Shocking Advice

 

Greetings and salutations. Most people begin each morning by asking how your night was. My answer this morning would be, rather crappy. I woke up at 1:00 in insulin shock, not an uncommon problem for a Type 1 diabetic, but it doesn’t leave you feeling great, and it interrupts the night’s rest. Then, to add insult to injury, I woke up at 5 once again on the low side of normal for a diabetic. Feeling a bit disgruntled, I shut off my trusty insulin pump which was not currently being my friend. Then I did my best to try to go back to sleep, since I was already feeling a bit tired. ‘Twas all to no avail. Instead I lay there and thought about all of the negative things going on in my life.

I suspect we are all having those kind of moments lately. Everywhere we look it appears to be a disaster, joy of latter-day mode. I watch the news, then I have to watch something funny, because the world is in constant turmoil. You go out and about, and a lot of people (not everyone, thank heavens) are being less than cheerful. Everyone is struggling with something, health, loss of a loved one, financial distress, etc. Life is currently less than fun.

But when I glance back over my life, I realize, it’s pretty much been that way most of the time. There have always been challenges. Like when I was five and I was intrigued by the space race that was going on in the world. I remember dumping the toys out of a gallon ice cream container, that back then (1960’s) resembled a cardboard drum. My creative mother decided those were awesome things to store toys in, so I had a few of them in my closet. That morning I dumped one out, toted it out to the hallway in our brand new brick home (we had just moved in a couple of months previous to this event) and set it carefully on my mother’s pride and joy, the shiny hardwood floor. She kept these floors polished and looking sharp at all times.

I ran into the main bathroom, also located in the hall, and retrieved an item I needed, so excited for this new game that I was making up as I went. Taking a deep breath, I tipped the ice cream container upside down, stood on it (I was short back then, too) and it became my launching pad. My mother remembered working in the kitchen and hearing my countdown from the hallway. “10, 9, 8 . . .”

She wondered what I was up to, but shrugged it off until the power glitched and she heard me scream. When I reached “1 . . . 0 . . . blastoff,” I shoved a metal barrette into an electrical outlet, and had impressive results. Fire shot out of the outlet. It burned my arm and a portion of my mother’s hardwood floor until she was able to knock me away from certain death with a wooden broom.

I survived this adventure, but learned some hard lessons. First, electricity was not my friend, fire burns wood, including hardwood floors, and using my imagination was not always a good thing.

My arm healed, but there was no way to repair the damage done to the hardwood floor in the hall. A nice new, long rug was placed over the scorch marks, and eventually, carpet covered the hallway. All of it served as a reminder that I needed to think things through a bit better. And because of what I learned about electrical outlets, I protected my younger siblings from following in my footsteps. If I saw any of them approaching an outlet, I reminded them of what had happened to me.

My outlet experience was a learning curve. I suspect the same is true for what most of us are enduring now. These are indeed times when we have to pick ourselves up, dust off, and continue on with the journey that lies ahead as best we can. It’s important to learn from what we’ve been through, and to use that hard-earned knowledge to help others who may walk a similar path.

My paternal grandmother used to tell me this world is a giant classroom, and that we never know when we’re going to be hit with a pop quiz. She was right. And I think we know that fact deep down. We are here in part to learn and grow. Sadly, some lessons hurt worse than others. I’m still digging out from under the landslide our family endured during our oldest son’s cancer adventure. After he passed from mortal mode, I couldn’t read for nearly a year. I would try, but when I found myself reading the same paragraph five or six times I gave up. This was an annoying challenge since reading has always been one of my favorite pastimes. And that went hand in hand with not being able to write, also a favored endeavor. I learned from a wise friend that sometimes, this kind of thing goes along with the grieving process (Thank you, Judy), and that it will get better, but it takes time. She was right. Life is different now, and some days still hurt, but I am doing my best to push ahead, taking things one step at a time. The important part is to never give up.

I am grateful for those who have stepped in to help me—some challenges require a helping hand, much like the day my mother saved my life by knocking me away from the outlet with a broom. We were never meant to walk alone in this journey through life. And for that, I will be forever grateful. And as we reach out to help others, our own pain seems to lessen. So when bad days happen, take a deep breath, ponder about what is really important, and then push forward. As I have always found in my life, as we do so, we will see that there are others out there who need our help. And as we help them, our own hearts will start to heal. Part of the famed circle of life.

Hot Oil Treatment

 

This past month has been a bit of a gut punch for me. In a nutshell, I lost a very dear friend, someone I’ve known for years, someone who saved my life. I’m still trying to come to terms with this loss, and I feel it’s important to record what took place years ago in the hopes that sharing this experience may help someone else who is walking a similar path.

In 1975, I lived in a small Idaho town called Ashton, also known as the gateway to Island Park and West Yellowstone. My family moved there when I was 14 years old. My father, who was a pharmacist, had a chance to manage a small drugstore in that location and he wanted to give it a try. Dad was always searching for a perfect place to live and work, and he felt certain Ashton was the answer.

It took a while for us to find a home—we began by renting a huge old house on the far edge of town known as the Manwaring Mansion. Built when the area was first settled, it was the only place available to rent that year. It would take us months to find a home to buy, so we made the best of things. My younger sisters still reminisce about the fun of waking up to find snow on the foot of their beds compliments of a cracked window.

Our mother was very good at making do with next to nothing, and she quickly spruced up the old pioneer dwelling by cleaning, painting, and fixing items like the cracked windows. We all pitched in to help her as we could.

That first winter was challenging as we quickly learned that we were indeed living in a mountain valley. School was closed for nearly two weeks because of a nasty blizzard that seemed to go on forever. Wrapped up in blankets in front of the small fireplace, we did our best to stay warm until the weather calmed down.

By the time I was a sophomore in high school we had found a home to buy. It was located on the other end of the small town, a three bedroom house with one bathroom. Eventually we remodeled, and turned it into a four bedroom home with two bathrooms, something that worked better for our clan.

This home was close to the high school, about two blocks away, a much easier walk than it had been from the old mansion house. It was across the street from the local park, and just north of the football field. There was also a fun convenience store on the corner that came in handy on occasion. That year was full of interesting adventures, including my first real job working at the drugstore, mostly in the soda fountain on weekends and after school, and several days a week during the summer months.

I enjoyed the time I spent at the drugstore. I loved meeting people and learning important skills like counting back change to the customers. I also enjoyed receiving a regular paycheck which I used to buy important items like clothes, music, and movie tickets. Eventually, I managed to purchase my first set of wheels, a red ten-speed bike. I would ride it on the back-roads to get to work, parking it behind the drugstore for safe-keeping during my shift at the store.

Two wonderful ladies helped me learn the ropes of making the tasty concoctions that were served at the drugstore soda fountain, Ruth, and Delena. We made delicious shakes and malts with real ice cream, offered different flavored ice cream sodas, hot fudge sundaes, banana splits, and poured and mixed refreshing pop which included a local favorite, cherry iron-port. We also provided ice cream cones to the customers who preferred that treat. I developed muscles as I dished up what we called hard ice cream. It was explained to me that we took pride in using real ice cream for all of our menu items, unlike the soft ice cream that was offered at a nearby drive-in on the other end of town.

Ironically, I went to work the next year at our so-called competition, the Frost-Top drive-in. I knew I needed to save money for college, and I was offered more hours and a better wage at the drive-in. I started out as a waitress and won’t go into how misshaped my first soft ice cream cones were. I’m amazed I wasn’t fired on my first day, I made so many mistakes. It was a totally different environment and it took me a few days that summer to learn an entire new skill-set. Once I caught on, I was told I was a natural (I think they were trying to make me feel better about myself) and I was promoted from being a waitress, to a fry-cook, and by my senior year I was the head cook under the couple who owned the place. 

 

Normally the drive-in remained closed in the winter months, but when this older couple bought the place from a high school teacher, they decided to keep it open year-round. The summer months were crazy busy with all of the tourists who traveled through on their way to Island Park and West Yellowstone. We often filled the carport, the dining room, and the stools at the counter every day which required quite a team of waitresses, fry cooks, and one or two main cooks to keep up. In the winter months, things slowed down immensely and the staff was pared down to one cook, and one or two waitresses, depending on the day.

One winter night, a friend and I were the only two scheduled to work. It had been a very slow week, and the owners were driving down to Idaho Falls to pick up supplies. In their absence, they gave Donna and I each a list of things to clean and take care of during that shift, figuring it would once again be a slow night. We glanced at the long lists and sighed, knowing it would be a challenge to get everything done during our shift.

I had known Donna for a couple of years, she was about two years younger than me, but very mature for her age. She lived out southeast of town, not far from one of my closest friends, Jan. As such, Jan often gave Donna rides into town for school, and other activities that we took part in like attending high school games, or one of our favorite pastimes, going to the show at the local movie theater. Donna began hanging out with us during lunch hour at school and we enjoyed visiting, laughing, and making sense of life. We all possessed a fun sense of humor and enjoyed focusing on the funny things that happened each day.

The night Donna and I were given the long lists of things to do, we decided to make the best of it, and cranked up the tunes on the jukebox to make the evening more fun. Just as we were starting to get the place spit-shined, we were invaded by cars, trucks, and people. Within minutes, the carport filled, as did the dining room, and the counter. Donna frantically tried calling people in to help us, but couldn’t reach anyone on the staff list.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Donna and I talked to the group of men who were sitting patiently at the counter and explained our predicament. They volunteered to be our waitresses and did a fantastic job. They explained to us that there had been snowmobile races that day up in Island Park, and the participants were now on their way home. We were the only drive-in around for miles, so they had all decided to grab a bite at the Frost-Top. With the help of our newly recruited “waitresses,” Donna and I focused on preparing the food. Donna had been training as a fry cook, so she took over cooking up the fries, onion rings, tots, etc. while I focused on all of the burgers, chicken sandwiches, and so forth. It took us over an hour to feed everyone, but we did, and our customers were happy and impressed. Donna and I laughed for a long time over how efficient our burly waitresses had been at taking orders and handing out the food. But when they all left, we were dismayed by the big mess we now had to take care of. Normally, in the summer when we were swamped, two waitresses focused on washing up the dishes. Our two sinks were heaped with red plastic baskets, utensils, and pans. In short, our work was cut out for us. So we cranked up the tunes again, and began tidying things as best we could.

About an hour later, we nearly had things back in order. Donna was vacuuming the dining room and I was cleaning the grill when I realized I hadn’t shut off the fryers to cool down.

That night I was supposed to change out the oil in the fryers. Normally, after we closed the drive-in, the cook would shut the fryers off to let them cool while everything else was cleaned. Then, one at a time, the fryers were emptied into a tall metal bucket, and the old oil was carried around outside to the back of the drive-in where a tall metal barrel was kept and that was where the old oil was dumped, one fryer at a time.

As I stood there, staring at the sizzling oil, I knew I had messed up. Muttering under my breath, I quickly shut off both fryers. They were kept at 350 degrees. I stomped into the back room, retrieved the metal bucket, and set it in front of the fryers. Exhausted and anxious to get out of the drive-in, an idea popped into my head. It never occurred to me how happy our bosses would be over the money we had made for them that night. All I could think of was how disappointed they would be in Donna and I if we didn’t get everything cleaned.

So I glared at the still sizzling fryers and had what I thought was a brainstorm; I would empty both fryers into that metal bucket and carry out all of the old oil in one fell swoop. It would save time and energy. I knew I would have to be careful, since the oil was still so hot, but figured it would be fine. I had done this particular job many times and felt certain I could handle it.

I dumped the first fryer into the bucket and was just reaching for the second one when a very bad feeling hit hard. Annoyed by this and not sure why I would feel that way, I ignored it and picked up the second fryer. Just then, Donna came around the corner and saw instantly what I was doing.

“Oh, Cheri, no, don’t put both of them in that bucket. It’s not safe!”

I glanced at my friend and said, “This will save me time,” and I dumped the second fryer into the bucket. It fit with about 2-3 inches to spare. Triumphant, I smiled at Donna. “See, it all fits. It will be okay!” As I said that, I was hit again with a horrible feeling, but I continued to ignore it.

Donna told me later that she had the same horrible feeling, but could see I was determined to carry out that heavy bucket of hot oil. She opened the side door of the drive-in for me as I walked out, carefully carrying the tall metal bucket. I walked around to the back of the drive-in and made it all the way to the barrel. As I lifted the bucket of sizzling oil over my head, I remember thinking, “See, I did it and it all turned out just fine.” And that’s when things went awry. Slipping on the ice that surrounded the barrel, that bucket of oil spilled down on top of me, instead of going inside the barrel.

I’m not a screamer, but I screamed that night. There are no words to adequately describe the amount of pain I was in as I fell to the ground, rolling around in misery. Donna came running out immediately, carrying a large knife. She said later that she had assumed someone had grabbed me and she was coming to save me. When she saw what happened, she threw the knife in a panic, something we never did find again.

Donna told me later that at first, she saw what had taken place, panicked, and stood there, frozen in place. Then she said it was like someone took over, telling her inside of her head what she needed to do. We would later realize that we had been receiving promptings from the Spirit, but it would take both of us a while to understand what happened.

The first impression that came to Donna was how important it was to get the heat out of my face. She said that it came through to her very clear that she was to move me to a nearby snowbank. This proved to be a challenge, we were approximately the same height and weight, 5’ 2” and around 100 pounds. And by then, I was so out of it, I fought her every step of the way. But she overpowered me, dragged me to a nearby snowbank, and started scooping snow out to place everywhere she could see that I was burned. I was not very helpful with this process and kept brushing off the snow, so she had to sit on top of me, with my hands pinned out of the way to succeed. After several minutes, she then had the impression to get me inside the drive-in and call for help. So she managed to drag me from the back into the building, and I vaguely remember that she propped me up against the wall by the phone, and called my parents. As she waited for them to come, Donna grabbed ice from a nearby ice machine and placed it all over my face, neck, and shoulders.

I don’t remember much of the rest of the night. I know when my parents arrived, they carried me out to the car, and rushed me to ER of the local hospital that used to exist in Ashton. I was placed on an uncomfortable bed in ER and the team on shift went to work to try to save my face. The burns on my neck and arms, weren’t as severe, but they still slathered a healthy amount of Silvadene ointment on those areas anyway. Most of that ointment went on my face. It was quickly covered in some kind of gauze material, and soft ice packs were layered on top of that.

Our family wasn’t very active in the LDS Church at the time, but my mother arranged for two men from our ward to come and give me a priesthood blessing. She had a strong testimony of the power of the priesthood and placed her faith in the blessing I received. I only remember one line from that blessing: “You will be healed according to your faith.” Terrified, I wasn’t certain my faith was strong enough for the healing that needed to take place.

I had recently gained a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ during the end of my sophomore year of high school, but I was still learning what that meant. And that night, as I lay hovering between conscious thought and unconscious slumber, I was convinced I had ruined my life. Images of a scarred and ugly countenance haunted me. I gleaned snippets of the conversation between my parents and the doctors who worked on me that night and it wasn’t very encouraging as I heard comments like, “She’ll need skin grafts. We will transfer her to Salt Lake in the morning when she’s more stable.”

When I was coherent, I silently prayed for a miracle. I knew what had happened was my fault; I had ignored promptings that would have saved me from going through this experience, but I also knew prayers were heard and often answered, and I begged for help.

That night was easily one of the most miserable evenings of my life. I had been given something for pain and it eventually lulled me into a fitful sleep. I went from slipping in and out of consciousness to being totally out. When I woke up the next morning, I was still lying on a hospital bed, feeling confused, in a bit of pain, and groggy. I’m not sure, but I think my mom had remained by my side. She was there that morning, offering encouragement.

Eventually, the doctor appeared who was on call, and he began to gently remove the layers that covered my face. “Let’s see how things look,” he said quietly as I tried not to cry. I was certain it wasn’t good news.

When my face was revealed, I heard the doctor gasp. My mother burst into tears. I was then asked if I wanted to look in a mirror. My first answer was, “NO!” But a hand mirror was found and handed to me anyway. Girding up for what I was sure was a horrific mess, I glanced at the mirror, and then stared. I just looked like I had a really bad sunburn, with one large blister on the side of my nose. That was it.

I shakily handed the mirror back to the nurse and gazed in amazement at the doctor, and then my mother.

The doctor was busy patting himself on the back, thrilled by how good I looked. Then he asked me what I could remember about what had happened the night before. When I told him all that Donna had done for me, he grinned and said I owed that young lady a huge debit of gratitude.

“Your friend saved your face by drawing out the heat almost immediately,” he exclaimed. I knew in my heart he was right. I also knew that my mother had played a huge part in all of this. She told me later when she’d heard that line I remembered from the priesthood blessing, she felt peace and knew I would be okay. My faith might not have been strong enough, but hers had been.

Later that day I was released from the hospital and taken home. I was lying in my bed recovering, when Jan and Donna came to see me that afternoon. Donna cried when she saw how good I looked. Both girls had assumed my face would be ruined by that incident. But when I told Donna, “You saved my face,” we both knew it was true. I had ignored the promptings I had been given the night before, but thank heavens she had paid attention to those she had received.

Donna and I talked about that incident quite often in the years that followed. It had been a testimony builder for us, in differing ways. For both of us it was an education in how the Holy Ghost works. We learned that bad feelings were warnings that something wasn’t right, and that calm, peaceful promptings shouldn’t be ignored. And we agreed that miracles are possible, and that the priesthood power is a very real thing. Prayers had been answered, assuring us that our Father in heaven really did love us despite the mistakes that were made.

Donna and I kept in touch as time passed, getting together with Jan as often as we could. These two friends ended up living around the Ashton area, while I spent most of my life in the lower end of the state after high school. It was always a good time of laughter and reminiscing when we linked up. Most times we met in the building that used to be the drugstore my dad managed. It’s now a pizza joint, called 511 Main, and thankfully, they kept the soda fountain intact.

 

Losing Donna this past month has been like losing a piece of myself. She was a dear and treasured friend, a sister of the heart. I was heartsick when I learned she was dealing with cancer 13 years ago. She was a true cancer warrior and faced this disease with courage and determination. Her example touched numerous lives as was evident at the crowd that came to honor her memory at her funeral. And though my heart will continue to sting for a time, I know there will be future conversations with her when it’s my turn to leave mortal mode. Until then, I will continue to honor her memory, and “look for the funny” as we often did when life was challenging. 

 

The Stars Are Still There

 

This past year has been one of healing, sorrow, peace, comfort and heartache. As I have waded through the varied emotions that are part of the grieving process, I have been so grateful for the peace that has descended when I needed it most. For the wonderful family members and friends who reached out when I needed a hug, a smile, or a good cry. It has been yet another mountain that I’m still climbing, one step at a time as my heart heals. Words do not adequately explain how a mother’s heart feels as a child suffers, and then courageously faces death. There was peace in knowing that our oldest son was ready when he left this mortal realm. As he quietly slipped away, I was privileged to be there at his side. I was there when he entered this mortal world, and there when he left. I sensed so many things that night, but the item that brought the most comfort was the feeling of joy, and the thought, “Mom, I don’t hurt anymore.” In an interesting coincidence, for the first time in the forty plus years that I have lived in our small Idaho town, we witnessed the Northern Lights later that same night. Many in our family joked about a dance party in heaven, since our son loved music and enjoyed dancing.

Though I miss Kris every day, there have been times when it feels like he is close. Those sacred moments bring peace as I continue forward. One day, I felt drawn to the piano that sits in our living room. I haven’t played it much during the past 2=3 years. Most of that time was spent in the hospital with our son as he did daily battle with cancer. Endless treatments, horrid screams of pain, nausea beyond anything I have ever seen, rotate in my mind and heart. And a few weeks ago, on that day I felt drawn to the piano, I had been plagued with painful memories of how Kris suffered. So I sat down to the piano and began plunking out a song that sounded familiar. I was amazed when it all came back in a rush, but I couldn’t remember the words. So I dug through my piano bench until I found the notation book that contained what I needed.

I play musical instruments by ear, an ability I inherited from a great-grandmother who used to play for the dances in her small community. Most in our clan find that we can play musical instruments and pick out songs. It is a wonderful gift, and yet a handicap when it comes to reading actual music, or trying to write out the songs that we write. Someday people will look through my notation book and shake their heads because it makes no sense to anyone, but me.

That notation book contained the song I was seeking. I didn’t realize why until I reread the words I had written years ago, after an experience that took place in our small Idaho town. Once again, I was looking to the heavens for comfort and answers to a challenge that was taking place in our lives at the time. Troubled, I went out onto our front porch and sat down to listen to the night sounds, something that usually soothes my heart when I’m hurting. That night, as I sat quietly, I was amazed by all of the stars that were glittering in the night sky. It seemed filled with radiant stars, everywhere I looked. Then, without warning, clouds moved in and quickly covered every star. I was stunned by how fast they had all disappeared. As I sat in shock, the strong thought penetrated my heart, “Are the stars still there?”

As an English major in college, I was taught to look for symbolism in everything around me. The symbolism of the lesson I learned that night struck deep within. It stayed with me for days, inspiring me to compose a song about that experience. These are the lyrics:

Are the Stars Still There

Lyrics & music by Cheri J. Crane

1^st verse: Dark were my thoughts, all around were storms of heartache & strife

All those tests that sometimes just go with life,

Mountains that seemed too steep to climb;

I walked outside, to clear my head and ask my Father, “Why?”

My inner peace had dissolved for a time,

Where was the faith that was mine?

Chorus:

Staring at the star-filled sky, my heart revealed its inner cry,

“Father, if You’re listening, help me know the reason why!”

A thousand tiny twinkling lights were covered, hidden from my sight,

Grey clouds veiling light that once had shone so bright,

Darkness seemed to fill the night as every star was veiled from sight,

Yet peace crept in my heart & comfort eased the black despair,

As the question came, “My child, my child, are the stars still there?”

2^nd verse: And now when dark thoughts come, and some nights seem too long,

I remember the words of this song, when everything seems to go wrong.

The answer to my prayer, the night I struggled with despair,

The night my Father heard my silent prayer--

And reminded me, the stars are always there!

Chorus:

Our Father’s love is always there, through layers of grief & care,

Hope is shining brightly through the clouds of dark despair,

A thousand tiny twinkling lights were covered, hidden from my sight,

Grey clouds veiling light that once had shone so bright,

Tho’ darkness seems to fill the night, and every star is veiled from sight,

Peace & love seep through to ease the black despair,

Remember the question, “My child, are the stars still there?”

As I played through the song I had written years ago, I realized I needed that message now, more than ever. The stars are indeed still there. Life is eternal, and continues on after this life is through. How important our family ties are, and the knowledge that we can be together forever when this life is through. Until that time comes, it is important to continue forward, make good choices, and treasure each day, knowing it is a gift from our Father in heaven.

Cancer Should Be a Four-Letter Word

I’ve been asked in recent weeks if I will ever write anything again. I have pondered doing so, but life has been a blur this past year. For those who don’t know me or my family well, it has been a year of supreme challenge. Our oldest son was diagnosed with Metastatic Gastric Cancer, stage 4 in January. He spent 4 months in a Utah hospital fighting for his life. I spent those 4 months praying, crying, laughing, and begging for a miracle as I stayed by his side. It tore my heart out to watch how our son suffered through radiation treatments, chemo, physical therapy and more tests than I care to remember. He went from being a strong, active young man, to someone who couldn’t even lift his arms, let alone walk. The cancer had morphed, skipping his organs (thank heavens) but it had attacked his entire skeletal frame. After his first PET scan, we were shown, highlighted in yellow, how much of his body was affected by this raging cancer. It went from his shoulders, down his entire spine, and into both legs. It didn’t help that we were told comforting things like, “He will likely live 3 months—there is just too much damage everywhere.” It was a dark time.

I can’t begin to describe how this mother’s heart shattered repeatedly as I watched my son suffer through indescribable pain each day. I will never forget how it felt to hear him scream as he struggled to survive the week he was in ICU, critically ill. But I also saw his determination grow each time he was told how limited he would be. In the beginning, they figured he would never walk again. We were shown a large electric wheelchair that they assumed would be the only way he would ever be able to move around. It took four people to help him move to a gurney that they then wheeled off for further testing/and/or radiation treatments. When they began talking about the care he would need when he returned home, I wondered how in the world we would be able to manage when he required so much help to move around.

The radiation treatments worked surprisingly well—his main oncologist called it “spot-welding.” With each treatment, he regained the ability to move his arms, and then his legs. By the end of his hospital stay, he could walk several yards down the hospital hallway with the use of a walker—something that amazed his doctors and nurses.

The chemo treatments made him so sick, but they also helped in the battle we were facing. Our son was becoming a warrior, courageously fighting each day for further movement and independence.

He spent two weeks in a rehabilitation center after he was released from the hospital. It was during that time that our son really began to regain the ability to utilize what they called core strength. This meant he could stand, supported, for a limited time using his hands to do simple tasks on a table.

After his release from the rehabilitation center, we were able to bring him back to his apartment that was ironically, ten minutes away from the cancer center in Murray. This helped greatly with his continued IV chemo treatments and further tests. He stayed in this location until May, when we were able to move him to our home in Idaho.

I’ve been asked repeatedly how we survived the past few months. It is a question I’ve pondered as well and I’ve come up with the following list:

1. Prayer. I’ve never prayed harder in my life. I prayed silently each day for comfort, guidance, and the strength to endure all that we were facing. I also felt comforting strength from the prayers of those who prayed for us. I learned during my own adventure with cancer in 2020 that there is strength in prayer. I’ve always had a strong testimony of the importance of prayer, but I learned in 2020 that there is an incredible power in prayer. That testimony was strengthened even further this past year. Prayer is a lifeline and I hold fast to it daily.

2. Family support. I will be forever grateful for my siblings, and other family members who sacrificed so much to help us survive this past year. My husband’s mother had shoulder surgery during our son’s battle with cancer, and Kennon spent a great deal of time at home, helping her. In his absence, my siblings took turns staying with me and helping me deal with difficult days. As I mentioned, our single son lived in a small apartment ten minutes away from the hospital which also had a cancer center next door to it. This proved to be such a blessing, since we could leave the hospital periodically to rest, knowing we were just a few minutes away if there was an emergency.

3. Recognizing tender mercies. These occurred daily, and I’ll probably never remember all of them, but each one was a reassurance that we weren’t alone in this battle. Having our son’s apartment so close to the hospital was a huge tender mercy. Having so many family members close by was another tender mercy. And incidents, like the day my clip came loose from my insulin pump. I didn’t realize it had happened until one of my siblings dragged me down to the cafeteria to eat a bite of something. (Let’s just say I didn’t have much of an appetite during that arduous time.) When I reached for my insulin pump (I’m a Type 1 diabetic), the clip was no longer attached. My clothing had help my pump in place. Frantic, I retraced my steps—that clip was important. I knew I could order a new one, but it would take several days to arrive. As my sister and I hurried through the hospital, looking for what was like finding a needle in a haystack, I silently prayed for help.

I felt impressed to go into the restroom I had used earlier. I entered the stall, and felt a strong impression to look through my jeans. I found the clip, inside one of my pant legs. It was such a relief! This may seem like a small thing to most people, but to me it was a huge sign that Someone was watching out for me. This small clip could’ve been easily lost, but it wasn’t.

4. Support from family members and friends. There is no way you can get through a trial of this magnitude without the loving support of family and friends. As I’ve already shared, my siblings sacrificed so much on behalf of our family during this trial. They took turns staying with me at my son’s apartment, and at the hospital so I wasn’t facing hard things alone. Kennon came down in between to help. Our second son did so much to help us sort through all of the paperwork/financial adventures during all of this. He provided a crucial service that quite literally saved the day. I also received so many text messages and phone calls from friends and relatives, it was overwhelming. But those messages were another lifeline.

Two close friends checked on my mother for me each week. My mother was living at the time in an assisted living center near our Idaho home, but I had been taking her to her appointments, and bringing her out to our home 2-3 times a week until our son went into the hospital. It was such a comfort to know that someone was checking weekly on my mother in my absence. One friend provided weekly Zoom chats for my mother and me so that she could visit with me almost in person. The other friend called me on her cell phone during her visits with my mother so that my mom could talk to me again. Both ladies then spent time with my mom, so that she didn’t feel like she was alone.

Another friend who lived in the area near my son’s apartment, brought us meals, kept in touch, and even invited Kennon & I to join her and her husband at the Jordan Temple to do sealings one night. This proved to be a much-needed moment of peace.

And I can’t begin to thank everyone who donated to a “Go Fund Me,” account that my brother and his wife opened on behalf of our son. The outpouring of support was amazing, and very appreciated.

Another friend was diagnosed with cancer during the time my son was in the hospital. We kept in close contact as we faced this dreaded disease together. Her messages were a source of comfort during our own adventure. We still keep in touch on an almost daily basis as we continue forward on this difficult journey.

A favorite aunt went with my husband to help take my mother to an appointment with her retinologist in Logan, Utah. This same lady also took my mother to a hair appointment, providing a needed act of service.

Another close friend drove down to Murray one day and spent time with me and my son at the rehab center. She then took me to lunch, and provided a huge boost to my sagging morale.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea. Letters, cards, and care packages were sent. People surfaced/stepped forward to help when we needed them the most, another indication that our Father was very aware of Kris and me during this fiery trial. I should mention that several of our son’s friends came to see him at the rehab center, and at his apartment, and even here at our home. Their visits were also deeply appreciated.

5. Family time. In the beginning, when we were told comforting things like our son was facing terminal cancer, we drew together as a family. Our youngest son flew into Utah to be with us during the first difficult week. This wasn’t easy for him as he was finishing up his residency in Rapid City, South Dakota. He also drove his family to Utah after Kris was released from the Rehab Center to his apartment. By this time, one of my sisters had helped us get a power-chair for Kris to use to get around in. He could walk on a limited basis, but needed a way to maneuver when his back gave out. The powerchair made it possible for him to go to a nearby park for a family picnic as our family gathered all together for the first time in nearly 2 years. (Another blessing, this power-chair breaks down into 4 pieces and fits nicely in our trunk.)

Kris put together a bucket list of sorts. At the top of this list was the desire to see the ocean. We made plans in May to make that happen and in July, our entire clan journeyed to San Diego and spent a week together in this location. We were able to take Kris to see the ocean several times that week in varied locations. It was a wonderful time, and something we will always treasure.

6. Keep hope alive. From the beginning, we refused to believe that all was lost. Even on the darkest night when all seemed to be going south, as they say, there was still a glimmer of light inside of my heart that persisted in glowing. I saw that same look of determination on Kris’ face each time he was told that he needed to accept what was happening. And as a result, we saw repeated miracles. The fact that Kris can now walk without his walker in our home is a miracle. Also, we have far exceeded the three month life-span that he was initially given. We are currently in month nine. Just saying. And his last PET scan showed that the tumor in his stomach is gone, as is the tumor in his lymph-nodes. The cancer was still in his entire spine, but it was shrinking. As a result of that test, we were told that Kris stands a really good chance of kicking this disease into remission.

7. Remember that attitude is everything. Someone told me that years ago. It is still very true. I’ve seen it in my own life with the battles I have faced compliments of Type 1 diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, and cancer. I’ve also seen it play a huge role in my son’s life this past year as he has bravely faced an overwhelming diagnosis. We quickly learned to not focus on words like: terminal, stage four, or impossible. Instead we chose a positive approach, and that has made all of the difference.

There are days that are not fun. “Chemo-days,” as we call them. (Kris is still on oral chemo.) On these days, we strive to focus on upbeat things, funny comedies, and important items like chocolate or Coke Zero. We’ve learned to take each day as it comes and to do the best that we can. And we have learned to be grateful for the small things in life that we used to take for granted.

In short, this past year has been a time of heartache, pain, growth, hope, and love. We have constantly felt peaceful comfort, an indication that this life serves a purpose. There is a reason for all things, and we are never as alone as we sometimes think we are. And no matter what kind of journey we face, it’s important to push forward and follow the example my mother has set for us: never give up. We call her the Unsinkable Molly Brown (Molly Brown survived the Titanic adventure) for a reason. And I would have to say that her oldest grandson is living up to that legacy.

Never Give Up, Never Surrender

 

We live in a turbulent time. The news is filled with stories of destruction and dismay. There have been a plethora of natural disasters, political upheavals, acts of violence, and a plaguing illness that has swept the globe. In short, we are in latter-day mode. Through it all, our prophet has counseled us on how to survive the trials of this day. If we will heed his direction, we will be able to push through the days ahead and thrive as best we can.

In my own life, it seems as though I have been hit from every direction. We have lost loved ones, we have faced numerous changes in circumstances, and physical, spiritual, and emotional challenges have surfaced in our own lives, and the lives of those we care about. There are days when it seems as though the only way to move forward is through overwhelming obstacles. Those are the days when I sometimes sit on the uphill path and ponder how to accomplish this seemingly impossible task. I know it’s important to move forward, and yet, I fear what lies ahead. And as daunting pain penetrates the very core of my being, it is tempting to curl up in a ball and whimper that it’s all too much.

But, there is another part of myself that refuses to give up. It is that inner moxie that propels me to my feet to begin the process of moving forward despite the arduous course ahead. I suspect it is a trait that has been passed down through the generations from those who have gone before, paving the way before me during other challenging eras.

Years ago, when my father passed away under horrific circumstances, it also appeared to be a time when all was lost. It was like an explosion had gone off in our lives, and yet, somehow, we were expected to continue on. There were decisions to make—difficult paths to consider, and limited resources to make it all happen. We felt abandoned, fearful, and overwhelmed by sorrow. Our hearts were shattered and we were learning to take life one minute at a time. We bowed our heads under the weight of it all, and felt surrounded by a peaceful love that is impossible to put into words. We began to see miracles take place we couldn’t explain, but as they occurred, we began to see and understand that we were not as alone as we thought we were.

Some of those miracles are too sacred to share—but they were vital as we learned to lean on heaven’s guidance for survival. And slowly, bit by bit, things fell into place. We were able to move my mother and siblings into a safe haven in a different state as important healing began to take place. Doors opened that had been firmly shut—one example: my brother was able to serve a mission through a generous donation from friends of my father. Another example: an insurance policy that was unaffected by my father’s suicide surfaced and provided the means for my family to move to a college town where everyone was able to gain an important education. And bit by bit, our lives were pieced back together. It was in a different fashion than what we had anticipated, but looking back, we can see the wisdom of all that transpired.

I was the oldest, already married, and my husband and I had welcomed a son into our lives shortly before my father’s untimely death. My challenges were different, and yet as overwhelming as those faced by my mother and siblings. I found on the nights that I couldn’t sleep, it helped to write out everything I was feeling. I spent hours recording and then shredding painful memories—effectively weeding out negative items that needed to be removed for me to heal. I was also led to other things that helped like walking to clear my head, acts of service that chipped at the inner pain that threatened to consume me, and messages from heaven that helped me realize I wasn’t alone in the battle I was facing.

One bitter afternoon, I felt impressed to pick up a church magazine. I was so upset that day that I remember picking up the magazine and throwing it across the room. It opened to a page I needed to see. On that page was a poem that touched my heart in a way I still have a difficult time describing. It is as follows:

Coins

By Jean Chapin Seifert

Little one,

remember when I took

the five brown pennies

from your hand,

and in their place

I put a gleaming silver dime?

To my surprise,

you cried with rage—

replacing five with one

could not be fair!

I smiled, then,

at childish reckoning …

until I thought how often

that our Father takes away

the copper blessings

from my hand

and in their place

He puts more precious ones.

Yet, angrily, I count myself

defrauded by the gift.

I have not understood

Eternal reckoning.

That poem would give me the courage to continue on life’s path. I removed the page, framed it, and placed it on my desk where I could see it daily. It became an important lifeline as I healed. There were other messages that surfaced when I need them most—scriptures that seemed written just for me that brought comfort on difficult days. I learned that while I communicated with my Father in heaven through prayer, He often answered my questions through scriptures that brought comfort and inspiration.

I began writing out my story, in a fictionalized account, working through emotions that were tearing me apart as I typed each word. And when I was finished, I found I had written my first novel. I called it, “Still Water Runs Deep,” borrowing a phrase my father had written in a note he had left for me a year before he died. And that was the beginning of my writing career. It wasn’t something I had planned on doing with my life, but that was how it started, and I felt Heaven’s guidance each step of the way as I tried to write books I hoped would touch lives in a positive way. In time, my sixth attempt at writing a novel was accepted for publication, and nine of my books were published by Covenant Communications. My brother told me later that when my first book was published, it gave him hope, and the knowledge that our family was being watched over far more than we ever realized. As we each found our niche in life, it became apparent we had all been helped in so many ways. That is why I will never be able to turn my back to a loving Heavenly Father who has always been there for me, especially during difficult days.

Did the trials come to a halt after what my family had already endured? The answer would be a resounding, “NO!” As a very wise friend of mine told me one day as we walked together, the trials don’t stop until this life is over. And despite what we’ve already faced, there will be other lessons to learn, growth to be attained, and faith to be tested. In short, as my paternal grandmother once told me, this life is a giant classroom, and we never know when we’re going to get hit with a pop quiz. Words to live by . . . literally.

Surviving Latter-day Mode

 

Salu! To state that it has been a while since I’ve written anything would be a great understatement. Life has been crazy . . . for all of us! (Yet another understatement!) There has been a plethora of adventures, good and bad as we daily face the challenge of these latter days.

I look back over the past few months and marvel over all that has transpired. Turmoil, tempests, illness, and grief have hit with a fury throughout the world, and in our own corner of it. In recent weeks, we have lost loved ones through varying ways. Their passing has filled my heart with a deep sadness as I have struggled to help in a limited fashion. In a two week period, my husband and I attended funerals for 3 friends/relatives. Our hearts are tender, but in quiet moments, we have felt a comforting peace that keeps us going—it reminds us that we are not alone in the heart-rending battles taking place at this time. Heaven has felt close on occasion—an indication that we have far more help surrounding us than we may ever fully realize.

This past month has been a blur of health issues, mostly for my dear mother, who is fighting a huge battle with a body that is refusing to cooperate. One morning I received a phone call letting me know that I needed to hurry to the ER of our local hospital—my mother (who is currently residing in an assisted living center) was being rushed there by an ambulance. As I was led to the room where she was being helped, she smiled brightly and said, “Well, there’s my kid!” Her continued perseverance is amazing. And though we are still at a loss as to why her body is currently acting up big time, she still smiles and does her best to push through each day.

Her example gives me the courage to continue to fight my own health battles. There are days when I feel as though my spiritual armor has taken a few nasty blows—leaving behind numerous dents. Those are the days when I spend time on my knees, begging for relief, peace, and healing. I often find what I am seeking in a worn out triple combination that I keep close by.

I’m finding that it’s crucial these days to keep in touch with others—with family members and friends. As someone told me recently, we need each other. We were never meant to endure these difficult moments alone. And yet, in many ways, we feel more isolated now than ever before.

It has also saddened me that words like politeness, empathy, and compassion are being replaced by a hardened self-centeredness as some feel it’s their duty to force their opinion on everyone else. We all have the right to our own beliefs—but it is important to remember that this applies to everyone round us, as well. There is a need for patience, charity, and faith as never before.

This past year, as I have continued to fight a battle with cancer, (I’m doing well, but I’m still working on regaining my strength—an ongoing challenge.) I’ve had to take a few precautions. I wear a mask when it is appropriate and needful. I strive to socially distance myself from others as I continue to heal. And I’ve had to learn a simple, two-letter word when I simply don’t have the energy or ability to tackle whatever I’ve been asked to do. As my family can witness, in the past, that didn’t happen very often. It has been a humbling trial—I always have tried to do my part to help wherever I could. Now my body is letting me know in unsubtle ways that I need to rethink a few things.

I am grateful for those who understand, and give me time and space to heal. I am also grateful for the courageous example set by our church leaders. They have pointed the way to safety and peace during this tumultuous time.

To say that we’re all being stretched in a variety of ways would again, be a gross understatement. As I look around, I can see that nearly everyone is facing a battle of some kind. We all carry inner heart wounds that only our Savior and our loving Father in heaven can see. As such, we need to be kind, as a brave young woman that I know recently stated in an online post—we need to be considerate of those around us. We may be having the worst day ever, but we’re not the only ones enduring trials.

It is my hope that in the days ahead, we will pull together to survive all that is taking place during these turbulent latter days. We cannot win these overwhelming battles alone. It will take every bit of strength, courage, and faith that we can muster to push forward and succeed in becoming the people we are meant to be.

Smiling is My Favorite Exercise

 

I found myself wide awake early this morning, and feeling great. This is an unusual combination, compliments of health issues I have faced this past year. So you can understand why I also felt a tiny bit suspicious, figuring there was something I was supposed to do. And when words started going around inside my noggin, I figured this is what was going on.

I haven’t written a blog post for quite a while. In my defense, life . . . fatigue . . . holidays . . . did I mention life? So here goes . . . my first attempt at a blog post in 2021.

As this new year approached, I found myself dealing with conflicting emotions: excitement, apprehension (considering all that took place this past year) dread, and eager anticipation. I’ve always been a bit of an optimist. Through the years this has tended to annoy people. In high school I was accused of being one of those silly people who smile all the time. Was my life easy then . . . no, it was not. Did I have reasons to be happy . . . yes and no.

Light speed to the current time . . . is my life easy . . . no, it is not. Do I have reasons to be happy . . . yes and no. So in essence, nothing has changed, and neither has my tendency to smile even when things don’t warrant that expression.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I frown a bit. We all do. It’s part of the human experience. Bad days happen. Like that one a couple of days ago . . . when our nation seemed to be a bit off balance. Just sayin’ . . .

In my own personal life, I have been enduring a series of nasty arthritis flares the past couple of weeks. The kind that leaves you feeling like a walking canker sore. Not my idea of a fun time. And when I’m in a bit of pain, my blood sugar levels tend to run low. . . a lot. Go team . . . and Type 1 diabetes.

The doctor who has been helping me with my cancer adventure, is convinced this less than fun escapade will resurface. We have agreed to disagree on that one. So far I’m winning.

Daily I do my best to help my mother with her varied challenges. Her eyesight is dimming, and I know if I feel like a walking canker sore, she is feeling the same x 10. Character building moments, as we call them.

I’m also still doing my best to help my husband deliver our county’s version of meals on wheels twice a week, and we are still serving as the housing coordinators for the missionaries who serve in our area. And while I’m busy helping my mom, my husband is helping his, since she recently moved to our valley. So we are rarely bored. And maybe that is what is keeping us going. Each day we look at our list of things to do and attempt to accomplish the most important items. I think that’s all any of us can do.

Granted, we live in a precarious time. I find that I can only stand to watch the news for a few minutes before turning to my current favorite show: “Chopped,” on the Food network. I get a kick out of seeing what these creative cooks come up with using the strange ingredients they are required to use. In some ways I guess I can relate to that challenge in my own life. I’ve been given an interesting set of character building items to make things entertaining. It’s up to me to determine what I do with them. ;)

I’m taking satisfaction in finally regaining some of the strength I lost this past year. This gives me hope that one of these days when I cross off my long list of things to do, I might just actually feel well enough to venture into my new craft room and do something fun.

I guess in essence, we are all facing similar adventures. And because we are all so different, our challenges will vary. But the emotions are the same. We deal with fear, weakness, irritation, etc. quite a bit these days. And yet, there are still good things taking place . . . we just have to look for them. There are reasons why I keep pictures of my family in a place where I can see them everyday. And reasons why I also treasure items that close friends have given me. Their love and faith in me often keep me going on days when all seems lost.

All is never lost. That is something I have learned repeatedly in my life. Even during the darkest moments when my heart has felt like shards of glass, there has been a tiny flicker of hope that has kept me going. It is the knowledge that I am a daughter of God. Despite everything, I know that He is there, helping me survive the perilous journeys I am often called upon to make in this life. Through it all, I am never alone. I also have the guidance of a beloved Elder Brother who sacrificed so much for me . . . and for all of us. His example lights the way and gives me something to cling to when the world seems crazy.

So during these times when we don’t seem to know from day to day what we will face or endure, know that hope lives on . . . always. Despite everything, there are still reasons to smile. And someday, when we find ourselves at the summit of this uphill battle we call life, we will know that it was all worth it in the end.