Remembering

After enjoying the story of Scrooge again during December, the kids and I had a sweet discussion of why it's important, as Ebenezer learned and pledged, to "live in the past, the present, and the future,"  why it's important for "the spirit of all three" to "strive within" us.

And it's in "the spirit of all three" that I approach the task of recording a few memories of Mom's passing and funeral.  The moments surrounding the death of someone so dear are sacred.  I'm not sure what I will or won't record.  I just know I want to record some things.  Because I want to remember them.

I want them to be a part of my present, and my future, and my children's future - in joyful anticipation of the future we will all share together, free from partings and separation.

And at the onset of whatever I manage to get recorded over the coming weeks or months, I want to note that I've seen the united spirits of past, present, and future so strongly at play in my sweet dad over this past year.

Dad is a romantic at heart.  Last Christmas it was sweet to watch him and Mom walk down memory lane together.  

Before they were married, they had hit some kind of road block in their relationship and "called things off" for a while.  But one night Mom walked upstairs to her bedroom to find a Nat King Cole record playing on the turn table and a note from Dad saying something like, "If this makes you feel like it makes me feel, maybe we should talk."

They talked.
And on August 31, 1959 they got married.

Fifty-six years later they were facing their last Christmas together.  Most Christmas gifts seem fairly meaningless under such circumstances - just being together is enough.  But Dad had a few surprises  that made Christmas morning so special for mom.  Besides the medical supplies he stuffed in her stocking (which made her laugh!), he had ordered in a CD of that old Nat King Cole album (they still had the original record, but their record player had gone the way of record players).  

Mom was misty eyed when she unwrapped the case and saw the title, but full tears followed when Dad quietly pushed "play" on the CD player he'd set up close by.    

The merriment and noise of Christmas Morning stilled as they listened to that music and cried together.

But it wasn't just the associated memories of the past that made the moment sweet.  It was conviction about the future, sung so determinedly in Nat King Cole's beautiful baritone,

When I fall in love, it will be forever.

Just a month after that sweet Christmas, Mom began to really suffer.  Hating to watch her in such pain, Dad prayed and fasted two days together for her relief.  Relief for her came at a high price for him, a price he wasn't expecting to pay - not quite yet.

But as he sat at Mom's bedside and held her hand during her final hours of life, his faith recognized in those circumstances a real answer to his fasting and pleading - a merciful answer for her, if not for him.

And so for a full year now, Dad has patiently borne the grief and sorrow of a great personal loss.  When I visited on January 24th, the anniversary of their parting, he showed me a darling photo of Mom in high school and a note she'd written - something about how all the people we meet become a part of us.

And Mom is a part of Dad.  A part of his present.  From the smiley faces he draws on his boiled eggs, to the birthday cards he continues to mail out, to the powerful prayers and wisdom he regularly shares with his children and grandchildren.  It's easy to see that he and Mom are still one - and that they will be eternally.  I'm so grateful for the doctrinal grounds that make such statements more than romantic, wishful thinking.  I'm so grateful for the Spirit's strong assurance of Mom's watchful eye and close presence, her smiling approval and overwhelming affection, as Dad does all the little things that carry on their joint legacy.

And I'm so grateful for our Savior who gives reason for so much hope.