Monday Memory: October's quiet goodbyes

In my life,
October has been a month of saying goodbye.

***
When I was 12, my grandpa Ernest (my mother's father) passed away on a gray October day. He had some heart problems, but his passing was still surprising to his family (at least, it seemed so in my mind at the time). My family had just moved to Utah from Colorado that summer, and he and Grandma Nora had traveled from Manti to spend some time with us in our new house. I don't remember anything about that visit except watching Grandma and Grandpa taking their suitcases downstairs to the guest room.

A few months later, when my mom came downstairs with a red-nosed, tear-streaked face to tell us that he was gone, we kids got really quiet. We had never had someone that close to us die before. We weren't sure how to react. I remember thinking, shouldn't I be crying? I buried my head in my arms and tried to squeeze a few tears out, but none would come. I just felt numb, and shaken at seeing my mom so quietly but visibly upset.

His last words were, "I love you, Shelley." Oh, how she would need that in the years ahead.


***
It was a late summer morning when we dialed several numbers to share the exciting results of our first positive pregnancy test. Our families were thrilled. We were nervous and a little dizzy with anticipation for an uncertain future, as we were both still students. But we had felt that it was time.

At my first doctor's appointment the doctor expressed slight concern upon not being able to find our little one's heartbeat. He said it wasn't totally uncommon at this stage, and wanted to see us again in two weeks. I felt unquestionably at peace that things would be fine.
And I felt hungry all the time.
Jason's birthday came. I gave him a "Happy Birthday Daddy" card.
A few days later we had our appointment.
I was ten weeks along.
There was still no heartbeat.
We were informed that I was having a miscarriage.
It was almost the middle of Fall semester.
And I was days away from starting my student teaching.
But... I thought.
we had felt that it was time.
Hadn't we?

***
About two years later we were reminded what a small world it is when Jason became good friends with a coworker by the name of Bret. As it turned out, Bret's wife, Annie, and I had grown up together. Her family lived almost across the street from mine. She was a few years older than me and hadn't been in my immediate circle of friends, but I remembered her and how I had always thought she and her twin sister were so pretty.

During that time we had been referred to several different doctors and specialists for Janie, and were being swept up in a whirlwind of tests, examinations, procedures and attempts to diagnose her. Bret became a rock for Jason as they shared similar emotions and frustrations about their situations. Bret and Annie also had precious baby daughter with special needs, Hannah. Hannah's situation was much more serious than Janie's was. Hannah had been diagnosed, but the diagnosis was heartbreaking.

I remember the day I got to meet Hannah. It was her first birthday party--what a beautiful, special celebration it was! Being in her presence made heaven feel closer. I found myself blinking back tears as I looked into her eyes and watched as Jason sweetly introduced Janie and Hannah to each other.
Sweet Hannah slipped back to heaven later that year,
on a day in early
October.


But because I know goodbye is not forever,
October is not a sad month for me,
but a time when I remember and feel how love and life go on.


***
I distinctly remember one night as a teenager, laying in my bed, crying about something that was troubling me. I can't remember what it was, but I remember that all of a sudden I thought of my grandpa Ernest and I couldn't help but feel that he was near. Grandpa had been a quiet man, and as one of the younger grandchildren who had lived far away, I hadn't known him very well. I felt so comforted and loved and humbled to think that he might be thinking of me, wanting me to know of his love in a time when I was hurting. I have never forgotten that moment.

***
Upon discovering that our little one was no longer on the way, we were overwhelmed with love from family and friends.

As is so like them, Jason's brother, Dan, and his wife, Janelle, wanted to do something special for us. The evening after our appointment, they presented us with a beautiful picture of the Savior playfully lifting a little girl high up into the air. Her face was joyful, her eyes pure and full of love. The image and the thought that it was given with brought a sweetness to the day. Before hanging it, I tucked the ultrasound picture into the back of the frame. The picture now hangs by the entrance of Janie's room, with that first baby picture still in place.

I don't know what that experience will mean for our family, whether there is a little someone waiting for us beyond this world or if Janie just had to wait a little longer to be part of our family, but the things we learned about love and faith continue to grow and live. My feelings of peace that things would be fine were true,
so incredibly, happily, wonderfully true.

***
Emotions were certainly high during the time that we were learning that there were serious concerns about Janie's development. There is a grief process you go through with these things, and I wasn't trying to push that away. But on some days, I know I slipped into feeling just plain sorry for myself. It was easier to just sit there and feel bad about everything than it was to get up and move on and cheerfully do all things that were in our power.

As I learned more and more about little Hannah and the incredibly difficult things that her family faced on a regular basis, it gradually changed the way I felt about each day I had with Janie. I came to see and feel deep in my heart that I had little to complain about and everything to be joyful about. I felt able to move on and do what I could, and yes, to do it with a happy heart. It's not that I never have moments of frustration or that I always resist the temptation to list my grievances to those who will patiently listen, but it's that I now more easily find myself searching for the sunshine through the rain. We celebrate every little thing. Special little Hannah first showed me that sunshine. And some days, I find that she is still there, lifting me above the clouds to see it.


Octobers are full of changes.
And even though it is winter that follows,
I find that somehow
the cold
makes everything seem clearer.


Learn more about Hannah from this page set up by her aunt.