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.
