Love; Grief; Legacy

Love

In November of 1983 I was five years old. I have a very clear memory of my Mom receiving a phone call around dinner time. I have a very clear memory of watching my Mom's face turn to grief as she was told the news that her Mom had died. My Grandma was a beautiful woman. She was the kindest, most loving grandmother a kid could have. I was lucky enough to live close by, so I got to spend a lot of time with her. I remember her helping me learn to read and write. I remember her showing us how to make little roses out of clay, a skill that I still remember. She used to call me her "root-beer eyed" kid. I don't think that she loved me any more than any of her other grandkids, but she had the amazing ability to make me understand how special I was to her. The short five years I knew her made an enormous impact on my heart and I miss her every day.

In April of 1998 I was twenty-one year's old. I had been on my mission for 18 months. I was awoken by a phone call from my mother. The simple fact that she was calling was suspicious, but as soon as I heard her voice I knew before she told me that my Dad had died. Me and my Dad were very close. After my parents divorce me and some of my siblings would spend most summers and Christmas breaks in Utah with him. My Dad had a tender heart and a propensity towards anger. Two qualities I can relate to. He was at the core a man who cared deeply for his kids. Me and my Dad were very close. We shared interest in too many things to list. But his heroes became my heroes, and his loves and interests became mine. I always felt as if he was what I would become. I never had any doubt that my Dad loved me. I knew it broke his heart to be so far from his kids after the divorce. I knew this because it broke my heart too. I looked forward to and cherished all the time we spent together.

I did not go home for the funeral. Nobody told me I couldn't. I never asked. I regret that decision. I was doing what I thought was right at the time. I was even doing what I thought my Dad would want me to. But no person should have to deal with the death of a parent without their family. I miss my Dad every day of my life.

Grief

When I left the church and eventually became an atheist I had to come to terms with truth. I had to come to terms with my own cognitive dissonance. I knew I didn't believe in any kind of afterlife, but yet I held on to the belief that I would see those I loved again. I had to come to terms with the fact that I knew I didn't believe.

I had to grieve them again. I could no longer tell myself that their death was just a very long separation. I had to admit the fact that their death was the end. I will never see my Dad again. I will never see my Grandma again. I will never see any of the other loved ones lost.

But more important than the grief, or possibly one of the steps of grief, I needed to find a way to make them live on. I do not want someone I loved so much to not matter anymore to the world. I needed to find a way to make them matter.

I haven't been able to do that yet, at least not to the degree I need. Maybe it isn't possible.

So I still grieve. But I no longer have the option to return to believing the fantasy. Once belief is gone it cannot be returned, not without a huge sacrifice in honesty. My Dad taught me to be honest.

Legacy

Both my Dad and Grandma were Mormon. They both came from a long line of Mormons. Nearly all of my extended family are Mormon. Mormonism is a huge part of my family story. I have said before that I am proud of my Mormon heritage, and I am. I can't help but wonder, then, how my Dad and Grandma would feel about the decisions I have made. I can't help but wonder what their reaction would have been. Would they have reacted angrily like the horror stories I hear from others? Or, would they have reacted with disappointment and love like my living family has? I like to tell myself that they would react with acceptance. But that may be just another fantasy. In my wildest dreams they would tell me that they always shared the same doubts and understand exactly where I am coming from. I think that might just be possible about my Dad.

One thing I do know is that in my mind I am still following what they taught me. I am trying to live by what I think is true. I am trying to be loving and kind to others. I am trying to fight for the rights of everyone and build a just society around me. I am trying to be courageous and valiant in fighting for truth. I am trying to live up to the legacy of my pioneer ancestors. But I can't blaze my own trail by always following theirs.