Divinely Inspired

I know I know...

I've missed quite a few Gratitude Mondays. 

Sorry about that.

This fetus doesn't allow me to accomplish much these days.

A shower and hair wash is considered a win for me lately.

Every Monday, 

I do still think about the things I'm grateful for.

I am still grateful in my heart,

even though sometimes I can't make it to the computer to articulate what I might be feeling that day.

I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who is mindful of my family.

I am grateful for a husband who has picked up the slack around the house,

no questions asked.

He serves lovingly while I transfer from bed to couch to bathroom floor, then back again.

Though I feel worthless,

he doesn't make me feel like an inconvenience,

and my love for him in the last couple of months has grown exponentially.

Though I didn't know that was even possible. 

I am grateful for a selfless mother,

who moved her life into my spare bedroom to pick up the pieces of my life I could no longer carry.

Unknowing to her, I watched her one night,

bald and beautiful,

do the dishes while I laid on the couch.

And in no time, tears filled my eyes,

guilt filled my mind,

but love and admiration filled my heart.

It is quite a humbling experience to watch your mother,

fighting the battle of her life,

hair gone,

knees weak,

eyes tired,

serve you and your family willingly.

I did not ask her to come here.

In fact, I asked her NOT to come.

She insisted.

She wasn't asking for my permission.

She was coming.

Because that's what mothers do she said. 

And because she said she needed the blessings that service brings.

And as her scans came back better than anyone expected last week,

I said a silent prayer thanking God that he did in fact bless her for serving.

And knowing she will be around longer,

is a blessing for all of us.

And I will never be grateful ENOUGH for that.

I am grateful for a best friend who I call my sister,

who I call everyday.

Who listens. 

Who understands.

I am grateful for a son who challenges me,

almost daily.

If he was easy, I wouldn't require the help and guidance of my Savior and Heavenly Father

on how best to reach him.

To raise him.

And to love him in ways he feels it.

I am grateful for miracles in my life.

Big and small.

And though it has been hard lately,

I am grateful for the life slowly growing inside me.

Sometimes, 

I think about what my life would be like if I had not made the decisions I made almost 5 years ago.

Who would I be?

Would my soul have been capable of bearing this cancer journey our family has been on?

If my life, still in turmoil, could have taken any more tragedy?

And then I stop thinking about it.

Because I can't let myself go back there.

I am here now.

And wow, is it an amazing place to be.

The morning my mom shaved her head,

I had already headed out of town when my sister called.

She said, "I feel like I should get mom a present, but what do you get for a situation like this???"

Not even 24 hours earlier, 

with shaking hands,

I paced back and forth around the bathroom.

I waited.

And then just like that, two pink lines appeared on a little stick and our lives changed forever.

So when my sister asked about something to get my mom,

I knew I had to tell her.

I turned around, 

drove home,

and pulled down the newborn storage bin from the garage.

I found a onesie, 

pinned a teal ribbon on it,

and wrapped it.

Since I had captured the moments before, during, and after my mom's hair shaving with my camera,

I thought I'd continue shooting while she opened her gift. 

Her tears that day went from sadness to joy.

And I can't help but think that the timing of it all was divinely inspired.

Bravery

Yesterday my mom text my sister and me a picture.

Of a pile of hair.

Her hair.

After her morning shower.

It was time.

She told Brittany today would be the day.

I knew I wanted to be there,

but with a sick kid home from school, I wasn't sure I would be able to.

Luckily, I have an amazing mother in law who offered to watch him so I could go.

We loaded up and headed East.

When I got there and saw her, 

hair noticeably thinner,

patches of scalp now showing,

my heart ached.

She is sick and this was going to be our violent shove into reality.

Family came to support.

Her mother,

nieces,

daughters,

and husband. 

We stood around her as she sat down and covered her face with a towel.

My sister put the razor to her head a few times,

then backed away,

tears running down her cheeks.

"It's okay" my mom said noticing her hesitation.

And so she began. 

Little by little,

hair fell to the floor.

My mother cried into the towel.

Brittany cried as she dropped hair into a pile on the floor.

And I cried behind the lens of my camera.

Apart from sniffles and the sound of the razor, the room was quiet.

And reverent.

And then it was done.

She uncovered her face and smiled.

Sympathetically as if to say she was sorry.

She was still beautiful.

We hugged.

We cried.

We smiled.

And then we tied a scarf on her head and made bread.

Gratitude Monday Tuesday

A day late again.

Oh well.

Yesterday was a pretty great day.

And easy for my heart to be filled with gratitude.

Prayers were answered yesterday.

Temple promptings were confirmed.

And so today, I am grateful for the temple.

About four and half years ago, I lived only 5 minutes from the Gila Valley Temple.

It was a defining time of my life.

Decisions needed to be made.

Big decisions.

Life altering decisions.

And not just life altering for me,

life altering for a two year old Camden as well.

With a built in babysitter,

I had the opportunity to attend the temple a lot.

I spent hours in the celestial room.

Crying.

Praying.

Begging for answers.

For direction.

And though big promptings were never felt,

peace was.

Comfort was.

And though resounding answers never came,

love did.

Humility did.

Several months ago as I struggled with a question,

frustration and doubt filled my heart.

After one particularly hard morning, I decided to go to the temple.

In the celestial room I cried.

And prayed.

And listened.

And this time, the answer did come.

A simple one word answer.

I drove home feeling such gratitude for a Heavenly Father who listened to me,

comforted me,

answered me.

Over the course of the next few months, 

I had to rely on faith.

Faith on what I felt in the temple.

The answer I felt in my heart.

Doubts came and I wondered if I really did hear what I heard.

Maybe it was just my mind telling myself what I wanted to hear.

But I patiently waited.

And yesterday, that one word answer was confirmed.

I thought about my experience in the temple that day.

I thought about the faith that was required of me.

I thought about how blessed I am to have a place I can go where the veil of this life is a little thinner and my Heavenly Father and Savior are a little closer.

Where peace,

and hope,

and love abound.

And my soul can rest.

Gratitude Monday Part 3

Part 3 already?!

That went so fast.

I feel like I just wrote last week's Gratitude Monday post.

Today there is a lot to get done.

Laundry.

Gym.

Groceries.

Dishes.

Meal prep.

Mom will be staying with me this week,

so I am trying to get everything done before she gets here tonight.

My third installment of Gratitude Monday, had me contemplating at my keyboard.

Navy played by my feet,

drawing, 

talking, 

singing.

With a big smile on her face, 

she showed me how her pen made clicking sounds.

Then she crawled up on the chair next to me,

plugged her nose and said,

"What's that stink?"

When I told her I didn't smell anything she said,

"It's probably you."

Thanks Nav.

Then she climbed up on the desk, 

grabbed the harmonica from the shelf,

and started playing.

"Dance mom"

I danced in my seat.

"No, mom. Stand up and dance."

"You dance."

So she handed me the harmonica, 

climbed down,

and danced around my room as I played.

As she twirled, I smiled.

My heart full of love for her.

So today, 

I am grateful for my daughter.

Spunky.

Smart.

Sassy.

Sweet.

At 14 weeks pregnant, I scheduled a 3D ultrasound.

I just couldn't wait any longer.

"It's a girl!" she said.

I cried.

It was exactly what I wanted. 

And she has brought me more joy than I ever thought possible.

She is funny.

And clever.

And makes us laugh when she looks at us out of the corner of her eyes.

And when she says "Probably" in almost every comment she makes.

And when she sings to "Let it go" and knows all the words.

When she rides her push bike, falls off, and pretends to die.

When she dances during the musical number during sacrament meeting. 

When she also does a somersault during said musical number.

She is joy.

Pure joy.

And I could never thank my Heavenly Father enough for entrusting her to me.

Grateful Monday Tuesday Part 2

I started this post yesterday, but things got busy, as life does.

So there it sat.

Until now.

I have thought a lot about what I wanted to say today. 

The cancer storm has calmed somewhat, and we are all catching our breath finally. 

The road ahead is still long, 

but we hope it is a steady one.

There has been more time to reflect.

More time to feel blessed.

Feel gratitude. 

For my Grateful Monday part 2,

I am grateful for my friends.

About 18 months ago, Jason and I sat down and talked about what the next year would bring.

There was still a lot to do on his path to medical school. 

Shadow physicians.

Volunteer.

Study and take the MCAT.

He had about 7 months to do it all.

He felt overwhelmed about the limited time he had before applications opened.

We decided to wait another year to apply.

We were so happy here.

We loved our home.

Our neighborhood.

Camden had made great friends.

We felt really good about postponing it. 

When my mom was diagnosed and the news started to spread,

the outpouring of love and support from my friends was incredible. 

T-shirts were purchased.

Babysitting was willingly accepted.

Meals were brought in.

And I'm not even the one with cancer!

As I was talking to Jason one night, 

I understood just why we had felt so good about waiting a year to apply.

There is no way I would have had this kind of support anywhere else.

I am grateful we stayed so that I can be near my family at such a difficult time.

I can't imagine how I would feel in this situation if I was living across state lines. 

But I am also grateful for the arms of friends that have wrapped around me

and served me and my family with no questions asked.

You know who you are,

and I will never be able to thank you enough.

I am lucky.

I am blessed.

I am so incredibly grateful.

Buttermilk

Last week was well...

Hell Week.

As I accompanied my mom and dad to appointments last week, 

I was focused. 

I had a purpose.

I had a duty to them.

I was doing, and working, and talking, and explaining, and asking, and scheduling.

I held it together.

For them.

When they left to go home Friday after four full days of all things cancer,

I was alone.

Camden was at school.

Navy napping.

I sat on the couch and it all came crashing down on me.

I had no job.

No duty.

No purpose.

It was just me and my thoughts.

My fears.

My grief.

I sobbed into the pillow, my shoulders shaking.

I was tired.

Emotional stress was taking its toll on my body.

I had no motivation to do anything.

I didn't want to go to work.

I didn't want to do the laundry.

Or my dishes.

Or make dinner.

Homework was forgotten.

Hair went unwashed.

I did manage to make a menu and go grocery shopping.

Then Saturday as I looked in my fridge, I noticed two large bottles of buttermilk and half and half.

I could not remember why I bought those.

I'm sure they were for a recipe I had planned, 

but when I looked back at my menu, no recipe called for buttermilk.

Or half and half. 

So there they sit.

A reminder of the mental fog that was hell week.

The fog is clearing,

and the grief comes and goes.

The fear stays constant.

And brings me to my knees most mornings.

And to tears most evenings, as I cry into Jason's arms until I fall asleep.

Twelve weeks until my mom's surgery.

Twelve weeks of chemo.

Twelve weeks of side effects.

Twelve weeks of watching my beloved mother fight.

Three (ish) weeks until she loses her hair.

Twelve weeks of watching my dad tenderly hold my mom's hand every opportunity he gets,

knowing every day with her is a blessing.

And that's just the first three sessions.

After her surgery, will be another twelve weeks.

Another three sessions.

For the next six months, our lives will be consumed with cancer.

So until this nightmare is over,

and my mother is cancer free,

I will find things to be grateful for.

And on Mondays I will sit down and blog about my gratitude. 

Because I will not let cancer overshadow blessings and tender mercies from my Heavenly Father.

On my first "Gratitude Monday",

I am grateful for my loving husband.

Without being asked, he has picked up the slack this week and been the quiet comfort that I have needed.

I always tease him that he is so unsympathetic towards me.

He's a very tough love kind of husband.

But this week has been different.

And my love for him has grown as I cling to him for support.

He even planned a surprise date for me Saturday night. 

We laughed, we judged other restaurant go-ers from our corner booth,

and we didn't talk about cancer once. 

It was exactly what I needed.

He is exactly what I need.

And exactly who I want by my side during the uncertain months ahead.

This week, our family prepares to pull up our boot straps and face the enemy.

Hell week is over.

And now it is time to fight.

She fights.

And we pray. 

CT

My mom had her CT today.

The images were accessible to her doctor one hour after her appointment, but an oncology radiologist has to make his report as well.

We hope this will happen at some point tomorrow and we will hear back from my mom's gyn/onc. She will give us the results and a better understanding of what's going on, and if the surgery is still on for Tuesday, which is what we are hoping for.

Surgery Tuesday means the cancer, even if it has spread to other tissues, is still in small amounts.

If we don't hear from her doctor tomorrow, we should hear from her Friday. 

Tomorrow she has her pre-op appointment with an internal medicine doc.

I will keep everyone as updated as I can! 

If you have any questions or want updates sooner, feel free to call me or my sister.

My mom is feeling fatigued and doesn't always have the energy to relay the day's news repeatedly.

She is emotionally and physically drained as you can imagine.

We are all trying to just keep our heads above water at this point and none of us really know what to do with ourselves since we feel so helpless. 

We so appreciate your prayers and fasts on my mom's behalf. 

Keep em' comin.

Love you all.

-Stacey

Readying

Today was a long day.

4 hours at the oncologist's office.

We got some answers.

But still have a lot of questions.

Here is what we know:

Because of my mom's ascites (fluid in her belly),

it is usually a good indicator of advanced stages of cancer. (Stages III or IV)

The surgeon will stage the cancer during the surgery when she can see the entire picture.

Once the surgery is over, we will have a pretty good idea of what we're up against. 

Tissue samples will be sent to pathology and can take up to a week to get results, so 100% diagnosis won't be known until then. 

Because my mom had only a pelvic MRI done, the gyn/onc can't see the other organs that could possibly be involved. 

A CT scan is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. 

At this point, the doctor thinks it's probably ovarian cancer, but because she can't see everything she needs to clearly, she can't say for certain until she has an oncologist radiologist read the CT results. 

It could be attached to her colon. To her uterus. 

She just can't be positive.

If the cancer has spread and the disease is in large quantities, 

chemotherapy will be done first to shrink the cancer.

Surgery will be scheduled 3 months later.

If the cancer has spread but the disease is in small quantities, 

surgery will be done first.

She will have a radical hysterectomy as well as removing any and all diseased tissue they can see.

This is called "debulking".

The surgery is usually 3-4 hours.

She will be in the hospital 2-7 days.

Three weeks after surgery, she will start chemotherapy. 

She will do six rounds.

So here's the plan as we know it:

Tomorrow - CT scan

Thursday - Pre-op appt with internal medicine doctor

Tuesday - Debulking surgery at 12:30

(This is of course if she doesn't have to do chemo first)

My mom has such a positive attitude and such a great support system.

She is ready to fight. 

Continue to pray for her.

She really does feel the love.

She Will Fight

"Our scars make us know that our past was for real"-Jane Austen
                                                  Pride & Prejudice

There was a long period of my life where sleep was hard to come by.

Anxiety kept me awake a lot.

Worry about the present.

About the future. 

My stomach would turn.

My mind would race.

After tossing and turning, I would finally give up and turn to the one thing I knew would help me sleep.

Pride and Prejudice.

The music.

The dialogue.

It made me feel calm.

And happy.

It helped me escape reality long enough to slip into dreamland. 

Last night, as our family anxiously awaited a diagnosis

that was supposed to come this morning,

anxiety kept me awake.

My stomach turned.

My mind raced.

I turned the t.v. on and started the same movie that helped me fall asleep so many uncertain nights before. 

Somewhere after Mr. Bingley's ball scene I drifted off. 

We woke this morning to a diagnosis. 

It's cancer.

Ovarian caner.

Our family is shaken.

We have a long uncertain road ahead.

But my mother is a strong and faithful woman. 

She is scrappy and she will fight.

We will fight with her.

Please pray.

Pray for her and my dad.

Pray for our family.

I will do my best to keep my blog updated as her journey progresses. 

All my love,

                Stacey

"The crowning characteristic of love...

… is always loyalty." -Jeffrey R. Holland

Jason's birthday is coming up and I am putting together a little something for him. 

In doing so, I've been going through old pictures.

And friends' old pictures on Facebook.

And the fact that I myself am turning 28 next week is ever present in my mind as I think about all that has happened in my life since high school graduation. 

So I spent the afternoon looking at pictures.

Remembering.

Smiling.

And feeling so grateful for my amazing friends.

Specifically the ones that have been around since I was 14.

You see, 

Jason's friends in high school were my friends.

My friends were his friends.

Our circles ran together.

My best friends dated his best friends.

So Jason and I,

saw each other when said friends got married.

We spent luncheons and receptions talking and catching up,

updating each other on babies (me) and

dating news, school, and work (him).

Three particular instances stand out in my memory when I think about those wedding days,

at my three best friends' weddings.

The first:

The Jones' wedding.

Their luncheon was held in their parents backyard. 

I brought Camden with me.

He was two months old.

As a newborn, he cried a lot.

The only way I knew how to get him to stop crying was to bounce him in my arms.

Hard.

I would often get strange looks at church when people saw me in the hallway practically jumping up and down to quiet my fussy child.

And I don't care what anyone says,

it was the only thing that worked.

{My mom can vouch for this one}

{And P.S. if you have a fussy baby, invest in a yoga ball. Sit and bounce. It's like magic. And it will save your back. Trust me on this one.}

At the luncheon he was fussing.

I lay him down in my arms and started to bounce.

Jason came over and said,

"Why are you bouncing so hard?! You're going to give your baby shaken baby syndrome!"

I told him it worked.

He didn't believe me.

So he took Camden.

He propped him up on his shoulder and walked away.

A few minutes later I looked over to see that Camden had fallen asleep.

And believe me when I say that had NEVER happened before.

Jason walked around with Camden sleeping on his shoulder while he talked to friends.

I just watched.

So grateful for his friendship, it almost brought me to tears.

Not only had he cared for me as a friend, he also cared for my son.
Who, by the way, he had just met that day. 

A couple weeks before this, the first big "crash" if you want to call it, happened in my marriage.

It was the first time I knew I was up against something huge.

I had been betrayed.

I was heartbroken.

He told me he didn't love me anymore.

He wasn't ready to be a husband. 

Or a father.

An online relationship with a woman in California had stolen his attention.

And his loyalty.
Something that I would never feel again from him.

Just before the luncheon, my best friend who was also a bridesmaid asked me what was wrong.

She knew something was up.

I told her what happened.

She hugged me while I cried.

Today I remembered how I sat in the sealing room that morning and listened to the sealer talk about love.
About righteousness.
About service.
Faithfulness, forgiveness, repentance.
I cried through the entire ceremony.
I recalled my sealing.
It had only been 12 months since I was sitting in that room
starting my forever family.
And it was all falling apart. 

So as I watched Jason holding my sleeping son,

I knew the people who surrounded me that day had my back.

No matter what.

11 months later, the second day I thought about today,

was the Foulger wedding.

It was the end of December.

Sitting at a table during the reception, Jason and I talked.

I shared new events that had transpired and expressed my unhappiness.

I wanted out, but I also wanted to do the right thing.

My emotions, my confusions, my hopelessness all came spilling out.

I needed his listening ear that night.

Him and another friend walked me to my car at the end of the night.

They hugged me.

I felt loved.

And I felt gratitude

For loyal friends that cared about me.

Fast forward 18 months, the last of my best friends was getting married.

She came to visit me a few weeks before her big day to give me my bridesmaid outfit.

At this time, Camden and I were living alone in a small apartment.

She told me she was sorry. She could tell I was unhappy and mentioned she rarely saw me smile anymore. 

It was true.

Her reception was another one of those memorable days.
It was August.
I had been alone all summer.
I had big decisions to make in the next few weeks and the weight of it quite literally pushed me downward.
At a table with our friends, Jason and I again, sat and talked.

And for the first time in a really long time,

I genuinely laughed.

I remember laughing a lot.

And I danced.

I danced with the girls I had been friends with since before I had braces.

I had fun.

I felt joy.

I felt loyalty.

And again, I felt gratitude.

When Jason and I were dating and then engaged, we did not live in the same city,

so we would spend long hours on the phone at night talking.

It was during one of those calls, shortly before our wedding day, he told me a story.

After he returned from his mission, his parents took him to Hawaii to visit his sister and brother in law.

One day, he and his brother in law went out kayak surfing.

Without life jackets.

A giant wave launched them forward.
They both fell off and got separated from their boat.
And eventually each other.

Jason recalled how at first, he swam leisurely toward their belongings now floating in the water,
gathered what he could carry, and with one arm, started toward the upside down boat.
5 minutes passed.
The boat was getting farther.
Another 5 minutes went by.
He ditched his armful and began to really swim.
He was a mile from shore.
They were in a bay and the waves were big.
And coming one on top of the other.
5 more minutes.
Panic set in.
He believed he was in a current that was pulling him out to sea.
He started thinking he was going to die.
His arms were tired.
His legs were tired.
And each time he tried to catch his breath, another wave crested over the top of him.
He had been swimming for his life for 15 minutes already, the shore not getting any closer to his view.
He started making promises to God.
To be better.
To be more faithful.
A better son. Brother. Friend.
To magnify his callings.
To be honest, true and good.
If God would just let him live.

He saw his brother in law in the distance.
He knew he was a better swimmer and would likely make it to shore.
Jason almost shouted,
"Tell my family I love them"
But then he didn't.
He didn't want his brother to know that he was going to die.
Jason knew that if his brother knew that,
he would have turned around to save him and that meant they would probably both die.
His brother had to live. He had a wife. And a new son.
He didn't want his brother to have to live with guilt if he DIDN'T turn around to save him.
Jason couldn't burden him with that choice, so he said nothing.
Swimming with what strength he had left,
he thought about his family.
About the house he had just bought.
He felt sorry that his parents now had to deal with the burden of it.
Promises had been made to God, but the shore wasn't getting any closer.
This was it.
He knew he was going to die that day.
But being the stubborn man that he is,
he wouldn't just give up.
He would die trying.
He would die swimming.

He opened his eyes under the water and saw sand 20 feet below him.
He looked ahead and saw that the sand rose.
It was still far.
But if he could just make it to a sand bar, he could rest.
So he kept swimming.

And then he saw rocks.
He was going to live.
He made it to those rocks.
On his tippy toes, his nose and mouth barely reached the top of the water.
As the waves came, he pushed himself off the rocks and rode the waves up and down, keeping his head above water and finally being able to catch his breath.
He regained some strength and made the swim back to shore.
He crawled out of the water on his hands and knees, not really sure how he had survived.

He recalled this story and then told me that now, 3 years after the fact, he understood why he made it to shore that day.
He told me how I was given special promises in the preexistence.
To be happy.
To be a mother and a wife.
To have a celestial family.
To be blessed.
My first husband had not been faithful to his covenants,
and in doing so, lost his family.
But because I had remained true,
my promises still remained.

He told me he lived because he was going to get the opportunity to be the one to fulfill those promises.
To give me the life I deserved.
To make me happy.
To make me a wife again.
To give me the chance to bear more children and raise them in this lifetime.

Heavenly Father spared his life for me.

And then he said,
"So in a very literal sense,
you are my soul mate."

I remember thinking how lucky I was.
I remember thinking back to all our phone and wedding reception conversations through the years, always expecting him to say he was seriously dating, going to propose or was already engaged.
He was amazing.
How was he still single?!
But as he finished his story,
telling me he knew we were absolutely meant to be together,
it all made sense to me too.
He was what I was promised.

Our special friendship,
those wedding moments I will never forget,
and the way, for 10 years, how our lives always remained connected in some way-

It was all meant to be.

The Foulger wedding

Exciting Things To Come

There is much buzz in the DeWitt house these days.

Things are happening.

Big things.

Important things.

Jason graduated Friday.

This has been such a long time coming and I am so proud of him!

Not only has Jason worked full time through all but 2 semesters of college, 

he has been a loving and devoted dad and husband,

and earned himself a perfect 4.0 GPA from ASU.

We celebrated his accomplishment with friends and family,

and now we look to bigger things:

Medical School.

In two weeks, schools will begin accepting applications and our lives will {hopefully} change forever.

Our lucky number?

20.

20 schools.

20 applications.

20 possibilities. 

Again, 

{hopefully}

While Jason is smart and has great academic achievements, 

with med school,

it is never a sure thing.

So we are hoping,

out of 20,

we at least get one.

That's all we need.

That's all we're praying for.

Where's our 20 you ask?

Texas

Utah

Tennessee

Arizona

California

North Carolina

Maryland

Georgia

Alabama 

Ohio

Oregon

Washington

I have mixed emotions about our list.

Only 2 schools would keep us near friends and family.

18 other options take us far,

and some farther,

away.

The thought of staying put,

keeping our roots growing in the house and neighborhood and city we love so much,

makes me feel calm. And safe.

But the thought of starting a new adventure in a new place,

with our just our little family of 4

brings excitement.

Yes, a bit of anxiety.

But mostly excitement.

Jason and I have spent all of our lives in Arizona.

It's all we know.

And I think it would be good for both of us to spread our wings a little.

So whether it's Baylor in Houston,

Jason's dream of Johns Hopkins in Baltimore,

or right here at U of A Phoenix,

we will be happy.

We are anxious to see where this road takes us and there's a lot of waiting to do before we find out where our family will end up, 

but until then,

we are here.

Here to enjoy our possibly last summer in Arizona for 4-11 years,

to enjoy our last year so close to our families,

and to enjoy ASU football games, game nights, and dinners out with our friends.

Sunday Sads

It's a thing you know.

The Sunday sads.

I've had them since I was young. 

I remember often feeling sick on Sunday nights.

My parents thought I was just faking a stomach ache so I wouldn't have to go to school the next day.

Maybe that was part of it. 

But mostly I just felt like crying.

And I never knew why.

The Sunday sads still visit,

although not as frequently.

Yesterday though, they were in full force.

I felt weepy all day.

As I sat and watched the afternoon session,

Jason's arms around me,

Camden snuggled into my side sleeping,

the love and happiness was almost too much,

my heart physically ached.

I wanted to freeze time.

Tomorrow, I thought,

things go back to normal.

J back to work and school.

Camden back to school.

I'm back to the gym, dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, meal preparation.

I didn't want life to start again.

I just wanted to be as close as I could to the three people I adore so much.

I don't think I left Jason's side all day.

I didn't want to be alone.

See,

the Sunday sads are a tricky thing.

Life feels so beautiful and so full of blessings,

the joy I feel is so overwhelming that I'm on the verge of tears all day.

But that joy brings sadness.

Sadness that things will change.

Tomorrow, it's back to real life.

The weekly routines and demands give us few moments together.

But even more than that,

Kids will grow.

Their innocence will be lost.

And soon,

medical school will begin and time with my best friend will be rare.

The combination of love and sadness brought a lump in my throat that I could not shake yesterday.

I could not get close enough.

I could not get enough time.

Today, the Sunday sads have not left.

The lump still remains.

As I attempt to make it through my list of to-do's, 

I find myself missing the two boys not here with me.

Like sorely missing them,

And not wanting to go to work tonight because of time lost with them and with Navy.

I have thought a lot about my Sunday sads.

I've wondered what makes them come?

It is anxiety?

Is it hormonal?

Yesterday, watching General Conference I think I figured it out.

It is the overwhelming presence of the Spirit,

helping me to feel a glimpse of Christ-like love.

Because of the tender feelings I had yesterday,

I was more kind.

More loving.

More willing to serve.

More patient.

More soft spoken.

With a bigger resolve to be better.

A better mom and wife especially.

The last few months have been difficult for me.

I haven't felt like myself.

Mood swings have made me feel like I'm going crazy.

It has caused contention.

And a lot of tears.

I have felt unbalanced and even made an appointment to seek medical advice.

But as I listened to the prophet and his apostles speak,

I solved my own problem.

Have I tried prayer?

Have I asked Heavenly Father to help me?

Have I prayed for more patience?

Have I prayed for guidance?

Have I been doing things to invite the Spirit into my heart?

The motivation, the love,

the joy I was feeling could be felt often if I did.

And those feelings could make me someone my children and husband wanted to be around.

I could be happier.

I could be loving.

I could be kind.

I could be patient.

I could willingly serve.

I could be better.

Recognizing this tender mercy brings so much gratitude,

and again,

a lump in my throat.

Date Stamp

I don't mean to do two 'divorce' posts in a row. It just happened that way.
I usually feel the urge to blog when there is a lot on my mind.
Today, there was a lot on my mind.

It was four years ago today.

Four years ago, that I finally mustered up the courage to do it.

I woke up that morning knowing,

Today would be the day.

I grabbed my manilla file folder,

contents of which took me months to finish.

Fill in the blank here.

Decide your child's future there.

You think that t.v., that couch, that kitchen table is rightfully yours?

Please list here.
It felt childish.
And overwhelming.
And stupid.
And insanely important.
And some days, I could only finish one page.

It was a sad manilla folder. 

And I hated it.

It sat on my desk for weeks.

And every time I would glance at it, my eyes would dart away quickly as to not remember the thing I needed to do.

I wasn't ready.

But four years ago today,

I was ready.

I laid my two year old boy down for a nap

and asked my mom if I could take her car.

I put the top of the convertible down in the driveway.

I remember feeling grateful for the beautiful sky that day.
I remember the way the sun and wind felt on my face.

I remember what I was wearing.

I remember what song was on the radio.

I remember how long that 5 mile drive felt. 

I had been there before.

I had been there to pick up those sad papers that would fill that sad manilla folder.

But this time was different and I knew it.

My life was about to change forever.

After parking the car, I started up the steps to the courthouse.

It was beautiful, that courthouse.

Historic and beautiful.

And I hated it.

Because in just 60 days I would have to return to that courthouse,

walk down the long dark hallway to a room in the basement,

stand alone in front of a judge, and wait.

Wait for him to read through those papers.

Wait for him to glance up at me from above his glasses that sat low on his nose,

and wait for him to sign his name on the line and finish something that was never meant to end.

Inside the courthouse, there was a bench immediately to the right.

A man sat, holding papers in his hand.

I don't know what those papers said or the fate of that man's future,

but his demeanor told me,

his papers, like mine, were sad too.

In front of me was a staircase. 

Twenty steps I thought.

Twenty steps until it's over.

I couldn't believe I was actually standing where I was. 

I put my hand on the railing,

and took that first step.

At the top of those twenty steps was a window.

A sad little window, with yellowing plexiglass.

The woman sitting at the desk behind the sad little window asked if she could help me.

I choked on the words, and said,

"I'm here to file my dissolution papers."

I handed her my sad manilla folder.

She opened it and grabbed her date stamp.

She stamped every single page in that folder,

tapping her stamp on the ink pad between each one.

I hated that date stamp.

I wished she would go faster.

Tears were coming and I didn't want them to.

I needed to make it back to the car before I let the emotions take over me.

I couldn't cry in front of this stranger in this beautiful courthouse I hated so much.

She then copied every single paper.

One for them. One for me.

She stapled her stack and handed me mine.

Back in that sad manilla folder.

She looked up at me and asked for the filing fee.

$250.

The tears came.

I pulled my checkbook from my purse.

Two hundred fifty dollars and no/100----------------

I signed my name, 

the tears continuous now.

In 60 days, I thought,

this won't be my name anymore.

I looked up at the woman behind the window,

and handed her my check.

My tears puzzled her.

I'm guessing most people that hand her $250 checks under that yellowing plexiglass are happy about it. And maybe some, even do a heel click on their way down the stairs. 

She gave me instructions about the next 60 days, and with a sympathetic look in her eye and a tilt of her head said, "Have a good day ma'am"

It was done.

The thing I had been fearing for months was done.

And as I drove home, I felt relief. 

Uncertainty, but relief.

Camden was still napping when I got home, so I went quietly to my room and shut the door.

I opened the curtains and let the sun shine through the windows, which made a perfect square of sunlight on the carpet.

I laid down in that perfect square with my head on my arms.

It was warm in the sun.

I cried into the floor and fell asleep. 

When I woke up, I knew it was time to start over.

Here was my chance for something better.

I put that sad manila folder on the highest shelf in my closet, promising not to think about it for the next 60 days. 

This day, four years ago, is significant to me for another reason.
This was the same day, that on my knees in prayer before bed,
I felt the overwhelming confirmation that I had made the right decision.
It was over.
And He was proud of me.
I cannot begin to describe the peace I felt at that moment.
It quite literally washed over me.
 I fell into my pillow and sobbed.
The answer I never thought would come,
the answer I spent hours in the celestial room seeking,
the answer I begged for, pleaded for,
for months and months and months
finally came.
He was listening.
All that time He was listening.
Even though there were moments I doubted it.

There are times, during visits to Thatcher,
we drive by that courthouse.
I think about the staircase.
I think about the woman behind the plexiglass.
I think about the defeat I felt that day.
I think about the hope I was given that night.
And whatever happened to that sad manilla folder,
it's contents now signed by the judge?
It sits in a plastic bin with other important papers.
Only now,
 I don't hate it so much.
Because that sad manilla folder led me to something greater than I could have ever imagined.