A Great Treasure

In my earliest memories, there were six members living in my family: Mom; Dad;, Anthony, my older brother; Marleah, my younger sister; Grandma; and me. I have few memories before the age of ten when there weren’t six of us sitting at the dinner table, going on vacation, or going to church. We loved each other, and I could not imagine my life any different.  

When I was ten, my grandma went to visit my aunt for my cousin’s missionary farewell. Instead of coming home later that week as planned, she went into the hospital because her skin and eyes were mysteriously yellow. A few days later, my brother, sister, and I lined up on the couch as my mom delivered the tragic news, “Grandma is very sick. We don’t know when or if she will be able to come home. She has cancer.” I wanted her to come home and keep taking care of us. I prayed every night pleading for her to get better. Two months later she came home, and I thought everything would be back to normal. I was wrong. My mom flew with my grandma back to Arizona to see the doctors who had originally diagnosed her cancer a few months later. Three weeks after that, May 29, 1989, my dad received a phone call from my mom informing him that my grandma had passed away. After he told us, I didn’t want to eat. I just wanted to go back to bed.  I didn’t understand how we could live without her.

Later that year, mom my struggled with depression and mental illness triggered by the loss of her mother. By the end of the year, she was admitted to a mental hospital. The following years were difficult. My mom was in and out of the hospital due to suicidal thoughts. Then, she left home without telling anyone where she was going. Two months later she was found back in the hospital. We had been abandoned; we only found out where she was because the health insurance was though my dad.

The next few years brought more challenges to my relationship with my mom. When I was sixteen, my parents were divorced, and my mom moved about 20 miles away. I did not understand why my mom left or why she did not want to live with my brother, sister, and me. Finally, when I was seventeen, I realized the problem was not me or her, it was her mental illness. I forgave her and our relationship grew stronger as I visited her whenever my schedule allowed.

The summer of my eighteenth birthday, I felt life could not be better. I had the relationship I had always wanted with my mom, my brother had just moved into his first apartment, and my sister and I were starting our junior and senior years of high school. As my mom worked on her relationship with her children, she came to the conclusion that the best way to feel closer to her mother would be to do temple work for her parents. After a few weeks of talking to her sisters and making plans, she decided to visit her sister in Arizona to do the work and be sealed to them. One night my mom stopped by my job to let my sister and I know she would be leaving early in the morning as planned. She gave us each a hug and said, “Goodbye, I will see you when I get back.” We did not know that would be our last hug. When my sister and I got home from work, we saw our brother’s dog locked up in the kitchen as our exhausted dad explained Anthony had decided to visit our aunt in Arizona with our mom and her roommate, and they had left around midnight instead of early morning because my mom’s roommate believed they were being stalked by her ex-husband. Then, we went to bed not knowing how much our lives would change the next day.

The following morning, Friday, August 30, 1996, is a morning I will never forget. My sister and I woke up and went to seminary and school as usual. While I was in the second class of the day, a note from the front office was brought to me telling me my dad was waiting for me. I walked into the office and saw my dad standing there looking sick and expressionless. When my sister arrived, we were taken into an empty room. “Mom and Anthony were in an accident this morning,” he managed to choke out. When we asked how badly they were hurt, he explained the circumstances of the accident: since they didn’t sleep before leaving Denver, Mom and Anthony, were sleeping in the car when my mom’s roommate feel asleep at the wheel and crashed into the guard rail. My mom was wearing her seat belt, but was crushed by the guard rail. Anthony was not wearing a seat belt and was thrown out the back window with such a force that he didn’t survive the impact. My whole world had changed in that instant. How could life go on without Mom and Anthony? My head was spinning. I had no idea how I was supposed to feel. As we stood questioning why, we were taken into the counseling office to wait for our bishop to arrive and help us go safely home.

The next task was to plan a double funeral. By Sunday, we had most of the plans in place. As we walked into church, it felt different than the previous weeks. It was announced Mom and Anthony passed away followed by the opening hymn, “Families Can Be Together Forever.” I sat expressionless for the rest of the meeting as people bore testimonies of the sealing ordinance and talked about memories of my mom and brother.

Through tragedy and grief, I learned the greatest treasure we have on earth is our family. There are many things people take for granted when their loved ones are still on earth: talking to family members on the phone, wishing them a happy Mother’s or Father’s day, celebrating birthdays, telling them happy news such has marriages and pregnancies, having a mother help with the new babies, getting advice, hearing them laugh, and seeing them smile. Embrace these moments. You never know when they will be gone; leaving you mourning the experiences you are not able to share with them.