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.

You know, me 2.0

I have got to be like the worst blogger ever. 

My last post was at the beginning of August.

Whaaaat?

So you're probably wondering what brings me here on such a fine evening. 

Well I'll tell ya….

Me 2.0

{Hang on, I'll get there}

Tomorrow morning I will be traveling to the paradise that is Thatcher, Arizona. 

Or Thatch-nasty as it's more rightly called.

To talk about my life.

To a room full of 20 year olds.

Single, 20 year olds.

Being the bishop of the college YSA ward, my dad has felt impressed to give a combined lesson about pornography. You know, "THE lesson"

He has asked me to come and share my experience being married to a pornography addict 

in hopes their eyes will be opened to just how dangerous and toxic it can be to individuals and especially in families. 

He asked me to do it last year as well.

So tonight, just like last year, I pulled out my old journal

from the years I was married, to gather my thoughts on what I wanted to share.

Tonight, just like last year, I read through each and every entry.

Tonight, just like last year, I cried as I read.

Tonight, just like last year, I didn't recognize the person writing those words.

I know that was me, but was that really me?

I can't believe that this is really me.

Page after page of feeling some small speck of hope only to be crushed 50 words later. 

Up and down and up and down.

The pain is still raw. 

And I can feel that my heart remembers it,

but it's like I'm reading someone else's sadness. 

Tonight, just like last year, has been a very humbling experience.

I know that this was my life, yet my wounds have been so healed, and so mended and I've been blessed for my faithfulness in such sorrow 1,000x over that that person no longer exists.

And in that moment, the very real assurance that the Atonement has made me whole was ever present.

And I am grateful.

Because I have been made new.

In one particular entry, pretty soon after the {1st} marital journey had come to a close,

I wrote about finally feeling light in my life again.

About the strength coming back to my legs.

My soul rehydrating. 

And I write:

"Looking back - I can't believe I made it out alive. Someone with wings must have literally dragged me though. I have battle wounds to prove it. The soul scarring kind of battle wounds. 

But you know what?

Someday, my little ship will come in,

 and I will get off as someone new.

And start my happy life.

And I can't wait to meet her.

You know, 

me 2.0

I hope she is everything I lost and more."

Tonight, just like last year, I read those words.

But tonight, UNLIKE last year, I realized something.

I'm it.

I'm her.

Me 2.0.

I've made it. 

My ship did come in.

And I did get off as someone new.

And my happy life has started.

I said I couldn't wait to meet her.

So I introduced myself.

To myself.

To my… former self.

I told that girl from 2011 that I had made it.

I closed my eyes and thanked that girl for setting sail on uncharted waters. 

Not knowing where she would end up.

I am grateful for her bravery.

Because of her,

I am here.

Me 2.0

A Letter to Camden

To my Camden,

Tomorrow you start kindergarten.

And in the words mothers everywhere and since the beginning of time have spoken, 

I can't believe how fast the time has gone.

There is a book I used to read to you called, 

I Love You The World.

A mother bunny tells her little bunny all about how much she loves him.

How beautiful rainbows are not as beautiful as his eyes.

How seeing green grass and butterflies are not as thrilling as watching him run and play.

How the sun's rays do not make her feel as warm as watching him have fun.

How her love is deeper than any ocean's floor.

How she's wealthier than any queen, because he is her fortune.

On each page she says,

"I love you the world, my bunny…"

Whenever I read this to you, I would always say,

"I love you the world, my Camden…"

It just sounded better.

My pregnancy with you was not easy.

Not just for physical reasons.

But mostly for emotional ones. 

My life was an uncertain and emotional roller coaster and I always wondered if bringing you into this world at such a time was a good idea.

I was afraid.

But then you came.

After twelve hours of labor and three hours of using all my strength to push you out of my body,

you came.

Your first cries were weak.

You cried a little here and there, little whimpers more than cries.

You just wanted to sleep.

You were tired and I don't blame you.

It was a rough day.

I was tired too.

I remember thinking that maybe you were going to be a quiet soul.

You tricked me that day. :)

The nurse handed you to me and though so weak I could barely hold you,

the love I felt for you was so strong and so deep, I thought my heart might literally burst.

You were an angry baby.

You cried a lot.

Our bishop at the time told me he thought it was because you weren't ready to come down to Earth yet.

You knew you had to because it is the divine plan of our Heavenly Father,

but maybe you just did it because you had to.

Not because you wanted to.

I don't blame you.

Life with Heavenly Father definitely is much better.

The day you started crawling was the day you changed.

You could move!

You were free!

And you suddenly became the happiest baby around.

You didn't need anyone to entertain you anymore.

You were independent and you liked that.

The next year was a unhappy one, and we spent a lot of nights alone together.

You became my best friend.

Sometimes while you were sleeping, I would come into your room and get in your crib with you.

I would listen to you breathe in and out.

I would hold your hand.

I loved being near you because of your sweet innocence. 

You were perfect and pure and innocent. 

And a lot of what was happening around me was not.

You helped me have faith.

You helped me feel loved.

And oh so blessed.

I just wanted you to be okay.

I knew the pain and sorrow I was suffering would find my way into your life at some point and in some way and I never wanted you to be negatively effected by it.

I wanted to protect you from the evil of the world.

I knew too much of it and wanted you to never feel the betrayal I had experienced.

Just after your second birthday, your world would be turned upside down again.

But you were what kept me going.

You were the reason I got out of bed each day.

Life was hard for a while,

just you and me. 

But then I found happiness.

And hope.

But I want to apologize to you right now for not being the happy mother you deserved for those two years. I did my best.

But I was sad. And hollow.

And you deserved better.

I cannot change the first years of your life, but I can promise to try my best to be the mom and guardian and friend that you need. 

Life was still full of changes for you.

Accepting a step father in your life, a new home, a new step family.

Our new normal.

You didn't see your dad for a while when he went into the Air Force.

But we tried to give you as stable and consistent of a home and life and routine as we possibly could. 

When you were 4, you became a big brother.

I will never forget the look in your eyes the day you met your baby sister.

Pure love. 

A mature and all consuming love.

You couldn't stop looking at her.

You couldn't stop smiling.

It was like your spirits were reuniting.

You missed her.

Your souls belonged together.

I knew it and felt it that day.

This was how it was all supposed to be.

It was a powerful and spiritual moment.

And maybe that's why you didn't want to come to Earth at first.

Maybe you didn't want to leave Navy.

The next year brought more challenges.

And more changes.

A new step mom. Another step family.

A new house.

New friends.

Another new normal.

I tried desperately to understand what may be going on inside that tiny body of yours.

Inside your mind.

I have spent so many nights on my knees pleading with our Heavenly Father to help me know what it is that you need. 

You will never know the tears I have cried for you.

To say I worry about you is an understatement.

I worry about the effect the many changes you've experienced in just five short years will have on you in the future. 

Will you rebel because your dad is not a daily part of your life?

Will you resent me for choosing to leave him?

Will you act out because you are child of divorce?

Will you make bad decisions because you are mad?

Are you mad?

Do you feel sadness?

Do you feel abandoned?

These are the things that run through my brain over and over again.

Your Aunt Rochelle told me once that as a mother, I have the power to call down the powers of heaven upon my children to protect them.

This was such a comfort to me.

And in those quiet moments of uncertainty, when I'm so worried I'm physically ill,

I use my motherly power and ask God to surround you with the powers of heaven. 

If I cannot protect you from anger and sadness and pain,

God can.

And so, Camden, on the eve of your first day of Kindergarten,

here's what I want you to know:

I want you to know I love you.

With a heart bursting, deep rooted love that started the day I first met you.

We have a special bond you and I.

Because of what we experienced.

And I am so grateful for it.

I want you to know Jason loves you.

He worries about you too.

He wants the best for you and he wants to be the example of truth and righteousness and worthiness that every young boy needs in his life.

He is strong. And faithful. And valiant. 

And I pray that you look to him and other worthy priesthood holders around you for guidance as you grow and mature and are met with the evil that will surely come.

I want you to know your dad loves you.

He wants you to grow to be the kind of man you can be proud of. 

He will never stop loving or praying for you.

I want you to know there are a lot of people out there rooting for you.

Your Nana puts your name in the temple every week.

She says she works in the temple for her family's protection.

She does it for you Camden.

Your family prays for you.

Our friends pray for you.

We have all fasted for you.

We are all on your side.
We all want to see you succeed and be happy. 

I want you know I am proud of you.

You are handling the cards you have been dealt like a champ.

Sure, you aren't always easy for me to understand or be patient with,

but it could be worse. A lot worse.

And you are still happy and loving.

{When you aren't tired}

{Another battle we are facing at the moment}

I want you to know your Heavenly Father loves you.

He is mindful of you.

He understands what you are thinking and feeling,

even if your 5 year old self doesn't quite,

and even if I don't.

I want you to know he hears and answers your prayers.

I want you to know the Savior feels what you feel.

He loves you.

I want you to know if you come to know each of them and find a personal relationship with each of them, you will always find hope. 

You can plead to your father in heaven and Jesus Christ will be next to you pleading with you.

Know them Camden.

You will be safe there.

And I want you to be safe.

I want you to know I have had the calm reassurance, that when I pray for heaven to be near you,

God hears and answers my prayers. 

Camden, you have heaven on your side!

I have had the impression that a dear great grandfather on the other side of the veil has a special mission to watch over and protect his posterity. You are one of them. 

He was brave. 

And you can be too, because he will be there to guard you.

I want you to know that you are good.

You are good 

and true 

and special.

You are so special.

You will deal with more changes and uncertainty and inevitably heartache, as we all do in this earthly life, and it is my prayer that you stay close with God and with the Savior during the difficult moments you experience. 

But no matter what,

you will always be special.

I want you to know that even though I made decisions that someday you may not agree with, 

I did not make those decisions lightly. And your, not my, happiness was always my first priority.

I made decisions with the guidance from God and because God never leads us astray, I know I made the choices that were best for my life. And yours.

I want you to know you will always be able to talk to me. 

Your innocence of childhood will fade, and you will have questions.

Questions about my decisions, about your dad's decisions.

Questions I am prepared to answer.

Conversations that I hope will bring you peace, not confusion.

Conversations that I hope will increase our ever strengthening bond.

I want you to know you are a good big brother.

You and Navy are meant to be together for some reason.

Maybe you will protect her.

Maybe she will protect you.

Whatever the reason is, cherish your relationship with her.

It is special and given to you by a loving father in heaven. 

Something I feel blessed to witness. 

Be a good example to her.

And if you love her in the future like you love her now,

your bond will be unbreakable.

I want you to know that the love and support surrounding you will never go away.

We will always be proud of you.

We will always be praying for you.

We will always be rooting for you.

We will always love you.

I will always love you.

I hope tomorrow brings a magical day of excitement as you experience your first day of Kindergarten.

I will miss you during the day and I will wonder about what you are doing.

What are you doing at recess?

Are you making new friends?

Do you like your teacher?

Who did you sit by at lunch?

Do you miss me?

I can't wait to hear all about it.

"So whether it's rows of rainbows,

or stars in the sky above-

nothing compares with you, dear-

and nothing's greater than my love.

My love is bigger than mountains.

It's deeper than any sea.

I love you the world, my Camden.

You mean everything to me."

Love, Mom