For Lucy

*love this pic Michelle took of you in CA*

 

Lucy, Lucy, Lu. I promised myself an hour or two to write to you, so this will be an hour or two of writing (long), without planning (piecemeal), and may be as much about me as about you (selfish).  But, you'll forgive me, I need the therapy.  And you'll understand someday, I think.  When you're a mother.  Or when you're otherwise caught in the middle of life's multi-layered emotions.

There was a time in my life when May was kind of the most awesome month of the year - the quiet month that came after BYU finals/check-outs/women's conference chaos.  You and your Dad and I (Spud, too, when he came along) would take walks every morning and spend long hours romping around beautifully manicured BYU grounds.  The cafeteria was suddenly quiet.  The ducks were always paddling around.   Mother's Day was always a treat.  Memorial Day never brought tears.  And your birthday always just settled itself happily into the general unrushed togetherness of the month. 

Now, May is much more of a roller coaster.  And roller coasters are fun.  You, especially, are a fan.  You've loved these school-winding-down, birthday-approaching, spring-in-all-it's-rain-and-shine-glory days.  Every morning last week you'd get ready for school and bid us farewell saying, "It's my last Monday (Tuesday/Wed/Etc) as a seven year old!"  The night before your birthday was to be celebrated at school you told me, "I can just hear the morning announcements!!"  (during which your birthday would be noted).  I have loved your sincere excitement.  It's all been such a big deal.  At moments, even weighty.  "I'm not sure I'm ready to give up seven,"  you told me one thoughtful afternoon, "But," you continued with cheerful resolve, "there's no choice."

Exactly, I thought (a little less cheerfully).  Sometimes there's no choice. 

I wanted your eight birthday to be special.  A little island in our last-days-of-school sea.  I tried to think ahead.  I drove to Provo with Spencer to have your beloved name put on a new set of beloved scriptures.  That little errand brought a flood of joy to my heart.  I had other ideas about what we might do, how we might celebrate.  But my mind has been so preoccupied with preschool.  And my heart has been busy trying to smother the surges of grief that accompany every happy event of our lives.  I was beyond grateful that cute Rachelle and Scott came to play with you and Spencer so I could go to the temple the Friday night before your birthday. 

I got home late that night, and stayed up later, trying to prepare...something for your birthday morning.  It was supposed to rain.  So birthday plan A had to wait for Sunday.  I quickly (wearily) decorated the kitchen with all the usual cheery items and went to bed without wrapping a single gift. 

We woke up.  You came into my room with sleepy eyes and an excited smile.  I hugged you and sang to you and then sent you to the bathtub with Spud so I could stay in bed for two more moments.  Which uncharacteristic habit has become so characteristic.  Which I hate.  But that's an aside.  You were thrilled with our "Birthday Breakfast Cafe" and it's meager menu options. 

You were thrilled with the gifts from Grandma Truman and Aunt Andrea.

 

And you loved the morning's calls and visitors.

By 11:00 o'clock I was still in my robe and wearing hair that hadn't been washed for probably a week, so I told you and Spud to build a birthday fort and listen to your new "Scripture Scouts" CD while I hopped in the shower.  I came out to find you two snuggled up and listening happily while devouring a package of gummy worms that had been delivered by our fun neighbors. 

Sweetest little scene.  I quietly tucked away the remaining 2? 3? worms, and we jumped in the car to meet Heather and Royce for lunch at Cafe Rio before heading to the Eyring Science Center for a delightful afternoon. 

 

 The only sadness was when Spencer's crafted-from-the-heart rocket got stuck in a tree after it's very first launch. 

Not even Royce + an umbrella could reach it!

 

 

*Moment of silence for the rocket*

And then on to the bounce house

(always good after a tragedy)

(R&H even took us out for cupcakes!)

 



 

It was such a fun afternoon and I was so glad Royce had caught wind of BYU's AstroFest.  I knew you'd love it.  You have told me repeatedly that you want to be a scientist when you grow up.  Every week or two you have a new scientific obsession (stars, rocks, planets, fish, the body...).  You remind me so much of your dad that way. 

 

You're looking so much like him these days (in a beautiful, feminine way!)!  And being at BYU reminded me of him too. 

 

 

Reminded me of those quiet May days of yesteryear.  I miss him. With a wide, spreading ache that fills every inch of me. The next morning, Sunday, I had to kind of turn off emotionally, in order to be functional.  Unplugging like that is a decent option sometimes, when "get through the day" is the only real goal.  But it's not what I wanted on your birthday. Grandma and Grandpa came in the afternoon.  They were patient and happily played with you and Spud as I slowly chipped away at our dinner preparation.  By the time your requested meal was ready, I felt like I could turn my heart back on without of flood of tears.  Which was good.  Because I wanted it on.  To see you. 

 

 

After dinner you opened Grandma and Grandpa's gift, which was a highlight of the weekend. 

 

  

(A soft little "comforter" for you to finish crocheting yourself! You've been busy with your chain stitch ever since...even asked today if you could take your yarn to recess. =)

 

 

 Then, a final gift or two.

 

Your scriptures,

 

a few other special books, and,

 

 

 a little tree to plant in honor of your eighth birthday and your baptism. 

 

 

 

There were eight dollar bills tied to the tree and eight scripture references.  The latter I've been jotting down over the past few weeks.  Just random references I thought you'd like to mark in your new scriptures.  Like 3 Ne 28:24...the verse your dad and I discussed when we decided on your name.  And (given your current outer space obsession) Psalms 147: 4...about how God knows all the stars by name.  And (for your love of reading) D&C 88:118.  The idea is that you can look up and mark one scripture before bed each night. 



     

You were so sweet and solemn about untying them all.  Didn't want any help.  You've marked a few of them already.  And I was grateful you appreciated the little tree as the treasure it was meant to be. 

It's a "Cinderella" crab apple.  A princess just like you! (And not much taller!)

 



 

If it takes root, it will have beautiful white blossoms each spring to remind us of your baptism.  And of our covenants.  And of our Savior.  And of the beautiful Sunday night we spent planting with Grandpa,

 

And crocheting with Grandma,

and celebrating all the sweetness and light you bring to our family.

 

And to my heart.  

 

The gospel's true and I love you, Lucy girl. (And I kind of like that brother of yours too.)