Tender Mercies

December 30, 2012

Dear Family,

This is, in many ways, a bittersweet moment for us all. For months we have been unable to really talk to dad, which has been very lonely. I don't know how things work on the other side of the veil, but in my heart I feel him close, and am so thankful for his presence. On the other hand, I miss seeing him, and will continue to miss him until we are reunited some day. I am so thankful for each of one of you, my family, for your love, for your prayers, for you kindness and examples and your friendship. We are the luckiest people in the world, because we have each other. Thank you!

I probably won't keep in touch with you as much as I should from now on, because I know me, and I know how time slips away and I procrastinate, but I will try to send updates form Snowflake occasionally. In the mean time, I love you!

This week following dad's passing has been hard, but we have also been blessed with many tender mercies.

For one, it was sweet that dad passed late on Christmas Eve, while most of our family was already here. It was a blessing that we were able to have our family smorgasbord, let Santa visit the kids, and all of us have a chance to tell dad goodbye before he died. Still, he was able to get home in time to wish his own father a happy birthday as well. (Remember, Grandpa Russell's birthday was on Christmas Eve.) Not that people on the other side of the veil keep track of time like we do, I don't suppose they are on mountain standard time, but it was sweet to think about dad being able to give his dad a hug on his birthday.

Another very tender mercy was that dad passed away so quickly. Most people with dementia linger on for years, and dad would have hated that. From the time Uncle Alan labeled him with dementia, it was only half a year before he passed. None of us wanted to loose him, especially not mom, but we were all so grateful he didn't have to suffer.

I went down to the mortuary this morning to give them the finished program for dad's funeral tomorrow, then I stopped by the church to practice playing the piano. I'm going to accompany the grandchildren when they sing “Did I Fill The World With Love?” I wish I could play as well when people are listening as I play when I am alone. I was thinking this as I practiced, and wishing that dad could hear the song the way I want it to be, to honor him, when the thought suddenly popped into my head that dad was there, sitting on the piano bench next to me. I thought, “It's just my imagination,” but then somehow I knew it wasn't. I just knew that dad was there, and for the few moments it took me to play the song for him, I basked in the warmth of his presence and talked to him. I told him I was playing this song for him, to honor him, because he spent his life trying to fill the world with love. I told him I loved him, and the tears streamed from my eyes, but my fingers knew where to go even though I could hardly see the music, and I played for dad the way I wanted to play. As I finished the lady who cleans the church walked into the chapel and came up to talk to me. When she left I knew dad was gone.

I am so grateful to Heavenly father for giving me the chance to play for my dad. I know he will be with us tomorrow as we celebrate his life, but it was so sweet to have a chance to be with him alone, myself, for just that tiny bit of time.

I pray that each of you, in your own way and in your own time, will have a chance to feel dad close to you, as well. He loved you all so much, and I know he wants each of you to know that.

I love you, too.

Aunt Gale

Sunday Dinners at the Cabin

One Sunday afternoon when I was little we went to church in Young.  After church was over we drove back to the cabin, looking forward to the roast and potatoes and carrots mom had put in the oven to cook while we were gone.  It was Fast Sunday, the first Sunday of the month when members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day-Saints all around the world fast for two meals, so we were really hungry.  To our dismay, when we got back to the cabin we discovered that the electricity had gone out while we were in town, and our dinner was not cooked.  Mom reminded us that it was only early afternoon, not really time for us to break our fast anyway.  She sent us out to play quietly, hoping that the electricity would come back on soon. 

It was late in the afternoon before it did, and then the roast took another couple of hours to cook.  We were starving, so Mom let us make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  The roast was finally done about 8:00, and the meat wasn’t as well cooked as usual, but it sure did taste good.!

Another Sunday up at the cabin we stayed at Church, talking too long.  Dad always had to talk to everyone.  It seemed like he knew every person we ever met, and he was interested in every story they had to tell.  This particular Sunday there were some missionaries at Church, and Linda thought one of them was really cute, so she didn’t mind waiting for Dad to finish visiting.  To tell you the truth, I didn't mind too much, either.  She and I stood in the background and listened to Mom and Dad visit, and ogled the missionaries.  Keith got bored with the whole thing and waited in the car, but Phillip and Julie and Sharon kept busy trying to catch grasshoppers in the tall grass. 

We must have stayed at least an hour longer than usual, and we were all ready for our Sunday dinner by the time we drove into the cabin.  We expected to be greeted by the enticing smell of roast beef, potatoes and carrots, simmering in mushroom and onion soup, but that smell was long gone.  Instead we were met with the smell of charred meat and potatoes, and dicovered our roast had burned black.  That was another peanut butter and jelly Sunday.