The Most Beautiful, Real, True, Love Letter Ever Written

Every V-Day I take 3 minutes to listen to the most beautiful, real, true, love letter ever written. It's the goodbye of a CW soldier & father to his wife. I am still learning this kind of love. But I am so thankful for the timeless examples of others. People don't talk like this anymore, but how I wish I they did. Grab a tissue & listen to this testament to eternal, pure love. Nothing glamorous. Nothing selfish. Only selfless, sad and yet full of hope...

"July 14, 1861
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us... If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . ."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3zUhgFEe9I

The Day The Music Died

Today it's been one year since I held my Daddy's hand and watched him take his last breath. It was in his pale yellow bedroom overlooking the city he grew up in, in the hills of San Diego.  And in all that time I haven't written about the tender mercies I experienced that morning, or what I did with the rest of that sacred day.  Well, now it's time.

We had been there for nearly a week.  Daddy had slipped into a coma and we knew his time was fading.  In all that time we hadn't seen a single hummingbird. Feeders surrounded his balcony because he liked to watch them from his bed.  As I tended to my mother and spoke to him (because the nurses told us he could still hear us) I watched for those lively, happy hummingbirds.  

But none came.  

Not until the moment that his body grew cold and his hands held stiff.  I held my mother.  I let the tears stream down my face.  We made sure he really was gone and nodded to each other that he was in a better place now.  And then I saw it.  Flying like a graceful dancer with beauty and life, zipping here and there outside the window, a hummingbird.  Where we had seen none for days, there were now many.

Throughout the rest of the day I continued to see them outside through the windows, on the balcony and at the park.  I was so grateful, grateful for these little reminders that my Father was happy.  He was soaring.  His spirit still had life.  He was no longer here, but alive somewhere else in the skies, in the heavens.  That is what those little birds meant to me on that day.  They were a comfort when my heart was cold.  They warmed me, as little flying creatures continue to do so, as they seem to find me each time I start to feel weary.  Sometimes they are dragonflies hovering around me children on a hike.  Or a butterfly that follows me and tries to land on my arm.  

I am so thankful for that continuing gift.

That morning I let the children say goodbye if they wanted to have one last moment with him here on earth.  My oldest two did, and then it was time for us to leave while the body was taken away.  I wasn't sure at first what to do in a foreign town, in the heavy mood I was in.  I decided what we all needed was some fresh San Diego air and a sentimental distraction.  So we headed to the local park, one that was next door to a school my Dad attended in his youth.  The same park he had played in as a child.

I was barely able to find a parking spot, it was so crowded!  But I pulled in just as another car was leaving.  And when I got out of the car I couldn't help but smile.  The plant beside me was a Bird of Paradise.  There were several of them, bright and beautiful.  These were the same plants that my Dad had joked about on SEVERAL occasions- try EVERY time we walked by one.  The joke went like this: "Look out!"(cheezy pointing gesture) or "Be quiet!" (then whispering) "It's a bird of paradise!"  That joke never got old, every year that we visited San Diego and every time I heard him say it, it made me smile.

What made me smile even more on that day was hearing my kids say it.  Once I told them what "Little Grandpa" used to say about those plants they were sold, making that joke every chance they could as we walked by their beauty.  Especially my Michael, who is a budding comedian after his own Grandpa's "Dad-joke" style.

I found it both ironic and precious that the park we chose to visit was a having a HUGE birthday party!  But in moments like these remembering that life goes on is more than important, it's healing.  And that's what I kept thinking to myself as I watched my kids play. My daughter made friends with a little girl immediately and went running off to play soccer in the field, leaving me to watch the two boys...one named after my Dad and the other with a middle name that was chosen by him.

I saw them and the sense of adventure and play they had running through their blood and I remembered how beautiful this life is.  And that's something to treasure each day, no matter how hard that day might be.  Especially on hard days.  Even if you just lost someone.  Because they aren't really gone.  Part of them lingers...

I saw my Dad in my own little Michael, as he did all sorts of silly "tricks" on the swing and wanted me to watch each one. "Look Mom!  No hands!"

I felt alive when I saw his toothy smile!  He is a dreamer and adventurer like his Grandpa!

He even stuck out his tongue like Daddy used to when he was concentrating!

I loved how he continued to show off for the camera... I loved the clouds, the green, all the beauty and life I could take in...

And then I watched my Sammy.  Always busy. Ever moving.  Always reaching higher.

His feet are so little, but still capable in their own way.  Getting up the ladders and through the hoops.

It gave me hope that little by little, step by step, I would be able to get through this too.

So many smiles and leaps and life!  I had to smile as I thought about my future surrounded by little people like these.

They are excited over the littlest things and keep going.  They aren't phased by anything for too long.  And for their sake, I need to be that way too.  I remembered that no matter my sadness I need to keep going, and I CAN be excited.  That is what my Daddy would want.  My Dad is SUPER.  He's raised me to be super too.  And I want to be, as a person, mother and wife because I CAN be.

Driving home from the park, just like on the way there, every song felt like it was from my Dad.  The song lyrics were uplifting, hopeful and comforting.  And really, those words are immense understatements.  But there are no words for moments that fill your heart with the comfort you are desperately seeking.  When love pierces you in a way only heavenly help can achieve you feel immensely blessed.  Those car rides with sweet songs strengthened me and allowed me to tell my kids truthfully that I was crying "happy tears." 

When we got home my Daddy was gone.  But then again, he wasn't.  The sky looked like it was on fire.  It was amazing.  And I couldn't help but think "He's painting the sky for me."

What a humbling blessing it was to have these experiences that day.  I felt cradled and carried.  I felt my Dad so close, so near.  I am very thankful for this special day in my life.  I do still remember it like it was yesterday.  And I don't mind.  If it was painful, it was equally inspiring and strengthening.  I know without a doubt that life goes on.  The spirit continues to exist.  And I know my Dad is literally smiling over me.  And I am smiling too.  I am so very, very lucky.  Love, Eva

Love is Eternal

I had a really special experience at the temple on the 30th and thought, what better way to start the year than document it.  I was in the Celestial Room and really hoping I could feel my Dad close.  But I didn't.  It had been so hard to make it to the temple that day, the kids acting up more than usual, my patience shorter than usual...I wanted all the efforts to feel worth it.

Then as I looked around the room I noticed a design on the walls, all over the walls, wrapping around the room.  It looked like the wheat in the Egyptian art Daddy used to buy me in junior high that I LOVED.  And I realized he is ALWAYS around me, all around me.  He is always there, loving me, looking down on me.  I just need to be willing to see it and feel it.

My mom found this book that really helped her cope with missing my Dad.  It's called "Wherever You Are."  It talks about feeling love from someone no matter where you are.  I read it to my kids tonight and then noticed this sweet picture on my little Michael's bulletin board.

Love really does go on and on.  It was in my Dad as he held his first grandson, named for him.  It's been taught to Michael by me, my Dad's daughter.  And Michael uses it now to care for his little brother.  Although there was a moment in the kitchen on New Year's eve when I had to stand still for a moment and lean on the wall for support, as my chest hurt, literally in pain as it hit me hard that for the first time I was starting the year without my Dad here to talk to and hug, I know DEEP down inside that his love still exists.  It exists all around me and deep inside me, and that's because he still exists.  His love for me is as real as it ever has been and I still feel it just like when he was alive, and that's because his spirit still lives.

I'm so thankful I know that.  It's a great way to start this year.

Love,
Eva

Connecting & Crying With Laura Ingalls Wilder

Yesterday I found a kindred spirit who also loved her bearded, Papa.  Someday I will write here daily and make entire posts out of the "aha moments" I scratch down on random slips of paper or my mental chalkboard.  But till then, it's when I make the time and for this I AM making the time.  It seems fitting that yesterday of all days this happened, the same day I had just taught my own Creative Writing students about the impact of writing.  I explained how some don't believe the author to be the author of the book.  Instead, the reader is the author because they are going to interpret the story their own way.  What might be meaningless to one person might be brilliant to someone else because it connects with them differently.  Last night, I had a connection.  Here is my journal entry about it...

I was really blubbering tonight (have been a lot lately) but how could I not lose it while listening to this violin (that could have been part of a Civil War reenactment) play Auld Lang Syne and while reading these words: She looked at Pa sitting on the bench near the hearth, the firelight gleaming on his brown hair and beard and glistening on the honey-brown fiddle. She looked at Ma, gently rocking and knitting. She thought to herself, 'This is now.' She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago." 

You can watch the video here...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTEFeKESCmY&list=PL9912A544D3A8353C

The kids rushed in and gave me hugs, and asked why I was sad. And I was honest. "I miss my Dad." I don't know how to not miss my Dad. That's like asking someone not to miss the stars, or the majesty of colors in a sunset. It's asking someone not to miss the safest, warmest love they've ever known, because a Father's love is like no other. We're coming up on our first Thanksgiving without him here sitting with us. Last Thanksgiving was the final time my whole family was together, and my emotions are constantly just under the surface. And though I know he is doing greater things now than I can possibly imagine, and that I will see him again some magnificent day, the daddy's-little-girl side of me wants him visibly here, right now. It will be a year at the end of January since he passed. A year that I have not had his green eyes to stare into. A year that my daughter has not had the chance to play and pull on his beard and see him smile. Or see my son just rest next to him in bed, reading him books. I'm grateful he's not bedridden anymore, but he's so painfully missed some days. 

The other night my Michael came out from his bed crying terribly, saying he missed Grandpa. That's when your own faith is tested, when you have to explain on the spot what you believe is true and why it keeps you going. Because it does. It really does keep you going and keep you strong. And yet, there is still a touch or sometime a monsoon of sadness in a moment, because you were so lucky to have someone so precious, and then in a breath have them gone for a while. 

One of my favorite album pages of us

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? " No. I will remember him. I will remember him fiercely, and keep his memory alive and wonderful for my kids. That is the easy part. Just like Laura Ingalls Wilder put it, I have had so many gleaming, glistening, cozy "nows" with my childhood family, and then my good husband added in and then my sweet kids too. And I know we will make more all together some day, in a new, beautiful place. Till then, I will remember his brown hair and beard. I will remember his Civil War music, and relish the fact that my kids love the simple violin with it's free melodies too. I will hold my mom extra close on the days she wears the sweater she knit for my Dad. And I will think to myself each day "This is now." And I will make it a "Now" worth remembering.  

Love, Eva

"30 Memories of Daddy"

My Dad would have turned 55 last Monday if he were still living.  It's amazing how much peace and calm you can feel when you know someone has lived an incredible, worth-while life and that they are continuing to do great things in the next chapter of existence.

7 years ago my sisters and I collaborated on a birthday present for Dad called, 30 Memories of Daddy.  Even with his illness he worked hard interviewing, scanning pictures and slowly typing up histories of his parents.  The Mom Book and The Dad Book were the fruits of those labors, so we decided he needed his own book.  Each of us contributed 10 memories or lessons we learned from Dad.  Here are mine...

Dear Daddy,

Happy 48^th Birthday! Thank you for spending it in my boring apartment, so I could enjoy your sweet company on your special day. I'm honored! :)

Since this will be the first year your 3 girls are out of the house, I thought I'd share with you some lessons you're taught me through the years and reflect on some especially wonderful moments. You've definitely been one of the key people in helping me grow my roots and wings. I wanted to make sure you knew...

1. Two of the greatest lessons you've taught me were when I was only 5 years old, but I still use them daily. One is that we don't have to correct others when we notice they've done something wrong. If you hadn't taught me this, I probably wouldn't have had many friends. Instead, you encouraged a sensitive, encouraging, humble attitude towards learning. Your influence has made me a better teacher.
2. I also remember you telling me that teachers make mistakes and that there would even be times I would be smarter than the teacher. This idea pushed back the limits that educators, friends, or even I had previously set for myself. I felt empowered. Thank you for erasing those boundaries and always sitting in the front row of my education, emotional growth, and life's performances.
3. One of the favorite nights of my life will always be the Civil War Ball. I didn't have the fanciest dress and I didn't know all the traditions or historical customs the other girls did, but I felt like the luckiest one there. You helped me have fun. Your lighthearted attitude, the way you spun me as fast as you could around and through the other dancers, it all helped me feel confident and classy. Everything about that night was magical and comfortable at the same time. I guess that's how I'd define a true, loving father-daughter relationship: magical and comfortable at the same time. Safe but still rushing- like being thrown into the air so high but always having the safety of strong arms to land in and hold you. Thank you for that night and for twirling me every day of my life.
4. I wish that I could take credit for being a high achiever. But now that I've been on my own, I know that I don't naturally accomplish a lot without proper motivation (i.e. the grade, award, public recognition, a scoop of Baskin Robbin's ice cream...) Thanks for helping me set high goals, not because I needed to compete with others, but because I was capable of reaching that high. You have always been a great example of living life to its fullest.
5. “Books are our friends.” If I ever do get published, become famous and have a blog people read regularly, I know this quote from you will be on my homepage. From how to physically treat them to how to absorb their knowledge, you have been an example of respecting and seeking out truth. Thank you for this priceless gift.
6. You helped me find my femininity without losing a sense of adventure and play. Thank you for helping me see how these two sides intertwine. From the Roll-up game to wearing appropriate clothes to church, you showed that there is a time and a place for everything and helped me see the difference.
7. Another moment I'll eternally be grateful that you were there beside me was when I missed my flight to SVU. I was so scared. Life was ready to keep moving, but I wasn't. Thank you for helping me “stick with the plan” that eventually led me to my wonderful, sweet husband. For that act alone, I owe you all my happiness.
8. It may sound funny, but thank you for respecting animals and teaching me to do the same. Whenever I saw people squishing ants or torturing worms, I knew you wouldn't agree with their actions because you saw all of God's creations as having value (even the mosquitoes in Bolivia.) It's funny, but that little truth affected my decisions of whom I dated. If a guy thought messing with animals was funny, he was not for me, because I knew you wouldn't do that.
9. Without you I might never have listened to Queen, Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, Kansas, Boston, John Taylor, or Cat Stevens. I probably would not appreciate Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Without you I may have gone my entire life without reading The Hobbit or Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now? If you hadn't been my Dad, I might never have learned about Mole Day. Thank you for opening my eyes to so much good stuff.
10. I think the most important lesson you've taught me is to never make the same mistake twice. Learn from it. Change. And keep trying. I remember the first school report I lost to the abyss of accidentally deleted computer files. I remember sitting on the edge of your bed in tears, looking at the blank computer screen as you explained why I needed to save more often. You said the report would be easier to write the second time (which it was) and that I hopefully wouldn't let it happen again (I haven't.)

It was in that same spot on the edge of the bed that we watched each other play Tetris, I saw you studying for school and when you once spoke to me about making decisions. That year Halloween fell on Sunday. You said you had taught me right from wrong and had let out a little bit of rope that couldn't be taken back. Even though I didn't like it, it was my turn to decide how to spend the holiday. I knew you respected me because you let me make my own decision.

Many times since then I've figuratively sat on the bed of indecision, weighing the arguments of both sides, trying to choose. Thank you for teaching me all you could and helping me learn how to teach myself. Thanks to you, I'm never perched too long. I've been given the tools I need for this life. You've taught me, encouraged me, strengthened me and I know that no matter what, you'll always walk beside me.

I love you forever.

Happy, Happy Birthday!

Love, #1

(We enjoyed watching Star Trek: The Next Generation together, so that's where the #1 reference comes from.)

Oh, Daddy, how you are missed!  But you are also so sweetly remembered.  I could easily write another 10 memories right now, and maybe sometime soon I will so I can always remember who I come from and my children can know you too.  Keep on having adventures and someday we will join you and make more memories together.

Love,

Eva  

More Than Special

This is my daughter, Sophia.  At first glance people don't know she's been diagnosed with ADHD, Oppositional-Defiant Disorder, and High-functioning Aspergers.  It's hard for me to even type those words because that's not what I see when I look at her either.  I see a vibrant, artistic, smart, caring, creative, sometimes crazy-loud & other times overwhelmingly shy, silly, thoughtful, beautiful, Christ-like child of God.  I know she's not perfect.  She's my daughter, so just like she's seen the worst of me, I've seen the worst of her.  But her "worse" is innocent, trying, frustrated, confused and yet still, her best in that moment of challenge.  And I'm so proud of her for trying everyday to fit in to this square world when she is a star.  

She did these art projects this week completely all on her own- no prompting from me...

Half of them she made because she loves art.  The other half she made because she loves me.  She wanted to cheer me up.  I can't think of anything more sweet or selfless for someone to do than take the time to create a piece of art out of their own creativity and with their own hands, just to help someone else feel happier.

Yes, she may not always be socially on target. She may not completely understand personal boundaries.  And we are still working on getting through the tired afternoon without a tantrum.  But she IS my sunshine.  She IS a joy.  She remembers stories I told her years ago with amazing detail, makes up songs while we drive to the grocery store and sees beauty in the simplest things.  

She fills me with wonder every day.  

It is a privilege to be the parent of a Special Needs child.  Some people who know me and Sophia may not think we fit in this category, but you don't know the things we struggle with behind closed doors.  Still, I would not be as strong or patient without her in my life.  She understands I get tired some days of the distractions that keep her from brushing her teeth even though I've been reminding her every minute for the past 10.  She knows I get frustrated and feel like an inadequate mom when I've put her to bed at 8:30 and she's still up 3 hours later.  And she may have ended up crying (loudly) at day camp this week because she couldn't make a Loch ness Monster out of beads as "perfect" as she wanted it to be.

But she also knows how to help.  She also understands that taking care of peoples' feelings is important.  When she prays she asks that our family can have help choosing the right and having the Holy Ghost in our home.  When she is her best self she cleans my room and decorates it for me with streamers, art and her favorite stuffed animals.  She holds me extra long when we hug and loves looking at the freckles scattered across my cheeks.  

And, I love looking at hers.  I love her.  I am so thankful she is in my life and I am lucky to call her mine.  Like anyone with a Special Needs child knows, "Special Needs" simultaneously is and isn't what they are.  Because they are so much MORE than a label or acronym.  

And yet, they are definitely, gloriously, special.   

Love, Eva 

So Many Kinds of Beautiful...What I Hope I Can Teach My Daughter (And Remember Myself)

My biggest fear of moving back to Utah is the vanity that's there and getting sucked back into that vain mentality.  Don't get me wrong.  I  love a lot of things about Utah.  The mountains.  The family and friends I have there.  But I've definitely not missed all the liposuction and breast enhancement billboards that saturate the valley (Boise doesn't have any of those.)  I don't look forward to explaining to my daughter that some people spend 1000's of dollars on trying to change the way they look, not because of a valid health concern or reconstructive surgery, but because they want to look better in a swimsuit.

Then I remembered a moment I had the other day in my garden.  I was looking at these little flowers and thought...

What if those little purple flowers, that I LOVE, wished they looked like a rose?  That would make me sad.  I love those little beautiful purple flowers.  They are beautiful just the way they are.  This rose is beautiful just the way it is too.  I didn't edit the colors at all because I wanted to keep its natural beauty.  Neither flower is better than the other.  They are both beautiful to me, just different. 

Sometimes different flowers have the same colors.  There are my little purple flowers and these...To me neither is better.  Both are beautiful.

Or sometimes the same flowers are portrayed slightly differently in art.  People might individually have preferences over landscape or portrait formatting, but they are both still beautiful.  A running joke my husband and I have is how my hair should look.  I regularly ask him his preference on length and color and he always says he doesn't care because it doesn't make a difference to him.  This has made me CRAZY, but now I get it.  To him long or short, darker or lighter, whatever!  It's still beautiful.

My son Michael came to watch me editing.  I liked some of these photos cropped off-center.

Or not showing their edges.

He liked them centered and uncropped.  Again, more kinds of beautiful.

Then he saw these editing tools and REALLY thought the flowers looked beautiful! LOL

I suppose you could say editing these photos is similar to the physical editing we do with plastic surgery.  But it's not.  This is free and changed with a click, maybe equal to dying ones hair.  Not equal to going into debt or taking on a part-time job to cover the 1000's of dollars of monthly payments of a tummy tuck or enhancement job.

 I realize some people do it for confidence, and it's not my place to judge.

I would have them consider though, there are so many kinds of beautiful...

Some people want to look like everyone else because they think looking like everyone else is better.  

But God already made you just the way he wanted.  He wanted us to all look different because we ARE different.  The difference is in the details of our character and soul and that's reflected through our eyes, smile and love.

Some of us are just starting to bloom.

Others are still waiting to.  Actually, I think parts of all of us still have yet to bloom.  That is beautiful too.

Some of us have personalities that like to be easily visible, high and right in people's line of vision.

Others would prefer to lay low, slightly hidden, but they are still beautiful too.

Some might say there's nothing spectacular about these planter boxes filled with tulips and pansies but I thought they were worth taking pictures and writing about.  I thought they were beautiful.

And they are obviously bringing a lot of joy to my daughter too.  And I hope I can teach her to never want to change this or enhance that, because that would mean that she is just her body.  And she is so much more than her body.  Her body is simply the vessel for her creativity, compassion, spontaneity, and crazy-happiness.  Why should she want to look like everyone else when she isn't everyone else?  She is beautiful just the way God and I made her.

As my favorite classic mormonad says "Be your own kind of beautiful."  This flower is unedited.  Yes, it is not perfect.  It is not as glamour-shopped as some photos of flowers are in calendars and framed art.  But it is still a lovely, stunning creation of God, and it is beautiful.  Just like you.

 'Till Tomorrow!  Luv, Eva