn't agree with you, loves and trusts you.

Ruth's birth story (only a year late!) part 2

Well, as it turned out, I said goodbye to Mom before I said hello to Ruth. They had exactly 2 weeks together, almost to the minute. Mom passed away around 2 a.m. on Wednesday January 7th and Ruth was born at 12:47 a.m. on Wednesday January 21st.

Now for Ruth's story...

The due date I was given was January 15th, so the entire pregnancy I told people my due date was January 22nd--I have a pretty good track record of going at least a week over (lucky me!). I went to my appointment with the midwife on the 20th with nothing much to report. She stripped my membranes in the hope that that would speed things up. I was also told that once my contractions started or my water broke I needed to head to the birthing center immediately. Trevor's labor/delivery was 3 1/2 hours start to finish, so they wanted to be sure I delivered at the center and not stuck in traffic in the car. :)

Around 4 that afternoon I felt the little *pop* of my water breaking, so told Stephen this was it! I got a couple of good contractions--the familiar water-breaks-everything-intensifies feeling, but then they stopped. It was nothing like the other babies--really powerful and then...nothing. However, not wanting to be needing to get to the birth center in rush hour traffic, I called my midwife and told her we were on our way. My good friend Judy Larsen came over to watch the boys (Elise came with us), and away we went!

Nothing much was happening on the way to the birth center, and nothing much happened for a couple of hours. However, we lived too far away and were too uncertain about how fast the baby would come, so we just stuck around. In retrospect, I wish we would've stayed home for 6 more hours, but we just didn't know. Contractions started picking up, but they just weren't strong enough to bring Ruth low enough for the midwife to break my amniotic sac (later we figured that there was a tear at the top of the sac--so my water did break at 4 p.m., it just didn't do any good...).

So I rested when I could, walked stairs, did lunges, squatted while Tasha held my belly with a towel, did hip rolls, cat pose, walked with a swaying motion...anything to get Ruth in the right position to put pressure on my cervix and make it dilate. I moaned and groaned and just didn't progress. It was very, very disheartening. 9 p.m. came and went, 10, 11...I was getting to the point that I didn't think I could go on with all the pain and fatigue and seemingly insignificant progress.

Then Martha talked with me about using nitrous oxide and I said YES GIVE IT TO ME NOW. I think I started it around midnight, when I was pretty certain that I would have to go to the hospital so I could get an epidural. But then I figured I was probably too far along for an epidural anyhow, so I might as well tough it out. I don't think my inner dialogue was very helpful, but Tasha and Stephen were so good in reminding me to focus and think positively and be calm. Think about your beautiful baby in your arms. You are a strong, powerful mama. You CAN do this.

(I couldn't help but think of the story my mom told of giving birth to Trevor--when she got to the hospital they asked her to rate her pain and she cheerfully said "9". She proceeded to go through all of her breathing techniques...only to be told that she was dilated to a 4. That's when she knew it wasn't going to be as easy as she had thought...)

I remember being SO tired. I couldn't focus very well because of the fatigue. I just wanted to be holding my baby with no more effort on my part. Having the nitrous was helpful, if for no other reason than it made me focus on when a contraction was coming, how long it would last and when I could feel it receding. Sometime during the last hour Ruth was finally engaged enough that they broke my water.

Towards the end of all my birthing times I lose all sense of time. I couldn't tell you how long I didn't think I could do it or how long I was in the tub or how long I was on nitrous or how long I pushed. I remember finding a comfortable position in the tub but then being told I needed to shift so that they could get to the baby. You want me to do WHAT?!?! I WILL NOT MOVE! Somehow they got me positioned so they could get to the oncoming baby and whooooosh! She was born! I rolled over in the water, a little hazy from the fatigue and wonder of the moment, and as it turns out, the loss of blood.

The next 20...30...longer? minutes are a big blur. There was something about needing to get the cord cut quickly (usually they wait until it stops pulsing), Stephen stepping away and letting the midwives get to me, him taking the baby, them having me deliver the placenta (or was that on the bed?), getting me out of the tub, but I couldn't support my weight and was wonderingly looking at all the blood in the water and Tasha saying, "Look at me, Claire. Look at my eyes. Don't look at the water. Claire: focus on me." Somehow they got me to the bed, but something was wrong.

Stephen brought Ruth over to me, but I was too weak to hold her, so he just kept her near me. Elise was there and got to witness the birth, but in all the hustle and bustle to care for me she kept out of the way. I think Stephen gave Ruth to her so he could help with me. Martha was doing something to me down below, and it HURT. The nurse and Tasha were helping her and me...they gave me more nitrous to help manage the pain of pulling and opening and scraping, and then sewing me all up from the pretty serious tearing.

I was still so loopy--I couldn't focus on anything--but remember snuggling and nuzzling and nursing Ruth. Then blessed sleep! Ruth was in the middle of the bed and we slept and slept. Every so often the nurse would check our vitals, and then brought us fresh homemade bread with butter and honey. They were very anxious for me to eat--I think I gave them a pretty good scare, but everything is hazy in my memory.

Turns out that when I delivered the placenta not all of it came out, so that was what the opening and pulling was about--they didn't want me to die, so had to get it out, which is not comfortable. Stephen said that he stepped back--he could tell something was wrong so he just stayed out of the way. He and Elise had some pretty good bonding time with Ruth while I was out of it.

I think we went home around 6:30 a.m., straight to bed for me for 24 hours. The boys were beyond excited to meet Ruth. Stephen took a week off work, then his parents flew in for a week or so. A day after they left my sister-in-law came to help out for another week. I allowed myself to be taken care of (possibly the first time in my life), and focused on taking care of Ruth and letting myself heal--both from her birth and my mom's death. Turns out Ruth's birth recovery was my best yet!

Meeting Ruth Ann, just hours old!

Ruth was a little bit jaundiced, so spent some quality time in the sun

I was really worried that I would slip into postpartum depression after having Ruth--I've experienced baby blues, and was worried that that history in addition to my mom's passing would send me to a dark place. I even visited with a therapist before Ruth was born. But Ruth has been salve to my soul. She is sunshine on my dark days. A reason to laugh and smile. Far from bringing sadness and depression she has brought joy and light. When she was so tiny I loved watching her watch...nothing--I figured that Grandma and Mom were there, cooing and loving on her. I think they are still a huge part of her life--as they are in mine.

Ruth's birth story (only a year late!) part 1

Baby #6. Our little Ruth Ann.

Let me start 6 years ago, because that was when I knew that Ruth was going to be joining our family. I wrote about it a little bit in Lincoln's birth story, but it is really Ruth's story...

We had just moved to Provo and Stephen had started the MBA program at BYU. It was a Sunday afternoon; Stephen was upstairs playing with the 3 (at the time) kiddos and I was downstairs reading my scriptures. Out of nowhere I had the thought that there was a little girl named Ruth waiting to come to our family. Okay, good with that. Then another thought that she was going to be born naturally. Again, I can do that. Then that it didn't need to be immediately, just be thinking about it. Okay, can do. And then "you should go tell Stephen."

Over a year later Lincoln was born - most assuredly not a girl. Two years later, along comes Trevor - again, not a girl. And then this pregnancy. In the days leading up to the ultrasound I kept wondering if this was our Ruth. I was excited to be having a baby either way, honestly and truly, because I knew eventually we would get our little girl. As soon as we saw our baby was a girl, Stephen and I looked at each other and knew it was our Ruth.

But now I'm getting ahead of myself, because there was another happening before I got pregnant as well. It's kind of a silly one, but made all the difference to us! Ready? We bought a second car. Funny, right? We've always been a one-car family. For a little while when Stephen and I were dating we each had our own car, but that was it. Thirteen years of one car. And the thing holding us back from having another baby was our 7-seater minivan + a very small student stipend = can't afford a bigger car.

Then my grandpa sent a very generous Christmas present and Stephen said, "why don't we get a second car?" Aaaaaaaah! Lights from heaven! If we had a second car we wouldn't need to buy a bigger car! And that meant...another baby! So we found a car, offered the guy what Grandpa had given us, and away we drove!

There was just one more thing we had to plan for before getting pregnant: the Nutcracker Ballet. We couldn't have a baby until after the ballet in December since both Stephen I serve on the Board of Directors. But after the ballet we would be ready! Stephen would hopefully have a job lined up and we'd be a few short months away from an income again.

Anyhow, the first trimester of pregnancy was rough. Not really any different than the other pregnancies, only it lasted a little longer. I pulled out my super power during this time: the ability to fall asleep any time, anywhere. Like while reading to the kids or singing to Trevor at nap time or sitting in the car waiting for an activity to be over or working on spelling with the older kids. Things were great until about week 35, when I started realizing that being pregnant at age 34 is quite a bit different than being pregnant at 21.

At 32-33 weeks we all flew to Oregon for a final goodbye visit/family reunion with my mom. It was wonderful and awful and physically and emotionally draining. So worth it, but so hard as well.

One of the absolute best moments of the trip was being in the temple together - Dad was sick, but Mom, Stephen, all my brothers and their wives were able to do sealings together and then go visit the Celestial Room and sit and talk and cry. We all knew Mom was on her way out, so being reminded of our temple covenants was especially meaningful.

I was just over 35 weeks pregnant when we had Nutcracker...that was a long and tiring week! By the end of show day I could literally barely walk. A Christmas tree excursion, two concerts (I accompany Mason and Sammy's Boys' Choir), and a Christmas Day later, I could finally start thinking about the baby...

Mom's passing and today

My mom died on January 7, 2015, after fighting an aggressive ampulary cancer since February 2013. She tried diet change, chemo, alternative treatments. We all prayed and fasted and plead with the Lord. In fact, she said that if she was to die from the cancer it must be God's will, because there were too many faithful people praying for a miracle for her. And she believed in a God of miracles.

The last two years were filled with hope and then despair and then hope again. I call what I experienced anticipatory grieving, but tried to be hopeful and believe in miracles throughout. Sometimes I miserably failed, and it was hard to be optimistic like Mom was.

I talked with her the Saturday before she died. It was the last time she was coherent. She said she was just so tired, and ready to go. She didn't want any more pain and any more waiting. She was ready. She'd said her goodbyes and didn't want to keep saying them.

The next day she stopped talking, and Brett and Dad moved her to the hospital bed they'd set up in the office, by the window so that she could look out over the filberts. Brett said that they could tell she didn't want to be there, but they insisted it was time.

The kids and I skyped with her a couple of times on Monday; Trevor was there with her and joking around. Sometimes she would squeeze his hand and he'd tell us she liked what we were doing. She'd fall asleep while we were singing or talking, so Trev would call us back when she woke up. I called again on Tuesday, but by that point she was completely out of it.

She died about 2 a.m. Wednesday morning. Ruth was born at 12:47 a.m. two weeks later, another Wednesday. I think Mom was there with me the last little while, when I was pretty sure I couldn't have that baby.

I talked with Aunt Lisa (Mom's sister) in July, and learned some details I hadn't known before. Aunt Lisa had planned to come visit the weekend following Mom's passing, but moved up the date when Aunt Lori (another sister) told her it was probably now or never. Aunt Lisa said that was one of the best decisions she's ever made. She and Lori took turns sitting with Mom when Dad was resting, and they were both with her when she passed.

Aunt Lisa said it was so peaceful and reverent. One second she was there, the next she was gone. She just quietly slipped away.

I like to think that there were hundreds or maybe thousands of people waiting to greet her--from her mom, my beloved grandma, to her grandparents and great-grandparents to the myriads of people she discovered through family history and temple work. She served so many! I'll bet they were so happy and excited to meet her--I know she was excited to meet them!

I mourn for me. I mourn for my kids, who will never know their Grammy like I knew my grandma. I mourn the times we would have spent together, the babies I never got to see her meet. I mourn the time I thought we would have. I mourn no more phone calls and encouraging words. I mourn her laughing at my stories and getting me to see the humor in the situations. I mourn no more emails or visits. No more baby quilts or garage sale-ing. No more walks and talks. No more bouncing ideas off of her...

Dad gave me her scriptures and journals. I tried to open the journals a month or so ago, but just couldn't do it. I've managed to use her scriptures a few times--I hear her voice when I read her notes in the margins, and know she would be so excited for my calling of Gospel Doctrine teacher.

All the family was together at Thanksgiving, where Mom gave us each a copy of some things she'd put together--her testimony, things she wanted us to know and stories from her journals. I tried to read them then, honestly I did, but I wasn't able to until months after her passing.

After she passed I had an overwhelming show of love extended to me. Mom's friends and Stephen's family sent me cards and flowers. My pseudo-sister Mel drew a beautiful picture of Mom holding Ruth. I still haven't read the cards, and even though Elise put the picture on our mantel, I still can't look at it.

I met with a grief counselor at Hospice this last week. She gave me some ideas on how to take baby steps to help me through grief--there is no way around it. It was so good to talk to someone who actually understood me and my pain and my grief. She listened and validated my feelings and gave me gentle suggestions so that I can keep moving forward and not get stuck in my anguish.

Last Wednesday I had scary thoughts like I just wanted to be with Mom and not be here anymore. My practical side knew that was wrong--too many people need me here--but my soul was ripping apart with pain and sadness.

Susan, the grief counselor, told me that hard days are normal, but the goal is that they decrease in intensity and frequency. That has been happening, so that's good. Baby steps forward, a few back, but overall the goal is forward motion.

For me that means re-establishing connections that I have let slide. With my Dad, with my brothers, with my aunts. I'd like to start talking with them again, but am apprehensive about how to start up again. Susan said to give myself time, and have a Plan B in case I can't handle something once we start talking. That not being able to handle things is okay, but not to let myself get stuck there. Days where I feel like doing nothing are okay, but they should be decreasing in frequency.

I need to let myself run the gamut of my emotions, and be honest with myself and those around me. I think I'm actually pretty good about that in my immediate family, and there are some close friends with whom I can also be perfectly honest.

In fact, last week, on my hard day, I texted Sandy (who lost a baby about 10 years ago). I asked her if she ever just wanted to join Aryn and not be here any more. She said yes. I felt so much better knowing I'm not alone in my feelings. Though that is kind of selfish, because it means someone else feels terrible, and I really don't want that.

Writing all of this was part of what I decided to do to help me--one of the thoughts I had while talking with Susan. I think Mom would approve.

Missing Mom

Some days I just really, really miss my mom. Yesterday was one of those days. It started off innocently enough--Stephen finished a "honey-do" item that has been on the list for a year or so. The project was replacing our passenger-side mirror that got pretty beat up when Mom was backing out of the garage. As in, being held on with duct tape. When Mom got home she sent a check so we could get it fixed...probably not thinking it would be over a year later...

Anyhow, when Stephen finished it he walked in the house and proclaimed, "Karin, wherever you are, we finally replaced that mirror!" And I started crying.

I continued to cry--seeing her coat hanging in the closet...watching Ruthie playing on the last quilt she made...pulling out Elise's camp quilt that Mom made--we tied it together when I visited last April when she was in chemo...thinking of how the 4th of July just won't seem the same without her at the farm party...seeing her star quilt and remembering the picture at Mormor's funeral of she and Mom wrapped in it together, smiling...cutting apple slices, like she always did, for my kids during a movie...playing songs she loved on the piano...so many happy memories, without the hope of making more in the future.

I think I'm a little extra emotional lately anyhow, what with the upcoming move, leaving friends, and having my two oldest kids off on adventures. Sometimes I try to numb myself to the ache by watching dumb shows on Netflix or staying really busy, but then all the pushing away catches up to me, and I just cry. I like to think of myself as having the "gift of weeping", to quote Marvin J. Ashton.

I had a...I don't know what word to use--wonderful? sad? happy?--talk with my mom's sister, my Aunt Lisa, last Sunday. It really was all of those words. We laughed, we cried, we talked about dogs and kids and travel and thank-you notes and my mom. She was there when my mom passed, so I got to hear how that all happened--I had never known. There is a peace in knowing how death came to her, quietly and peacefully, with those she loved so nearby.

Aunt Lisa lost her mom, my beloved grandma, 4 years ago. She told me that while the ache never quite goes away, the acute pain does subside. She said that now she and my other aunts and uncles can sit around and talk about grandma without bursting into tears--they can remember the fun and laughter without so much heartache.

I love you, Mom. I wish I could see you with me--so I could share stories and experiences and watch you watch my kids (and me) grow up. I wish my kids could know you like I knew Grandma.

'Til we meet again.

 (pictures from May 2014)

Oregon trip part 3, the Coast 11/2014

My one request concerning our beach house was that each family would have their own bathroom...well, at least that mine would. :) Our house, The Castle, did not disappoint! We spent most of our time inside, just hanging out, though Kaelah, Elise and I did slip away to do some shopping, and most of us went down to the beach at some point. Unfortunately Missy and Marni got super sick, so spent some quality time taking care of each other. And fortunately nobody else caught whatever they had!

Elise and Sammy thought it would be fun to play in the water...water temp 55, air temp 38, wind speed ~15 mph. It was fun...until Sammy did a face plant in the water while running from a wave. Brr! Luckily Uncle Brett can run fast - he ran his little guy up to the Castle and came back for Sammy, who was only halfway of the half mile up the hill to the house.

That wind was cold!!

The tide pools were lots of fun!

Mom was able to come out to the coast for a few minutes before she got too tired. Dad drove right onto the beach, so she was still able to enjoy watching the kids play from the car. Aunt Lori and Grandpa came to hang out for a few days, which was lots of fun!

I think Sammy will always treasure this picture of him and Grammy.

Couple of goofballs...

Ballet on the beach

On our last night all together at the Castle my brothers, some of their wives and some of my kids gathered in Mom's room to pray with her. We knelt around the bed (well, except for me and Mom), and Mom held my and Trevor's hands and Trevor prayed. There was a pretty amazing feeling in the room. Mom told us how much she loved us, and we all gave her long hugs before we left. What an amazing woman! Oh, how we miss her!

Mom did really well in spite of all the chaos. She napped a lot and went to bed early, but she loved that all of us were having so much fun together. She has always loved being in the middle of everything! 

Over the previous months Mom had written down a bunch of memories as well as looking through journal entries and pulling out stories she thought we would enjoy. She made new copies of "famous Cochran quotes" for everyone, and gave everyone a packet to have. [side note: I actually couldn't even bring myself to read through it until the night before her funeral. It was in my nightstand the entire time...I just couldn't bring myself to open it.]

On the last morning there she was even more tired than usual. I can still see Dad not leaving her side and shielding her from the chaos all around her. She slept all the way home and well into the late afternoon, when she got up and went to the couch until bedtime. 

Scott & Marni and Trevor & Kaelah had gone home, but the rest of us had a simple dinner and hung out talking until bedtime. In the morning Brett and Dad brought Jeff, Missy and my family to the airport. Saying goodbye to Mom was so hard. We all knew these were our last moments together in this life. 

Our last week together was quite representative of our lives together: Wonderful. I wouldn't change a thing. We left each other with no regrets. 

Oregon trip part 2, Grammy's house 11/2014

As soon as Mom decided to stop doing chemo and was given the "six months...or less" to live verdict we had a family Skype call and very quickly decided that we were all going to get to Corvallis around Thanksgiving and rent a house at the Coast and have our final reunion with Mom. Everything fell into place - a place to stay, no tests (Scotty & Jeff are in med school), cheap(ish) flights...we were just meant to be together.

One of the absolute best moments of our Oregon trip was being in the temple together - Dad was sick, but Mom, Stephen, all my brothers and their wives were able to do sealings together and then go visit the Celestial Room and sit and talk and cry. That was the one thing Mom always wanted: to be in the temple with all her children and their spouses. 

I don't quite know how to express my feelings about it without possibly sounding like "oh, we're so great", but we were all there. After all the challenges and difficulties, we were all there together. And to be reminded that one day, not too soon, we'll all be together again. It was a very joyful, teary time.

We did some singing around the piano - another of Mom's favorite things in the whole world!

The kids had so much fun with aunts & uncles & grandparents and cousins!

Most everyone arrived on Thanksgiving Day, then to the temple on Friday, the Civil War game (OSU vs UO) on Saturday, little Kate Carol's blessing on Sunday and then off to the Coast!

Pics from our Oregon trip 11/2014

This last November my entire Cochran family gathered in Oregon for a final family reunion with Mom. It was a very bittersweet experience - we had a wonderful time together, but in the back of my mind "for the last time" kept nagging me. We had our adopted sister, Mel, come and take pictures one day...

Grandpa taught Mason and Stephen how to make Swedish butter paddles! I love how Mason is looking to Grandpa to see if he did it right, and Grandpa is smiling down at him. Mel knows how to capture a moment!!

Mom & Dad, Trevor, Kaelah & crew

Jeff & Missy, mi familia

Brett, Jen & crew, Scotty & Marni