Back to the Beginning

Tonight the rain is pouring outside my window while I'm tucked safely inside my cozy, little basement apartment. Tonight that same rain seems to be reflecting the feelings of my heart. The last few days my heart has been constantly weeping for the loss of my mom. I get up, get the kids to school, run my errands and do my daily tasks, pick up my kids and I smile and play with them, I tuck them in bed and kiss their sweet cheeks trying to soak in every ounce of their goodness and in return give them all of the love I have, and then the tears my heart has been silently crying all day are finally free to slide down my cheeks. Tonight it is time to write again. Tonight I am going to take it back to the beginning.... 

The cooler temperatures of the fall seem to be bringing back vivid memories to my mind. It was this time last year that I moved to Utah. I didn't know then that the months of September and October would be my last two months spent with my mom before she would become dependent on me. We spent those two months in the same manner that we usually spent time together. We were oblivious to the poison inside her body that would soon take her life. Ignorance was bliss.

There is one particular night in September that sticks out to me. Remember the lice my daughter had had the previous spring? Turns out she actually had SUPER lice! Apparently super lice cannot be killed with over-the-counter lice treatments. On this September evening I discovered that not only did she have it, but so did all of my boys! I was distraught. I could not do lice anymore. My mom and I took the boys out back and completely shaved off all their hair. We worked late into the night bagging up all of the pillows, washing the linens, vacuuming, and combing through hair. We decided we better check our own hair as well. My mom and I took turns combing through each other's hair using a fine tooth comb and a magnifying glass (keep in mind we both have very thick heads of hair). Any of you who have dealt with lice before will know what a painstakingly slow process it is to thoroughly check for lice. Seeing as it was now our third go around with lice in six months time (thank you super lice) my mom and I decided to also chemically treat our hair despite not seeing any sign of lice. We were determined to be done once and for all with all things lice! 2 a.m. rolls around and we are both sitting at the kitchen table with this gross chemical treatment in our hair. Out of nowhere I started to sob uncontrollably. Shocked my mom said, "Buggins, what's wrong?" (side note: we're a nickname family) I couldn't get the words to make sense I was crying so hard. I was trying to say, "I'm so tired of hard." It sounded so ridiculous and I felt like a child crying like that that I then began to laugh but I was also still crying. I was legitimately hard core crying and full on laughing at the same time. I have never experienced anything like it prior to that experience or in the days following. I felt like a full on lunatic. "I think you're having a nervous breakdown" was my mom's response through her own laughter. At two in the morning we were sitting at the kitchen table with gunk in our hair, simultaneously laughing and crying like babies who can't decide if they should laugh or cry, except that we were full grown adults. That is one thing I loved best about my mom, she was always a person I didn't have to be anything but me with. I could act like a crazy woman having a premature midlife crisis at 28 and she didn't care. She unconditionally embraced my crazy and always brought hers to the party. Somehow that terrible night has become a treasured and cherished memory. A memory of acceptance and love from a mother to a daughter. There are times I'd give anything to be back in that hard, uncomfortable, kitchen chair with smelly chemicals in my hair. 

The beginning of October I started taking a CNA course. Classes were from 9-2, Monday-Friday all month long. During this time my oldest two kids were in school but my youngest two were not. My mom had agreed to watch my little ones for the month. That month was a priceless treasure for my then four year old. He got so much more attention from grandma that he didn't normally get when the bigger kids were around. They spent many of those beautiful fall days going for walks. The baby has more energy than most people know what to do with and as the month of October progressed, my mom began to experience extreme fatigue. A lingering cough she had had since the spring began to worsen. When she was tired of chasing my youngest around she would buckle him in the stroller where he would be confined and my four year old would walk along beside her. Despite her exhaustion it was usually easier for her to manage a walk than chase the two year old around at home. She never let me know just how bad she was feeling but despite her best efforts to hide it I knew something was wrong. I felt guilty leaving her with my kids but she insisted and at that point there was only a couple more weeks left, therefore, daily walks with my boys became the norm. 

It was on these walks that my four year old formed a bond with her that is quite remarkable. Because of all of the changes from the divorce and the high demands placed on me, he was struggling a bit to be seen. The two of them would walk and talk. She would point out things about nature to him and before long he suggested they start saying prayers on their walks. This tickled her. He would say, "Grandma, Grandma stop we need to say another prayer". She would patiently stop and listen to him pray for his sister and then they'd walk a little further before he would ask her to stop again to pray for someone else. This went on and on the whole walk until he had stopped and said a prayer for every member of our family. My mom cherished these walks and I believe they were a small step in preparing her for what was to come. I know they were a huge step in healing my little boy's heart. 

One day I came home a bit early and discovered the house empty and the stroller gone. Knowing they must be on one of their walks I walked out front to wait for them. Sure enough there they were walking towards me on the other side of the street. My mom was pushing the baby, my four year old was walking eagerly beside her, and they were looking at each other discussing something with smiles on their faces. The sun shone perfectly behind them so that their silhouette's were crisply outlined against the sky. A gentle breeze scattered leaves along the road and ruffled my hair when I distinctly heard, "remember this moment" whispered in my mind. Time stood still for just a fleeting moment. I willed myself to soak it all in, to memorize the way they looked, the way I felt, the sound of their distant laughter, every single bit of it I tried to commit to memory. Tears sprang to my eyes and in that moment I knew....

That was the last walk she ever took with my boys. From that day on, deep in my soul I knew that the "lingering cough" would eventually take her life. The next time I came home from school she showed me her pillowcase. It was speckled with blood from coughing in the night. That was the beginning of the end of her mortal life. 

Not a day goes by that I don't miss her presence.

 Even though I love the changing leaves and crisp air, this fall has been painful for me because this year the changing leaves and crisp air acts like a trigger on a gun where the ammo is a bunch of bittersweet memories. Memories that I know I have to share, I have to let out somehow because if I keep them in I'll drown in them. Some of them are too painful to keep locked away, stuffed inside. Some of them are too beautiful to keep to myself. Grief is funny like that; pain and beauty intertwine until sometimes you don't know where the beauty stops and the pain begins. So like the trees in autumn I'm shedding my memories like falling leaves. Some of the leaves are ugly, dead, and brown, rotting on the ground. However, most of the leaves from my tree are vibrant oranges, reds, and golds; you see most of my memories are more beautiful than painful. To know my mom, to care for my mom, to love my mom and be loved by her in return, that is more beautiful than any autumn leaf! How fortunate that life is eternal and that like the tree that loses it's leaves every fall, new memories will come forth like fresh leaves growing in the spring!

                                                Treating her hair for lice. lol

                                              Grandma time with the little boys

                               

The Hospital

Yesterday afternoon I went back to the hospital I spent so much time at with my mom. Towards the end of her life she had a procedure done where they inserted a catheter into her left lung so we could drain the fluid more frequently at home which is called a thoracentesis. In order to do a thoracentesis you have to use a special lung drainage kit that is packaged so that each kit is completely sterile. The drainage bottles and kits are quite expensive. We had about ten of them left when she passed away and the company that manufactures them wouldn't refund them. I decided to take them to the hospital to donate them for other patients who couldn't afford them. I had been putting it off for days, knowing that returning to the hospital was going to be difficult for me emotionally.

As I pulled up to the hospital I turned down the music in my car and took some deep breaths. "It's okay, you're okay right now just get out of the car and go inside. You'll be fine."

 I forced myself to open the car door and cautiously got out as if I was expecting the grief to hit me with sudden force."Okay, so far so good." 

I opened the back of the mini van, grabbed the big box, and made my way towards the Cancer Center with the wind whipping my hair. As I approached the door I noticed a sweet looking older woman and we made small chat and then exchanged smiles when we parted from the elevator on the 2nd floor. "This is not bad. I can do this. No biggie."

 I made my way to the familiar oncologist's office hoping to leave the kits with the P.A. that had taken a particular interest in my mom and been so kind to us. I noticed a few nurses that I recognized and felt a small twinge of pain. The receptionist smiled in recognition when she saw me. It was a pity smile. I explained to her that I was hoping to see Heather and donate the drainage kits.

 "I'm sorry Heather is with a patient right now. I suggest you take the kits directly to the Heart and Lung Center. I'll tell her you said hello." 

I knew the Heart and Lung Center was where I logically should have gone in the first place but I wanted to thank the P.A. for her sweet card and face my fear of the Cancer Center. It felt like it was some right of passage in my grief process. 

Over the past nine months I had gotten to know the entire hospital fairly well so I took a short cut to the Heart and Lung Center. Again I made my way through the wind and as I passed people coming and going I wondered if they were curious what was in the box I was carrying. They couldn't possibly know how difficult carrying that box was or that every time I looked at one of the kits inside it my mind flashed to images of myself trying to calm and console my mom as I drained the fluid from her lung. They couldn't possibly know that the first time I saw blood in the fluid from her lung I silently panicked and had a meltdown when the home health nurse was not concerned. She knew what I was trying to deny. My mom was dying and she was dying soon; there was nothing to be done about the blood.

 I forced those memories and images from my mind and turned on the "numb switch". I decended the stairs into the Heart and Lung Center and approached the front desk. In one breath I spat out the following like a rehearsed line,  "my mom passed away and we had all of these lung drainage kits they're brand new and still completely sealed I know how expensive they are and thought some of your patients might be able to use them." The two receptionists just looked at me trying to process what I had just said then their faces softened and with great compassion one of them asked, "What was your mom's name?" Ouch! In my mind I was thinking, "her name IS Kathleen Ewell, not was". I knew she meant well, most people do, so I blew it off and told them her name. They exchanged a quick glance with each other and then looked back at me with tears in their eyes. "Yes, we remember her. We're so very sorry for your loss. Thank you for donating these kits. Somebody is going to be very grateful." I quietly responded, "It's what she would've wanted. She received some free samples from other patients as well. It's come full circle now." 

I don't remember saying bye to them, I hope I did. The next thing I remember I was practically running up the stairs trying to get out of there as fast as I could. "I shouldn't be here right now. This can't be real". When I got outside, memories of times spent with her in that very hospital came in a continuous stream. Her stroke, PET scans, CT scans, MRI's, when she was diagnosed, a class I took about chemotherapy, weekly appointments to check her INR, an endoscopy, radiation and chemotherapy treatments, a blood transfusion, and the final time she was admitted for severe confusion and hallucinations before they sent her home with home health, all came rushing back.

 I could see us sitting in the chemo room while she received an infusion of poison into her veins, my mom talking to everyone she sat by and wishing them luck. I could see myself rubbing her back, as we waited to be called back for her endoscopy. My mom was nauseous that day and curled up in a ball on the waiting room chairs. I could see my mom lying in her hospital bed telling us that she was forced to marry Osama Bin Ladin with terror in her eyes, fully convinced it was real. I could see my siblings and I eating together in the cafeteria discussing what should happen when she dies. I could see all of this and so much more as if I were out of my body, standing there watching it. 

My eyes began to fill with tears and depsite my best efforts to keep them in, they began to trickle down my cheeks. Finally I made it to my car, opened the door, sat down and promptly laid my forehead on the steering wheel and sobbed. I sat there in the hospital parking lot crying in my mini van for a few minutes before I felt her. 

Suddenly an indescribable peace came over me and I felt my mom's presence in the front passenger seat next to me. I didn't audibly hear her with my ears, nor did I see her with my physical eyes but I knew she was there and somehow she spoke these words to my heart, "It's okay baby, it's okay". Such a simple message but it was exactly the kind of thing she always said to comfort me in her physical body. Moms have a gift to calm our hearts without saying very much, at least mine does. She just lets me cry and allows me to feel how I feel, silently validating her unconditonal love for me. 

With that I sat up, dried my eyes, and turned the key in the ignition. Upon leaving the parking lot a contentment washed over me and the distinct thought came to me that I needed to share some more of my experiences caring for my mom on my blog. I don't know why. Perhaps, like with the experiences I shared about the abuse of my daughter and my divorce that followed, it is for me to heal more fully. Perhaps it can help someone, somewhere who has lost a loved one to cancer or is facing the ugly monster in the face right at this very moment. My hope is that they feel a little less alone and a little more understood. I don't fully understand the whole reason and maybe I never will. All I know is that the nine months I cared for my mom was life altering. It was simultaneously the hardest, most difficult thing I have ever done and the sweetest, most tender, and sacred thing I have ever experienced. It was nine months of my life that I look back on with no regrets. I learned all about a different, deeper kind of love. An eternal love that I could never have comprehended before. I thank you all in advance for allowing me to be vulnerable and share a very special piece of my heart; caring for my mom. 

Kathleen Abrams Ewell, A Believer

I'm not sure this post will make any sense. It is most likely going to be a jumbled mess of my thoughts and feelings. I have so many thoughts bouncing around in my head and I know I just need to get them out somehow. I don't know how to write about such tender things while it is still so fresh but feel it is important to do so. I have written quite a bit in my journal but feel the need to share some of these thoughts with others. My mom was one of my biggest supporters of this blog and I know she would want me to share some of these things if it might benefit someone. I still feel so amazed and humbled that what I have to say makes a difference in the lives of others. I feel so normal, so ordinary, but perhaps that is where my power is. I can help others because I'm normal and ordinary and I have been blessed with the courage to share. So with a little apprehension I am once again going to be vulnerable and share with y'all another piece of my heart. I'm going to share some of my grief with you. I'm going to share one of the most valuable things to me with you, my mama.

On July 13th at 3:01 a.m. my dad came to take my sweet mama home and end her mortal suffering. It was a beautiful and tender blessing to hold her hand and feel her heart beat its last few beats. The love that was in that room with my siblings and I surrounding her bed as she left this life is something that cannot ever be described by words we have here in this life. Her nine month battle with stage 4 lung cancer tested and tried her to her limits in every way. Emotionally, spiritually, and physically she fought EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Some would say the cancer won, I have even said she lost her battle but as I look back now I realize I was wrong. Despite extreme pain and moments of doubt and fear she never lost her faith. She never lost who she was as a mother, a sister, a cousin, a grandma, a daughter of God. Her love and faith remained strong the whole way through. I call that a victory! Those who know my mama know she has always had a fierce determination to rise up and be counted as a believer. And that she did!

A week ago we held her funeral and put her body to rest next to my dads. The last week or so has been surreal. None of this feels like it really happened. Occasionally a memory will rush back to me and with it comes emotion, shock. This is reality. With that reality comes the impression that I need to share who my mom was and is. I need to share my testimony that she lives, that death is not the end! I need to share experiences that I've had that have taught me that although awful, bad things happen sometimes to good people, God is real. I have had so many special, sacred experiences these last nine months while caring for my mom. I know I need to write about some of them but I'm still trying to process and decipher what to share. Some things are too special to my siblings and I to ever share publicly.

Despite the pain I feel at the loss of her physical presence I feel a deep, intense peace inside my heart. Nearly every day of my life I have talked to my mom. She was my confidant, my counselor, my best friend. We would talk about a variety of things ranging from things as mundane as what we did that day to our deepest pains and heartfelt desires. Losing her is odd because the person who always helped me the most with this kind of thing was her. I would call her and cry and vent and cry some more. She always validated my feelings and knew exactly what to say to motivate and empower me. In fact, it was she who gave me the words: stronger, braver, fearless as my mantra! I find myself now in a position where I am once again at a crossroads. My whole life was about caring for my mom these last nine months and of course my kids as well. Now I have to create a new life for my kids and I. I don't know exactly what that looks like and that can be terrifying but I have an idea and hope for the future. I don't regret the decision to drop everything and care for her in the least. Besides my decision to become a mother, choosing to care for her was the best thing I have ever done!!! I have now experienced a different, deeper kind of love than I ever thought possible. I am grateful to have experienced that kind of sacred, selfless, eternal love! Every pain I feel at her loss is matched with an equal amount of gratitude. Gratitude for that time. I never in my wildest dreams envisioned myself being an "orphan" before I was thirty but I don't feel that way. I feel so grateful for the parents I have, for the time I had with each of them before they were called home. I have been blessed to have had noble and loving parents. With that gratitude comes peace, I feel their love every day of my life. They are still here with me, in all that I do. I read my moms journal this week and I realized that she also lives on in me. She gave me the best qualities about her. Because of her example I have her strength, her ability to love, her sense of humor, and an unwavering dedication to family and Heavenly Father. I don't necessarily think I'm amazing but she was and through her constant example she has given me the ability to develop those same qualities. They are in me and because of her I will rise up and be counted as she lives on through me. So even though I want to call her and ask for her advice, "What do I do next?", I know what she would say. "you can do hard things", "gird up your loins and fresh courage take", "the gospel isn't for wimps", "put one foot in front of the other", "move forward with faith", "I believe in you and you will rise up to meet what life has handed you", "just do this day", and most importantly, "I love you, you can do this!". Sometimes the grief and fear is debilitating but then I think about her life and the things she overcame and the words of advice she would have for me and I KNOW without a shadow of a doubt that although the road will be challenging and overwhelming at times, I will succeed!!! I will know true joy and happiness can be found even in the most difficult times. I choose light, I choose happy, I choose to believe, and I will rise!

Kathleen Abrams Ewell was a lot of things in this life: a daughter, a sister, an actress, a nurturer, a granddaughter, a cousin, a poetess, a teacher, a "ding-a-ling", a friend, a comedian, a devoted wife, a superb mother, and most importantly, she was a believer!

All That Matters

Many times I've sat down and attempted to write over the last couple of months and nothing seems to come out the way I want it to. My mom has fought long and hard to keep her cancer at bay and it has become evident the last couple of months that it's not a battle she is going to win. How do I accurately convey my life the last couple of months? How can I possibly describe the intensity of the love that I have felt? I can't. There are no words adequate enough to describe the ache I feel every time I see her wince with pain. There are no words that can describe the sorrow I feel when she looks at me with tears in her eyes because she doesn't know where she is. There are no words sufficient to explain how much it kills me to watch her suffer in so many ways and I can't take it away from her. It is the most heart wrenching thing I've ever experienced to watch her body slowly give up on her. To watch my vibrant, positive, active, strong mother become weak and helpless. So why do I do it? Why do I keep caring for her even though it's breaking my heart? Why did I decide to stay home and care for her full time when there is no paycheck? The answer is so simple; LOVE. It's all about love. Period. There are nights when I'm so emotionally and physically exhausted and the tears won't stop and I wish this wasn't real and there are nights when I'm scared to death of how much I'm going to miss her. Sometimes I think the pain is more than I can bear and then I remember that love is so much stronger than pain and fear. Love takes over and my personal concerns for myself don't seem to matter anymore. I look into her big blue eyes and I know there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her. She is worth it! Then I feel the sweet love of our Savior, Heavenly Father, and Heavenly Mother and I know I will never regret loving her this way. There is no pain that can equal the love I feel. I am so grateful for that sweet love that reinforces my faith in life after death. There are so many family members and dear friends waiting with joyous anticipation to embrace my faithful mother and envelop her with their love. What a sweet reunion she will have! After all she has done for me, surely the least I could do is help her through this last difficult chapter of her life and get her home.

In my last post I wrote to my mom that her kids would love her through this horrific plague that is cancer. I haven't been able to write since then because we have been too busy loving her through it. Mom, you're almost done. You've lived a good life. You've taught us well. You have loved us unconditionally. We love you more than any words could ever possibly convey. Our love for you is deeper than this mortal life. Our love for you is eternal!

                                                    Loving Her Through It:

 

                                                 

         

The whole purpose, the reason for it all is love. It all comes back to love. That's what matters. 

Love You Through It : a Mother's Day message about unconditional love.

With Mother's Day quickly approaching my thoughts have been turned towards my own mother. Often when I think about her, words feel inadequate to explain the mother she is. From the time I was little I remember nothing but love and perhaps that is the greatest lesson she ever taught me, to love unconditionally.

In 2004 my dad passed away very suddenly and as I was the youngest, that left just her and I at home. To say that was a hard year and a strain on our relationship would be an understatement. We each grieved differently as our relationships with him were very different. I was a teenager about to start my final year of high school and a whole new phase of life. She was a woman about to be an empty nester and now a widow, which meant she would be completely alone. Our fears were great and there were a few occasions when we took those fears out on each other leaving us both with hurt feelings. What came after the hurt feelings is an important life lesson I'll never forget. After giving me some time alone my mom would always knock on my door, sit on my bed and apologize. "I'm sorry, I'm doing the best I can. Parents aren't perfect but I love you so much. Can you please forgive me?"

If only she knew then how much those words would help me when I became a mother! She taught me that it's okay to not be a perfect parent. That it's okay to be real with your kids. That we respect those that are honest with us about their shortcomings. That there is nothing that can't be mended by sincere humility and unconditional love. That all we are ever expected to do, is our personal best.

Over the years my mom has been there for me as I have parented my own children and she has continued to comfort and gently nurture me through some of the most difficult moments of my life. I am her caregiver now but a year ago she was mine. It wasn't that long ago that my world was falling apart and she was helping me pick up the pieces. She worked tirelessly to keep my house clean and help care for my kids while I handled legal issues and worked through my grief. Many mornings she let me sleep in and mope in bed as I mourned the end of my marriage and the horrible abuse my daughter endured. She was patient with me as I slowly began to heal and get stronger. Quite simply, she loved me through it. Now it is my turn to allow her to grieve and mourn the loss of her health while I take care of business. I see it not as a burden but a privilege, an honor. Unconditional love is serving one another through the trials and heartbreaks in life. She taught me that.

Mom, if you get a chance to read this, you need to know how much your kids love you. It is okay to not be the strong one taking care of us anymore. You have taught us everything we need to know. We know to trust in God because of you and that turning to Him is ALWAYS the answer. We know how to love both purely and unconditionally because of your example. Spending time with you and caring for you is a privilege for us all. You have been and are a noble mother! Your faith and love have sustained us and will continue to do so because yours is a love that will last for eternity! Enjoy your time and try not to stress about the magnitude of this trial as you face your cancer. You have never let us fall or left us alone in our times of need and we will not let you either. We've got your back mama. Quite simply, we will love you through it!

This Mother's Day I challenge all of you to think about your own mother's and the ways they "loved you through it" and as a mother myself, I know that sometimes we have a tendency to look inward and reflect on our own mothering skills and sometimes we are tempted to compare ourselves to other mothers we know. To that I challenge you to 1. Remember the love you have for your child is the MOST important part of being a mother! Nothing else we will ever do will even touch the love they feel from us. The pinterest worthy birthday parties and perfectly packed sack lunches don't matter if they don't feel our love. Loving them deeply and making sure they feel that love IS ENOUGH! 2. Love yourself through it. There is no such thing as a perfect parent!!! Be patient and kind with yourself. Repeat after me as I repeat after my mom : "I'm doing the best I can." No more comparisons. I know my mom sounds pretty amazing from all of the things I've written about her but even she forgot my brother's 7th birthday. ;) He still loves her and is a functioning happy adult (mostly hehe).

Let's make this Mother's Day about love, unconditional love. Not comparisons, feelings of inadequacy, guilt, or even anger. This Mother's Day lets focus on the positive, the happy, and loving ourselves and each other through the trials and heartbreaks of life.

Because He Lives

I've been feeling for a few weeks now that I need to write about my dad and his passing. With Easter Sunday quickly approaching I think it's become even more relevant to share this particular story. It's a very difficult thing for me to be so publicly open about because those memories are so special and sacred to me but I can't shake this nagging feeling that I need to share. A portion of this I have already shared in a different post, "Not as I will, but as thou wilt."  It's time that I tell the complete story. Here goes nothing and hopefully ya'll will understand how special this is to me. Some things you never forget...

It was a lazy summer morning and I had been out late the night before with friends. It was just my mom and I at home because my dad was working out of town in Rock Springs, Wyoming with his brother. I was sitting at the breakfast table enjoying a bowl of cocoa puffs when the phone rang. My mom was out on the front porch waving goodbye to my Aunt Shar so I got up and answered the telephone; it was an old fashioned one with large buttons and a long, curly cord. I didn't know it yet but what was about to happen next would change my life forever.

"Hello."

"Hi Celeste, this is Uncle Walter is your mom there?"

Something about that moment felt wrong. I don't know if it was the tone in my Uncle Walter's voice or something else but I knew from just that one sentence that something was seriously wrong. I remember feeling a sense of urgency to get my mom. I went to the porch and told her as calmly as I could that Uncle Walter was on the phone for her. I remember following her back to the kitchen like I was her shadow. I didn't want to miss a word she said. At that point I have blacked out the memory and I don't remember exactly what was said or the expression on her face when she heard the news. The next thing I remember she was telling me to follow her back to her bedroom. Words came out of her mouth in a blur. My brain couldn't catch up and my heart couldn't process what she was telling me.

"Dad had a heart attack."

 "He's being life flighted to LDS Hospital downtown Salt Lake."

 "We need to call Kenton".

The next thing I knew we were praying and my mom was pleading over and over again, "Lord, please help us to accept Thy will!" I'll never forget that prayer and the impact it had on me.

My brother Kenton was called and he came to pick us up and drive us to the hospital. My mom and I were a wreck of nerves and he was calm and peaceful. Once we got to the hospital we sat with other family members in the waiting room for what seemed like forever until we finally heard the helicopter that was bringing my dad in from Wyoming. It was both comforting and nerve wracking to know that he was finally in the same building as us and that the doctors would be able to see how bad the damage was. Was he going to live?

The next week was one of the most difficult weeks of my life. My dad had no brain activity so they decided operating on his heart would be pointless. He was in a coma and it was up to us, his family, to decide what to do. We waited to see if there would be any mireacles, any improvement at all, any sign that he might live. We waited for all of the family to have a chance to see him. My mom and I stayed in one of the hospital rooms so we could be near him and so other family members from out of town could have more space to stay at our house. I paced those hospital halls so many times and quickly I felt like I had the place memorized.

LDS hospital is up on a hill in the avenues of downtown Salt Lake. One day I just had to get away! I couldn't stand being in that hospital one more minute agonizing over the details of my dad's condition. I took off on a walk down the hill in a rage. "How is this real life? If I lose my dad now he won't see me graduate from high school, get married, or even have babies. It's not fair!" I was particularly upset that he wouldn't be around when I had babies. My dad was the best grandpa! He loved the grand kids and could always be found wherever they were even if that was down on the ground hiding in a fort. As I made my way into temple square with these heavy thoughts on my mind I noticed what a beautiful day it was. People were out and about enjoying the weather and one another's company. I saw a group of people laughing and felt genuinely surprised that there was still happiness in the world and life was going on for everyone it seemed but my family. I felt like I was in an alternate reality where time stood still for me but went much too quickly for the rest of the world. I wandered into the General Conference building (which was fairly new at the time) and I sat upstairs in the room with all of the statues of the prophets in a state of disbelief and shock. "Lord, help me! I'm just a girl. I don't know how to do this! Girl's need their dads!"

Eventually I ended up in the Joseph Smith Building watching a screening of, "The Testaments of One Fold and One Shepard". The movie is about Christ's appearance in the America's after He is resurrected. I completely lost control at the end of the movie when Christ showed the people the prints in his hands and feet. There I was in the most pain I had ever experienced in my young life and the pain didn't go away necessarily, but in that moment I knew my dad wasn't going to live and that it was going to be okay someday. The answer I had been dreading, the answer I knew deep down to be true was there smack dab in my face. I couldn't hide from it. My dad was going to die. He was not coming back to me in this life. I didn't know how I would go on but I knew I would go on and things would eventually heal. I knew it was okay because when I watched those people in the movie touch Christ's hands and feet the spirit testified to me that that was real! It really happened! Christ died and rose again on the third day and because of Him death was not really the end!

Eventually the doctors gave us the cold, hard truth; if he did come back he would most likely be a vegetable. We had a decision to make as a family and on July 14, 2004 we pulled the plug on all of the equipment that was keeping him alive. I have never felt more love in one room than I did that day. My entire family crowded around his bed and my mom asked my brother to read a scripture:

Psalms 23:4

Yea, though I walk through 
the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil: for
thou art with me; thy rod and 
thy staff they comfort me. 

Ocean waves were playing in the background. My dad so dearly loved the Oregon and northern California coast, it was a part of his soul the same way it is now a part of mine. A prayer was said and the equipment unplugged. My mom whispered in my dad's ear, "fly, baby fly, you're free" and one single tear slid down my dad's cheek. Many things happen naturally when a person dies, a physical reaction to the body shutting down but I believe that was his way of saying how much he would miss us and how sorry he was for all of the sadness we would feel. Within a few minutes his chest slowly stopped rising and falling and he was no longer with us in his mortal body. My sister Laura turned to me and with thick emotion embraced me and wept on my shoulder, "oh Buggie, I'm so sorry!" My grown brothers who were always so calm and safe, my protectors, were bawling on my shoulder. That day changed all of us forever.

On July 19th, a Monday, we held his funeral and shortly after family left to get back to their lives. It was the emptiest feeling on the planet being in our home with just my mom, knowing we would not hear my dad's laughter coming from the other room anymore. For about a month our dog, Charlie, would sit in the window waiting for my dad to come home. A couple of times he even ran out in the street confused, looking for him. Eventually he stopped waiting in the window and it broke my heart. He really was gone.

So many people showed us so much love during that time. We received countless cards and visits from well wishers. A family in the neighborhood brought us a massive breakfast to feed our ENTIRE family. My mom was serving as Young Women's president at the time and I was a laurel and the Young Women made us the most heartfelt cards. During our stay at the hospital my mom and dad had their 18th wedding anniversary. The staff all signed a card and got my mom a cake. I was so touched by their compassion. Many friends and school mates of mine showed up to my dad's funeral, never having met my dad, just to support me. I still look back on all of those kind acts of sympathy and love with such tenderness and gratitude!

My senior year of high school was rough. Grief encompassed me and I did my best to act normal, to be fine, but I wasn't fine. I felt like I was an actor in my own life. Many times after school I would throw my backpack on the floor and collapse onto my bed and just lay there, empty, depressed. Sometimes I couldn't move for hours and no tears would come and other times I couldn't seem to get off of my knees from a prayer and make the tears stop. I never thought the pain would end.

Time went on and I moved up to Idaho, got married, and had four kids. Gradually, with each year the pain got less and less. Sadness turned to gratitude for the time I did have with him and that I got to have him as my dad. I would rather have David Leavitt Ewell as my dad on this earth for only 17 years than any other dad until I was 80.

I have felt my dad's presence here and there over the years; usually when I am enjoying my kids, his grand kids. I have told my kids stories about their grandpa and seen tears in their eyes as they realized how special he is to me. It touches my heart to see them still have a relationship with him on some level. We can't drive by his cemetery without the kids yelling, "Hi grandpa!" On Valentines Day they made him valentines without even telling me and then asked to take them to him. One day I was upstairs helping my mom and I came downstairs to find the kids watching a home video of him completely entranced. They have never physically known him but they do know him and that brings my heart so much joy. Death has not kept them from having a relationship with him! They are learning the eternal nature of families at such young ages and I couldn't be more touched or amazed at their comprehension. It is a beautiful thing!

This last year has undeniably been the hardest of my adult life. One of the many tender mercies I have experienced is the sacred blessing of feeling my dad's presence with greater intensity and frequency. I feel him all the time, all around me. I know he is guiding and protecting me and my little family. I am convinced he was with my daughter giving her comfort and courage when she decided to tell someone she was abused. I know the love he felt for his grandchildren that were living at the time and I know that that love is no different than the love he feels for my kids now.

I have felt him giving me companionship and comfort on some of my darkest days. On one occasion I was praying and missing him terribly. I craved the comfort only a father can give and I said, "I love you dad, Heavenly Father please let him know I love him, I miss him." What happened next was a first for me and a much needed tender mercy. I distinctly heard the words, "I love you too Buggins". Every cell in my body knew he was there and that those words were coming from him. I instantly felt warm and as if I was hugging him once again.

I talk to him frequently about my mom. Not in the regular way you would talk to someone living but I feel things in my heart and send messages to him. "Dad, please help me take care of mom. What should I do?" I have felt him many times around us and I know he is here often even when we can't feel him.

My message today, my whole point in sharing all of this deeply personal stuff, is that life does not end at death! This Easter season my heart is so full of overwhelming love for our Savior. Because He lives I know that my dad will live again too, as will my mom. We ALL will live again because of Him! Death is still hard, there is a hole left in your heart that only time can slowly heal but the sting, the finality of it, is swallowed up in the crucifixion and resurrection of our Savior! As a 16 almost 17 year old girl watching a movie about the Savior's resurrection I knew my road would be long and painful but I also KNEW that it would be okay one day. It will be more than okay, we will all live again, of that I am certain! I don't know why I've been so fortunate to feel my dad when others might not have but I do know because of those experiences he is alive and well right now! Life goes on and we don't need to say goodbye the way we think we do. I feel a deep and immense love for our Savior. Because He lives I don't ever have to wonder if I will see my loved ones again. I still get to have my dad with me and my kids still get help from my dad, all because He lives! What has been made possible for you because He lives?