Our Easter day started at 7:30 in the morning. Jayze grew up with a super fun tradition. Every Easter, his dad would put together a creative scavenger hunt that led to the kids' Easter baskets. So, we decided to try it out this year and see if we would continue on the same tradition in our family.
The night before, Jayze, ahem, I mean, the Easter Bunny visited our home and I got to figure out where the Easter baskets were!
I was so excited!
Can you guess where everything was? Here's a key:
1. In the cupboard where we keep all our medicines - y'know, way up high where even we can't get them, let alone any little kids.
2. This one was easy - the oven!
3. I liked the images in this one, with the mention of carrots and lettuce - very Easter Bunny-appropriate. Our tool shed.
4. Kitchen table.
5. I love this talk by President Uchtdorf. Love is spelled T-I-M-E. This clue was behind our small clock on our bookshelf.
6. I was super excited to find this one. Our disassembled crib! Gotta work on putting that together again...
7. Okay, this one was impossible, a challenge, a little bit tougher...but with a couple of hints, I found it! Our back door.
8. Washing machine.
9. Yes, we did name our car Jim.
10. Victory!
I forgot to get a picture of them all set up in Jim's trunk, but this picture still turned out. :)
We put together four baskets - Jayze (dad), Me (mom), Alma, and Baby Boy Flake #2 - hey, more candy right? I have to eat enough for two anyway. Baby Flake will appreciate it. ;)
Sorry about the lighting...
Then we went to Jayze's sister's and brother-in-law's house and ate smoked ham for dinner (yum!) and decorated eggs.
Before
"Sauron's eye" - Jayze's nickname for my sun egg
After
It was a great Easter. It was so fun to have a day to run around the house searching for clues Jayze had hidden, eat lotsa candy (gotta gain that baby weight), and remember our Savior.
We all go through hard times. Some days it's hard to just get out of bed, because you know that once you get out, you have to start thinking and living. And sometimes, that just seems too hard.
Finally, you do get out of bed, but nothing seems to be going right.
There is still that pile of dirty dishes in the sink you ignored from the night before.
Somehow you just can't get the shower temperature right--it's either too hot or too cold--what the heck?
But then you take too long in the shower because you finally got the temperature right, and then you have to hurry and slather some makeup on your tired face and eyes, hoping you don't look as bad to other people as you do to yourself in the mirror.
Then when it's time to get dressed, you just can't find that favorite, comfortable shirt you wanted to wear because you knew it was going to be a hard day, and wearing that shirt would make it easier because then you wouldn't have to think about being physically uncomfortable all day...let alone emotionally uncomfortable.
So then you're late to work.
You feel bad because you didn't read your scriptures that morning or pray with your spouse or have a personal prayer.
Work goes alright, but then when you get home, that same pile of dirty dishes is still in the sink, the bathroom and bedroom is cluttered from hurrying to get ready, and there's dinner to be made.
Hard day, right?
Maybe.
I remember sitting on the plane ride home from Arizona thinking about the days before...
I had had a beautiful baby boy--earlier than expected. I had held him in my arms. Then he was taken away, and I had to say goodbye. Then I saw him again at the funeral home, which was a blessing because I didn't think I was going to get to see him again. But I had to say goodbye one more time. I thought that was the last time, but it wasn't. We had the graveside service, and one last time, I said goodbye. I walked away, spent some time with family, and then got back on a plane to go back to Idaho--leaving my baby in Arizona.
As I sat on the plane and went over the events in my mind, I wondered how I went through all of that. How in the world was I able to go through something so heartbreaking and still be here? I thought of all the special feelings I had after I found out Alma had died, when we traveled to Arizona, and when we had the graveside service. Looking back, it seemed easy. It seemed I had been carried. I knew so many people were praying for us--even people I didn't know very well because they had been through the exact same thing, or a family member or friend had, and they knew we needed those prayers. Those prayers were very real, very tangible, and very felt. I was able to keep it together because of all those prayers. I was able to smile during all the events, as long as I could cry in my bed at night. Nights were the hardest.
Still on that plane, I wondered what I was going to do when I got back to Idaho and jumped into real life again. My parents were no longer physically by my side. I needed to go back to work. School was starting in just a couple of weeks. There were going to be a million couples pregnant or with their babies at church. Were people still going to pray for us? Was anyone going to remember my baby? What would I do when I got back to work and people asked me how my baby was doing because they knew I had been pregnant when they last saw me? How would I handle different situations and answer certain questions?
Since that day I asked myself all of those questions, I have asked myself those same questions again from time to time during these past few months. The days are easier than they used to be, but some days are still really hard.
And the answers to these questions have come to me every time I have asked them--whether it has been out loud to my husband or others, or to myself. How have I done it? Have I gotten over it?
The answer to the first question is that it's not me who has done it. It is only the me who has been strengthened by my Heavenly Father who is able to get through every minute and every hour and every day.
Have I gotten over it? No. I will never get over losing my son. I will think of him, maybe not every minute like I used to, but at least every hour. And 100 percent every day.
There is someone else I think of constantly as well. I have thought of my Heavenly Father every time I think of Alma. Every time I am angry. Every time everything seems to be going wrong. Every time the grief seems to overwhelm and overcome me ....
I have found that when I rely on my Heavenly Father, I can do hard things. And when I don't rely on Him--when I try to get through it by myself--then the hard days that come just become even harder. He is the one who makes the difference.
As I look back and remember all the hard days that have happened so far, I have come to realize that God has made me stronger because of this trial. I am stronger because He has been my shoulder to cry on when no one else is there--when no one else seems to understand me. And what is amazing is I know He is there because He understands me perfectly. He knows the triggers that set me crying; he knows when I'm overwhelmed and just want to give up; he understands when the house is a mess, when there are bills to be paid, when I go to him in prayer and ask him to give me one more chance at not being bitter or angry or hurt or offended. He understands my likes and dislikes, rejoices with me when I'm happy, and cries with me when I am sad.
He has sent angels to comfort me and help bear me up. There is one scripture I read or think about almost every day:
And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up (D&C 84:88).
Alma has been my little angel. Other people around me have been angels. And the Lord has not left me alone to bear this trial alone.
Our beloved living prophet, Thomas S. Monson, has testified that we are not alone: "As we seek our Heavenly Father through fervent, sincere prayer and
earnest, dedicated scripture study, our testimonies will become strong
and deeply rooted. We will know of God’s love for us. We will understand
that we do not ever walk alone. I promise you that you will one day
stand aside and look at your difficult times, and you will realize that
He was always there beside you" ("We Never Walk Alone").
I look back and see that there were angels all around me, bearing me up as I had to say goodbye to my son. They were there bearing me up when all I wanted to do was give up.
My Heavenly Father was with me when I was about to have a breakdown multiple times in my class, and I prayed to him to just help me get through that hour.
He was there anytime someone asked me if I had any children.
The days I woke up in the morning not wanting to get out of
bed, and I prayed to Him to help me face just one more day. To help me
take it just one more minute, one more hour, and one more day at a time. To help me take it one step at a time.
He was there when someone brought their baby into the office to show him off and visit with everyone--only a month after Alma passed away.
He was there when it was hard to even look at babies during church.
He was there when someone made a complaint about being a father or mother and complained about having to get up during the night because their baby didn't stop crying. I didn't even get to hear my baby cry...
He was there when I went to Walmart and I had to avoid the baby section.
He was there strengthening me and helping me hold it together when I attended baby showers.
He was there when I was angry, bitter, hurt, sad, tired...
My Heavenly Father has always been there cheering me on, helping me through all the hurt life throws at you. He was also there cheering me on when I accomplished even small goals that seemed huge to me, like...
When I could finally exercise again.
The day I had energy to make dinner.
When I could finally go past the baby section without crying.
When Jayze and I went on dates.
Every time I attended the temple.
When I went one whole day without crying even once.
When I went one whole day without being angry.
The day I could look at the pictures of Alma taken at the hospital when he was born.
Just like President Monson testified, I have been able to look back and see that God has been with me every step of the way. He always has, and He always will because he loves me so much.
This Easter has held special meaning for me. I have never felt more gratitude in my heart for my Savior than during this Easter. Because of Him, families are forever. Because of Him, my heart can be made whole again. Because of Him, I'll get to hold my Alma in my arms and see the color of his eyes. Because of Him, I can have faith instead of fear. Because of Him, I can be happy through this hard life. Because of Him and with Him, I can do all things.
So, even though we all go through hard days, God is there to make it easier. Even when it's something as small as we can't get the shower temperature right, or when it's something as big as losing someone we love, He is always, constantly there. All we need to do is seek Him, and He will answer.
I love the hymn "I Need Thee Every Hour." The words speak straight to my heart.
I truly need my Heavenly Father and Savior Jesus Christ every minute, every hour, and every day.
I Need Thee Every Hour
1. I need thee ev'ry hour,
Most gracious Lord.
No tender voice like thine
Can peace afford.
(Chorus)
I need thee, oh, I need thee;
Ev'ry hour I need thee!
Oh, bless me now, my Savior;
I come to thee!
2. I need thee ev'ry hour;
Stay thou nearby.
Temptations lose their pow'r
When thou art nigh.
3. I need thee ev'ry hour,
In joy or pain.
Come quickly and abide,
Or life is vain.
4. I need thee ev'ry hour,
Most holy One.
Oh, make me thine indeed,
Thou blessed Son!
Text: Annie S. Hawks, 1835-1918
Music: Robert Lowry, 1826-1899
I hope that this Easter, you can remember our Savior too--because He is remembering you.
The day I had Alma, I was feeling anything but sociable. When they told me I could go home, the nurse brought in a wheelchair, and I slowly lowered myself into it. I didn't really feel like being wheeled out of the hospital because I didn't feel like a mother. I didn't feel like someone who had just had a baby. But I also didn't feel like walking. I didn't really feel like doing anything.
The nurse started wheeling me out, and then Jayze took over. Everything was kind of a blur for me. The only thing I was holding was the blanket the woman had given me to hold during labor. I remember going past my parents and my in-laws. Some of their eyes were red from crying. My own eyes were swollen and red from crying off and on all day long, but at that moment I didn't feel like crying. I couldn't look any of my family in the eyes. I couldn't talk to any of them. I just wanted to make it to the safety of our car.
Jayze had gone and parked the car in front of the hospital a few minutes earlier, so thankfully it was right there and he didn't have to leave me again. He helped me get out of the wheelchair, opened the car door for me, and helped me into the car. I was sore and in pain, but none of that soreness and pain could compare with the pain and ache in my heart.
My arms felt empty and heavy. Something was missing. My baby was gone.
I couldn't smile at all. I couldn't smile at anyone. I just wanted to go home and do nothing.
Thankfully, Jayze and I were able to have some time to ourselves at home. His parents were nice enough to go pick up my antibiotics and painkillers from the pharmacy, and my parents went to go pick up some food.
We lived in the upstairs of a house, and it took me about 10X as long to walk up those stairs than it normally did, but Jayze was patient and I was able to make it up one step at a time.
I made it up the stairs, put my hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open. Inside was our spacious living room, our two couches, our TV, and a few odds and ends. I paused, letting it sink in that, like my heart, it too was empty. The crib was empty, the glider was empty, the nursing pillow that came in the mail wasn't going to be used, and no sweet little baby boy was going to fill those clothes I received from the baby shower.
I stumbled over to the big couch and laid down on it. That's all the strength I had. I couldn't think. I couldn't think of my baby now in the mortician's care. I couldn't think of my empty and heavy arms. I couldn't think about plans for the graveside service. I didn't let myself think about any of it.
It was all too hard. How was I going to make it through the night?
Jayze's parents came back with the medicine, and my parents came back from getting their food. Jayze and I had food in the house from the kindness of others, but I wasn't hungry.
After chatting for a little bit, Jayze's parents left to go stay at my sis-in-law's house, so it was just my parents, Jayze, and me left. No baby. No happiness.
But then I'll never forget my dad and the way he responded to everything- to the whole situation. I knew it was hard for him, because I had seen the sad, somber expression on his face that morning when he gave me the priesthood blessing. I had seen that same expression again in when he and my mom came into the hospital room before Alma was born. But, when Alma was born, my dad had a different expression on his face when he held him. My dad's face was happy and he knew just the right words to say to make me feel good. He admired my baby with me-his third grandson and grandchild. He helped Jayze and me see the family resemblances Alma had. He and my mom stayed all day in the hospital, even when they only saw Jayze, me, and Alma for about 30 minutes total.
Then when we were home again, my dad still had a happy expression on his face. He had always teased me growing up, and helped me smile when I didn't want to. He did that then, on the hardest day and evening of my life-August 29, 2013.
As my parents and I held a normal, light conversation, I was guiltily thinking: How can I smile? How can I be happy? My baby is gone. What is there to be happy about?
But my dad and mom making dinner and my dad cutting up the delicious fruit they had thoughtfully picked up on their way to Idaho (how in the world did they have time to do that?) made such a difference to the spirit I felt in my home. Such simple acts of kindness truly helped my dark mood lighten, and I was able to think and converse with them there.
For a couple of months before Alma was born and before my parents came, there were some things that needing fixing at our house. One of the light switches to our kitchen light didn't work, one of our kitchen lights was out, and a couple of other things. We just hadn't gotten around to fixing those because we were both working and preparing for the baby.
I remember walking into the kitchen at one point that night because I was tired of laying on the couch. I walked in and turned on the kitchen light without thinking about which light switch I was using. It actually turned on that time using that specific light switch, and both kitchen lights actually worked. It was really bright! Jayze and I wondered aloud about it, and my dad said that he had fixed both of them while we were at the hospital.
Little did he know that, with the small and simple services he did, he was helping to fix my shattered heart as well. Those small and simple services were a huge deal to me and meant so much that night and in the days following.
Those small and simple services reminded me of my Heavenly Father. He wasn't leaving me alone during this trial-He was sending me small, tender mercies through those around me. The workers at the hospital, the people in my ward, the people I worked with, and my family.
He gave me the gift of having my parents there helping me out. If my parents hadn't been there the day Alma was born and the night Jayze and I came home from the hospital, I would have sat crying on the couch in the dark, not eating anything. Wasn't it so much better to sit there in the bright light, eating fruit, and spending time with the family I did have with me? I never stopped thinking about Alma or feeling sad. How could I? But the strength my parents brought was a huge blessing.
I love this quote from Spencer W. Kimball, "God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs."
God was sending me His love through my parents and those around me. He was even sending me His love through family, friends, and strangers who lived far away from Jayze and me. Through these people, He was letting me know that He was there watching over me and that He could trust that my earthly parents and others were watching over me, too. They were helping me stay in the light and find happiness even in the midst of such a dark trial.
So, even though I didn't want to smile after Alma wasn't with me-when he was no longer inside of me or in my arms-I'm thankful that I was able to smile in the moments when my dad gave me a priesthood blessing before I went to the hospital, when Alma was born, and as we held him throughout the day.
I found that because of my parents' support that night, I could begin smiling again-even when I didn't want to. That evening was a beginning. Heavenly Father was teaching me, through others, that I could learn to smile again and that I could smile again sincerely and with only the true happiness that He provides.
