{ThiNGs i HaVE LeaRNeD}

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum.

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message

He is Dead.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W.H. Auden

I love this poem. It speaks of the very raw feelings of grief. I know that it is very sad to hear the thoughts of another grieving person. I also expect that our children will have grief come to them again in this life. They are so young, and it hurts my heart to think of them beginning this process again, but I am quite sure that they will have to face sorrow throughout their lives. And so, maybe one day when I am gone, they will have my words to help them. To comfort them and maybe to give them courage.

I suppose that it might seem to another that there are days when our family can set aside our grief. Maybe our smiles---the joy that we still share, give a sense that, for a time, we might forget. But the truth is, our grief is always with us. For me, it surfaces at unexpected moments and takes away the air around me. It feels at times like a cold stone lodged inside my chest. At first I thought, "A stone cannot be anything but a stone" and was thus inconsolable. Truly inconsolable. There was utterly nothing that could be said, even by those who know and love me best, to give me any relief from the pain that consumed me.

It is different now than that. I feel consoled. Still, the grief is never far away, and I find myself struggling to remain composed at unexpected moments. Not that I feel any shame. I am grateful for my tears. They are tears of love.

I have grown in ways that I could never have imagined, though I have so far to go. Right after James died, when we were agonizing over the decision about Libby's surgery, I felt completely bereft of hope. I was given a priesthood blessing, wherein I was told that when James died, angels had been sent to be with me, and would remain with me as long as our Father in Heaven felt I needed them. I know that this really happened. That even when I was incapable of feeling anything, I was being watched over. Protected. Not spared the seemingly unbearable sorrow, but undeniably helped through it. In my heart, I believe this happens so often to people who suffer. A dear friend, our Bishop, lost a brother when he was 15 and his brother 17. He told John & I that it "defines their family--- in some ways that are good." I know that the death of our James defines our family too.

About Grief:

--- In the early days, grief feels like I imagine it would feel to have open heart surgery without anesthesia. So when someone asks you about funeral plans, or other details, it is impossible to focus on any kind of decision. All of one's energies are going to just remaining alive, which is ironic, as death would be such a relief.

---Initially, it is not helpful to be told: "He is in a better place" (I love this earth, my life. It was, in truth, good enough for me--- until I lost so many loved ones. My son, My dad, my grandparents, John's mother) "He died doing what he loved" (James surely would have loved graduating from High School, going on a mission, falling in love, marrying, becoming a father, buying his first car... & I would have loved to watch it all unfold), "Your son was too good for this world" ( I am certain that our time in mortality is part of a loving Heavenly Father's plan for us)

---People will often say, "I couldn't do that". I have thought about this so much. A comment that could be a prayer of sorts; "Please don't let this happen to me." I do believe this: Our Heavenly Father thinks that we can do it. That we can endure the trials of this life. I know that He can help us see ourselves as He sees us... capable of carrying on when the darkest of sorrows befalls us. With His help. With the help of angels--- those in heaven, and those among us. I do see myself differently now. Maybe more as he sees us all. I feel His love more intensely. His patience with my failings. His hopes for me to overcome the trials of my life.

--- Grief does not go away. We do not "get over it". It is actually wrenching in some ways, to have time pass, as it feels that James is further away. The scent of him. The feel of his strong, muscular back when I hugged him. His things strewn about the house. His bright eyes. I miss scolding him. Hauling him to dental appointments. Writing a check for his track fees. Watching him think. Laughing at his offhand remarks. I try so hard to conjure his memory in vivid detail, and I sometimes see him in my dreams. I ache so desperately for him.

---People who lose someone they love do not cry every moment for the rest of their life. In fact, often the worst pain is beyond tears. I have bumped into old acquaintances, who have asked me how many children I have. When I told them that I lost a son, they replied, "I cannot believe you can tell me without crying". I know this is meant as compassion, but it makes me wonder if they think that I am cold. The truth is, I sometimes feel as though I am walking around with my arm cut off, and no one can see the wound. I could cry without restraint at any given moment. But I don't, as I have become strong enough to control that reaction most days. (I am not easily offended. I never want feelings of bitterness to overtake me. I do know that people have very different reference points. Grief brings this fact into sharp focus. I try very hard to consider another person's life experiences. I think this is very important when grief comes to us)
Last week, President Thomas S. Monson quoted Harriett Beecher Stowe, "The bitterest tears shed over graves, are for words left unsaid, and deeds left undone." When I heard this, I felt a kind of happiness inside. Though I must face life without my son, I have no regrets about our relationship. I made mistakes as his mother, but I feel solace in knowing that our love for one another was uncomplicated. That when I stood in the mortuary and looked at his truly beautiful body for the first time after his death, I felt complete, pure love for him. I knew that he was prepared to meet God. Not perfect, of course... but worthy. It was written on my heart by a still small voice, that my boy's love for me is boundless. I knew then, and know now, in a sacred, spiritual, powerful way, that he and I have a bond that will never be broken. I feel this very same way about my Dad... an easiness in my memories. No nagging regrets. Just love and longing. I do not say this boastfully, for I know that not everyone is given such a gift. I also know that the atonement is real. That the suffering of Christ makes it possible for us all to feel just such an easiness in our love for one another. In this life and beyond. I understand this in a new and clear way. I know that love can grow even after death. That in spite of the words of this poignant poem... I now know for sure, that love does last forever.