Tender Mercies

Isn't is strange that life goes on in the midst of tragedy? When it's your own, it seems as though the whole world should pause for the occasion, to give it the respect it deserves. But it does not. There are still dishes to be done, lunches to be made.There are still soccer games and pre-school programs. There is still work and family and life. And I guess that is the point. There is still life. Life to be lived for those that are left behind. You have to learn how to live it again, to want to live it again. It seems bittersweet, that process. Moving on seems like a betrayal of sorts. To live life again, leave that person in the past and move on into your own future. But if it is a betrayal, it is a necessary one. One made sharper by loss. A future that seems suddenly uncertain. And somehow sweeter. All at the same time. The sharpness brings a heightened sense of awareness, of the bitter and the sweet.

And that is where I am at. A crossroads of sorts. I still cannot believe my brother is gone. Cannot believe that I am writing those words and they are real. At the same time it seems like it has been forever. That he couldn't have been here just weeks ago, sitting on my couch. Living. But it is real. And I can finally say it without crying. And life has gone on. And through it all I have felt a sharpness, the hyper-awareness of all that goes on around me. As if I am watching myself on a movie screen, larger than life. Loud voices and big movements and quippy converstions. The bitter and the sweet all melding into one. And you have to decide. Decide what to do with it all. And that is the crossroads, that decision. To watch life happen or jump in and live it.

To be consumed by grief, or to let it refine you. It's a decision. And it has to start somewhere. For me, it was seeing the Lord's hand in my life. Looking back at my brothers death, I can see so clearly that even in the midst of my sadness there were tender mercies, reminders that my Heavenly Father was aware of me. And those reminders, those mercies are just as important as the sadness. Maybe more important. And I do not want to forget them. I want that to be my decision. I love this quote from Elder Bednar:

"We should not underestimate or overlook the power of the Lord’s tender mercies. The simpleness, the sweetness, and the constancy of the tender mercies of the Lord will do much to fortify and protect us in the troubled times in which we do now and will yet live. When words cannot provide the solace we need or express the joy we feel, when it is simply futile to attempt to explain that which is unexplainable, when logic and reason cannot yield adequate understanding about the injustices and inequities of life, when mortal experience and evaluation are insufficient to produce a desired outcome, and when it seems that perhaps we are so totally alone, truly we are blessed by the tender mercies of the Lord and made mighty even unto the power of deliverance (see 1 Ne. 1:20)."

Here are just a few of my tender mercies over the last month:
-My Aunt Judy and Uncle Phil. They were there for my parents every step of the way. They left Canada the moment they heard. They stayed with my parents on their hardest day. They helped and planned and talked and cried. They drove back to Utah with us and helped us clean out Michael's apartment. They loved us. Will they ever know how much I love them for that?
-My friends. Emily, who cried with me and stayed with me and called me and then called me again. Chiara who knows just how I feel. Chantel who listens and understands me. Janet and Shar and Ericka and Tami and Chiara and Lori and Kristie who all came to Michael's memorial. I have never felt so loved. Really.
-There was one plot left near our family. Right at the head of my Grandpa's grave. My Grandpa understood Michael, loved him. It is the perfect spot. I tear up just thinking about it.
-Michael's home teacher. The man is a saint. I mean that with complete sincerity. The talk he gave at my brother's memorial was the most touching tribute I have ever heard. He loved Michael. It was nice to know there were people that did, other people that saw his goodness. So nice to know.
-Having Heath plan everything here in Utah. It was so nice having a friend take care of us.
-I went to check on Michael the Monday before he died. I drove down to his apartment, to his work. He was there, he knew I was worried, that I cared about him. I am so glad I tried.
-My dad's family came to Michael's funeral. My dad has not seen his older brother in almost 30 years. Both of his brothers and his older sister came. Four of my Bowman cousins came. It was a miracle. One that my Dad needed.
-All of my cousins came. My cousins that I grew up with and camped with and played with and loved. My cousins that knew and loved Michael too. They ALL came. Oh, how I love them. (Amy, you were there. I felt it.)
-My friend Kim who makes me feel like I still have a connection left to my past.
-The sketch we had done at Saturday Market that looks just like my brother. Just like him. We couldn't see him and having that picture made it better.
-Seeing old friends. So many good memories.
-Never feeling hopeless. Feeling sad and guilty and sick and more sad, but never hopeless.
-These cute little kids of mine that pray that their Uncle Mike will be safe in heaven.
-My husband who lets me cry to him at night. He knows just how I feel. And now I know how he feels. And it makes me love him even more.
-Michael came to our family on Easter weekend. We said good-bye to him on Easter weekend 33 years later. The atonement and hope of the resurrection have never felt more real. I hope that feeling stays.
-All of it. The whole experience. There were so many tender mercies woven throughout Michael's passing. The sweet touch of the Lord's hand in my life during that time was a gift. I hope that is what I remember.