Thursday, February 27, 2014
Monday, February 17, 2014
Holly's Perspective
My name is Holly Stoddard Phillips and I love being a Mormon. I am child #6 and so happy to be a part of the line up. :)
I was only 3 at the time that my mom died so I just do not remember. My only memories of Seattle are sitting at the kitchen table for long hours refusing to eat my dinner and playing outside hoping to not be scared again by the neighbor boys who would hide in the dumpster.
Reading my Dad's memories made me think of a conversation I had with my brother-in-law about feeling pain as a missionary. He shared how painful it was to feel like a part of your heart had been carved out. But then he learned that the result was a larger space in your heart that had the capacity to be filled with greater love. When I read about my mom dying and think about my dad living that, I feel so much pain. I feel pain for her to have to leave her husband and 7 children behind. It makes me want to love my 3 children with the kind of love she had. She really, truly loved. It makes me want to cherish my own husband and hold on to that wedding ring with my mom's intensity. Do I realize the blessings I have!?!
It makes me want to have the firm, matter of fact faith that my dad has. I too know that God is in charge. I know His plan is perfect. I know He is there. We read a part of this blog post for our Family Night tonight and sang as our opening song, "Heavenly Father, are you really there?" I chose it because my dad has often told me that is his favorite primary song. I wonder if that is because of what he learned about God in his prayer that day he drove with Allen to the hospital while Mom was on her way to another hospital. "Pray, He is there! Speak, He is listening. You are His child. His love now surrounds you." Do I realize how blessed I am?
One more thought from my mind filled with emotions after feeling like I just experienced over again my mom passing away... I think it is so wise what Dad shared about accepting and moving forward with the reality of life. Even as I was reading this blog post feeling so much pain to think of the death of my mom, to feel the pain Dad felt, to feel my own personal pain, in the midst of all of this, my son woke up crying because he needed a diaper change. After putting my son back in bed, I laughed to myself as I sprayed cleaner all over the bathroom floor to clean up everything. My cheeks had that feeling of dried salt from having been crying just a few minutes before. Yet, there was a mess that needed to get cleaned up and a little 3 year old boy that needed a Mom to help him get back in bed with new dry PJs on. What a great, simple feeling of peace to see his little face snuggling back into his pillow. "I want to love him like Barbara did," I thought. What joy, this plan God has for us!
I was only 3 at the time that my mom died so I just do not remember. My only memories of Seattle are sitting at the kitchen table for long hours refusing to eat my dinner and playing outside hoping to not be scared again by the neighbor boys who would hide in the dumpster.
Reading my Dad's memories made me think of a conversation I had with my brother-in-law about feeling pain as a missionary. He shared how painful it was to feel like a part of your heart had been carved out. But then he learned that the result was a larger space in your heart that had the capacity to be filled with greater love. When I read about my mom dying and think about my dad living that, I feel so much pain. I feel pain for her to have to leave her husband and 7 children behind. It makes me want to love my 3 children with the kind of love she had. She really, truly loved. It makes me want to cherish my own husband and hold on to that wedding ring with my mom's intensity. Do I realize the blessings I have!?!
It makes me want to have the firm, matter of fact faith that my dad has. I too know that God is in charge. I know His plan is perfect. I know He is there. We read a part of this blog post for our Family Night tonight and sang as our opening song, "Heavenly Father, are you really there?" I chose it because my dad has often told me that is his favorite primary song. I wonder if that is because of what he learned about God in his prayer that day he drove with Allen to the hospital while Mom was on her way to another hospital. "Pray, He is there! Speak, He is listening. You are His child. His love now surrounds you." Do I realize how blessed I am?
One more thought from my mind filled with emotions after feeling like I just experienced over again my mom passing away... I think it is so wise what Dad shared about accepting and moving forward with the reality of life. Even as I was reading this blog post feeling so much pain to think of the death of my mom, to feel the pain Dad felt, to feel my own personal pain, in the midst of all of this, my son woke up crying because he needed a diaper change. After putting my son back in bed, I laughed to myself as I sprayed cleaner all over the bathroom floor to clean up everything. My cheeks had that feeling of dried salt from having been crying just a few minutes before. Yet, there was a mess that needed to get cleaned up and a little 3 year old boy that needed a Mom to help him get back in bed with new dry PJs on. What a great, simple feeling of peace to see his little face snuggling back into his pillow. "I want to love him like Barbara did," I thought. What joy, this plan God has for us!
Sunday, February 16, 2014
The Death of a Mother--Mandy's Perspective
My name is Mandy Stoddard Halverson. I am my dad's middle child. I am number 5 of 10 children and number 2 of 3 girls.
I also belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In other words, I am a Mormon. I cherish my faith and believe in my religion with all of my heart.
I want to write a response to my dad's post about my mom dying so my kid's can know what I remember. I also want to point them to what source they may look for help if they ever go through something similar. In some strange way my testimony that God knew me, loved me, and knew what was best for me was formed through this experience.
I remember we all piled on my parents bed when my dad and mom called us into their bedroom to give us the news: my mom had leukemia. I was five years old. The word leukemia was unfamiliar to me. It sounded like a word that I have just learned-- zucchini. And so I got the two words confused. I had a mental image of a great, green vegetable that my mother had and wondered at why my parents were so grave.
My perception as a child was that we wanted to get the very best treatment for our mom and we would do anything to save her. That was very comforting to me. In my mind that was the reason that we would be moving from our spacious home on 5 acres in rural California to a 2 bedroom apartment in downtown Seattle. It was an adventure to me. At first I worried that we would have to be separated from my mother while she got treated. The thought of living apart from my mom made me ill. I was grateful that my dad let us all come along.
Life for us was so drastically different in Seattle. We went from roaming freely on the countryside to walking to an urban hospital while holding the hand of an assigned sibling partner so that the younger children would be protected. Instead of each child having their own room the boys slept on the floor of the front room and the girls piled up in their room. It felt like a fun sleepover to me. I remember thinking it was so funny to see my dad doing domestic chores because I didn't recall him doing much of that before.
My dad monopolized all of the washing machines in the coin operated laundry room when he did the laundry for the 8 of us. When it was time to fold the laundry he sat us in the living in a circle. He would hold up. Dad would sit behind the mountain of clothes that was the week's laundry. He then would hold up an item of clothing and ask whose it was. The owner of the clothing would call out, “Mine!” and try to dodge the article of clothing as it purposefully came flying towards their face. Underwear was always embarrassing if it was your own, and funny if it belonged to a sibling. It was our job to fold our article of clothing and stack it in a pile in front of us. Once all of the clothes were folded we each put our folded laundry in our drawers. This was a drastic change from how when we lived at home clean clothes were always just magically were in my drawer. I thought it was a total blast!
Dinner was the same thing every night…Hamburger Helper. The smoke alarm would go off frequently.We would all crawl into the kitchen on hands and knees (half jokingly) so as to get below the cloud of smoke when he called for dinner. Holly was a stubborn eater. If she didn’t like it, she didn’t eat it. Dad also had a stubborn streak. He told Holly that she could get up when she finished her dinner. Some nights she would sit there for hours and would eventually fall asleep-face first in the food that she refused to eat. Once a family from church invited us to dinner. When they asked what we would like we told them anything but Hamburger Helper. Unfortunately, they misunderstood and thought that is the only thing we would eat, so that is what they prepared. It became a great joke. We laughed so hard at that. In general I remember laughing a lot as a family during our time in Seattle.
We got to visit our mother everyday. One day she was apparently quite distressed that we were so unkempt. The next day when we got to the hospital she had made a sign for my dad to put on the fridge saying, "Every Stoddard takes a bath everyday!" On one visit to my mom I worried that she might die and one day asked her what would happened if she did. She reassured me that she wouldn't . I persisted and asked her again, "But what if…" She couldn't go there. She asked me to go play with the toys in the other room. As a child I felt that God had prepared me for that possibility by a feeling that He gave me that she might die.
One night my dad woke us up to tell us that our mother had passed away. My Grandma Stoddard had been staying with us for a couple of days because she came up from California when my mom took a turn for the worst. I remember sitting on her lap and crying while she held me. She comforted me as my mother used to by gently stroking my hair while I cried. I remember being so grateful she was there because she had a mother's touch and loved me with a maternal love. We took turns going from my Dad's lap to hers. My dad didn't want us to feel too sad. At that late hour of the night he turned on a Muppet movie and started planning a trip to Florida. He promised us that we would play on the beach there and go to Disney World.
If someone were to ask me how my dad was able to overcome this huge challenge I would have to say he went to work. This strategy served him very well. He didn't abandon us and bury himself at his job. He worked very hard at his employment, as usual, and then immersed himself in family work when he got home.
He worried about Allen, the baby of the family, not having a mother and being tucked away in the nursery. He dislike that idea, so he moved his crib down to the center of the family room. I think my mother would have laughed at his cluelessness on the does and don'ts of home decor, but she would have been so grateful for the care he was taking with Allen. I always remember my dad sharing with me that one of the last things that my mother told him was, "Don't prop the bottle." Allen was bottle fed because my mom was unable to breast feed him. My dad would sometimes hold the newspaper and read while Allen laid down on the couch next to him. My dad would hold the bottle sometimes while he read or even worse would put a pillow on Al's chest to prop the bottle up. My mom didn't like that. She wanted her baby to be held while he was being fed. "Don't prop the bottle," became a saying to me with so much meaning for how she wanted us to be cared for.
My friend Brooke recently asked me how I found comfort after having my mom die. My response was that I don't feel like it was something I did to get that comfort, but rather it was a gift that was given to me.
A mother's death isn't mourned one day, one week, or one year. It is mourned over a lifetime. But, I have to say that I was comforted over a lifetime as well. I have felt close to her at certain times in my life and I have felt so comforted by the truths of the Gospel. Namely that she lives and I will be with her again someday. She is aware of me and desires my happiness. I have felt that assurance.
I felt God's hand in my life through this very difficult experience. Something about that experience lessened this world's grip on me. When she left this Earth, part of me went with her. I wanted to be with her and so I didn't care so much about what this world had to offer that was in contrary to God's plan because I had a greater longing for her; to be with her.
I experienced from very young that God was aware of me and that He had a plan for me. This came through comforting feelings that I believe He sent to me through His Spirit. This testimony was a foundation for my life.
Sometimes in life we feel God reach out to us through the love of another person. I felt God's love and comfort through special women that loved me with a mother's love. My step mother Jean gave her life to me and my family. The older I get the more I am astounded by her sacrifice and love her for it. She continues to nurture and love me. My Aunt Ann and my Aunt Debbie have loved and nurtured me throughout my life. My best friend's mother, Allison Wentzel, gave me that motherly love too. I cry when I remember these women. I so wish that I could give them some really indulgent gift every Mother's Day. It is one of my major life's goals to do for other children what these women did for me. They each loved me with a mother's love.
My sibling relationships were deeply effected by my mother's passing. We cherished each other, looked after each other, and ached for each other in a way that I don't think we ever would have had that not have happened. They are still my very best friends in the world. I love each one of them.
My decision to devote myself wholly as a mother was greatly influenced by the impact that my mother had on me in my first five years of life. I have thought of her often and remembered how powerful her love was in my life and I try to imitate that. I try to remember that each day with my children is a gift and to cherish it.
When I read my Dad's words and remember the experience of my mother's death I am filled with love for the God that comforted me through that and assures me that one day that separation will end. I am so grateful for His sacrifice that conquers death and enables me to return to Him and to my mother clean and worthy. I feel full of faith in Him and hope for the future because I remember how he proved Himself to me in days that are past!
Somehow, all of this good came out of the death of my most beloved mother. Truly His way are not our ways.
 |
| Me with my oldest boy |
I also belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In other words, I am a Mormon. I cherish my faith and believe in my religion with all of my heart.
I want to write a response to my dad's post about my mom dying so my kid's can know what I remember. I also want to point them to what source they may look for help if they ever go through something similar. In some strange way my testimony that God knew me, loved me, and knew what was best for me was formed through this experience.
I remember we all piled on my parents bed when my dad and mom called us into their bedroom to give us the news: my mom had leukemia. I was five years old. The word leukemia was unfamiliar to me. It sounded like a word that I have just learned-- zucchini. And so I got the two words confused. I had a mental image of a great, green vegetable that my mother had and wondered at why my parents were so grave.
My perception as a child was that we wanted to get the very best treatment for our mom and we would do anything to save her. That was very comforting to me. In my mind that was the reason that we would be moving from our spacious home on 5 acres in rural California to a 2 bedroom apartment in downtown Seattle. It was an adventure to me. At first I worried that we would have to be separated from my mother while she got treated. The thought of living apart from my mom made me ill. I was grateful that my dad let us all come along.
Life for us was so drastically different in Seattle. We went from roaming freely on the countryside to walking to an urban hospital while holding the hand of an assigned sibling partner so that the younger children would be protected. Instead of each child having their own room the boys slept on the floor of the front room and the girls piled up in their room. It felt like a fun sleepover to me. I remember thinking it was so funny to see my dad doing domestic chores because I didn't recall him doing much of that before.
My dad monopolized all of the washing machines in the coin operated laundry room when he did the laundry for the 8 of us. When it was time to fold the laundry he sat us in the living in a circle. He would hold up. Dad would sit behind the mountain of clothes that was the week's laundry. He then would hold up an item of clothing and ask whose it was. The owner of the clothing would call out, “Mine!” and try to dodge the article of clothing as it purposefully came flying towards their face. Underwear was always embarrassing if it was your own, and funny if it belonged to a sibling. It was our job to fold our article of clothing and stack it in a pile in front of us. Once all of the clothes were folded we each put our folded laundry in our drawers. This was a drastic change from how when we lived at home clean clothes were always just magically were in my drawer. I thought it was a total blast!
Dinner was the same thing every night…Hamburger Helper. The smoke alarm would go off frequently.We would all crawl into the kitchen on hands and knees (half jokingly) so as to get below the cloud of smoke when he called for dinner. Holly was a stubborn eater. If she didn’t like it, she didn’t eat it. Dad also had a stubborn streak. He told Holly that she could get up when she finished her dinner. Some nights she would sit there for hours and would eventually fall asleep-face first in the food that she refused to eat. Once a family from church invited us to dinner. When they asked what we would like we told them anything but Hamburger Helper. Unfortunately, they misunderstood and thought that is the only thing we would eat, so that is what they prepared. It became a great joke. We laughed so hard at that. In general I remember laughing a lot as a family during our time in Seattle.
We got to visit our mother everyday. One day she was apparently quite distressed that we were so unkempt. The next day when we got to the hospital she had made a sign for my dad to put on the fridge saying, "Every Stoddard takes a bath everyday!" On one visit to my mom I worried that she might die and one day asked her what would happened if she did. She reassured me that she wouldn't . I persisted and asked her again, "But what if…" She couldn't go there. She asked me to go play with the toys in the other room. As a child I felt that God had prepared me for that possibility by a feeling that He gave me that she might die.
If someone were to ask me how my dad was able to overcome this huge challenge I would have to say he went to work. This strategy served him very well. He didn't abandon us and bury himself at his job. He worked very hard at his employment, as usual, and then immersed himself in family work when he got home.
He worried about Allen, the baby of the family, not having a mother and being tucked away in the nursery. He dislike that idea, so he moved his crib down to the center of the family room. I think my mother would have laughed at his cluelessness on the does and don'ts of home decor, but she would have been so grateful for the care he was taking with Allen. I always remember my dad sharing with me that one of the last things that my mother told him was, "Don't prop the bottle." Allen was bottle fed because my mom was unable to breast feed him. My dad would sometimes hold the newspaper and read while Allen laid down on the couch next to him. My dad would hold the bottle sometimes while he read or even worse would put a pillow on Al's chest to prop the bottle up. My mom didn't like that. She wanted her baby to be held while he was being fed. "Don't prop the bottle," became a saying to me with so much meaning for how she wanted us to be cared for.
My friend Brooke recently asked me how I found comfort after having my mom die. My response was that I don't feel like it was something I did to get that comfort, but rather it was a gift that was given to me.
A mother's death isn't mourned one day, one week, or one year. It is mourned over a lifetime. But, I have to say that I was comforted over a lifetime as well. I have felt close to her at certain times in my life and I have felt so comforted by the truths of the Gospel. Namely that she lives and I will be with her again someday. She is aware of me and desires my happiness. I have felt that assurance.
I felt God's hand in my life through this very difficult experience. Something about that experience lessened this world's grip on me. When she left this Earth, part of me went with her. I wanted to be with her and so I didn't care so much about what this world had to offer that was in contrary to God's plan because I had a greater longing for her; to be with her.
I experienced from very young that God was aware of me and that He had a plan for me. This came through comforting feelings that I believe He sent to me through His Spirit. This testimony was a foundation for my life.
Sometimes in life we feel God reach out to us through the love of another person. I felt God's love and comfort through special women that loved me with a mother's love. My step mother Jean gave her life to me and my family. The older I get the more I am astounded by her sacrifice and love her for it. She continues to nurture and love me. My Aunt Ann and my Aunt Debbie have loved and nurtured me throughout my life. My best friend's mother, Allison Wentzel, gave me that motherly love too. I cry when I remember these women. I so wish that I could give them some really indulgent gift every Mother's Day. It is one of my major life's goals to do for other children what these women did for me. They each loved me with a mother's love.
My sibling relationships were deeply effected by my mother's passing. We cherished each other, looked after each other, and ached for each other in a way that I don't think we ever would have had that not have happened. They are still my very best friends in the world. I love each one of them.
My decision to devote myself wholly as a mother was greatly influenced by the impact that my mother had on me in my first five years of life. I have thought of her often and remembered how powerful her love was in my life and I try to imitate that. I try to remember that each day with my children is a gift and to cherish it.
When I read my Dad's words and remember the experience of my mother's death I am filled with love for the God that comforted me through that and assures me that one day that separation will end. I am so grateful for His sacrifice that conquers death and enables me to return to Him and to my mother clean and worthy. I feel full of faith in Him and hope for the future because I remember how he proved Himself to me in days that are past!
Somehow, all of this good came out of the death of my most beloved mother. Truly His way are not our ways.
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