I helped bury my Uncle Carl - literally.

My Uncle Carl passed away a couple of weeks ago - he was a rocket scientist. We in his family really didn't know a lot about his life in the last couple of decades because he was a quiet humble man and lived a bit more secluded than the rest of us. He worked for NASA at the Kennedy Space Center in Titusville, Florida, and he loved it. He worked on the space shuttle project for many years and was also very good at what he did, winning several awards and patents that we didn't know much about. Like I said, he was humble and didn't call to tell us about these, except for one - the Silver Snoopy award. This picture is him at his award ceremony when he won this award, and it was a very prestigious award, only given to maybe one person a year working for NASA. This one he was proud of.

Yesterday, Andy and I flew to Florida for his small, casual memorial. We took the red-eye from California so were both a bit bedraggled when we went straight from the airport to the church, stopping only at the rental car place to pick up the car and change. We looked none the worse for the wear, though, and when we arrived we were met by family members we hadn't seen for a long time.

The memorial was beautiful and, as you probably know from other recent writings, I love a good funeral. The spirit was strong in the room as family members remembered Carl and his eccentricities. As a child, he was a voracious reader, spending hours on his own at the expense of many other things, chores for one. I also learned from grandma that he would make the most intricate paper airplanes, and they would always fly. Teachers would complain that he wasn't paying attention in class and grandma knew it was because his head was in the sky with the airplanes. He was eccentric but also quite brilliant as those who knew him best figured out, quickly.

In the Air Force, during Vietnam, Carl wanted to be a pilot but a chronic sinus condition kept him from the cockpit. Instead, he painted the birds, teaching him more about how to care for their surface, which involved a lot more than painting. This eventually led him through school as a physicist and then to working at NASA on the space shuttle. One of his patents was for a particle detector for the outside of the shuttle, which they used to learn about what the shuttle brought back on its surface. Nothing left earth or came back without going through Carl's clean lab. And, while rheumatoid arthritis withered and deteriorated his body, his mind was always sharp and in the sky.

We had lovely music at the memorial as well, and a great display of pictures and awards that wouldn't even scratch the surface of the life of this man. Afterward, we visited with each other telling stories and remembering him fondly. Through the day the family kept making rocket scientist jokes in his honor - "it doesn't take a rocket scientist" and "well, she's not a rocket scientist." Personally, I remember one joke he always told about higher education (being a perpetual student, he had a particular awareness), saying a BS degree was just that - b.s. An MS degree was just More of the Same, and a PhD was just Piling it Higher and Deeper. He always had this same droll sense of humor that runs in my family (though I am sure it skipped me).

Shortly after the memorial is when the big event happened for me. Uncle Rick had secured a permit, and we were going to bury Uncle Carl's urn of ashes ourselves. I had never thought I would be able to actually help dig a grave and most of the family was surprised when I chimed in that I wanted to help dig. But what a great way to serve my uncle in some small way one last time - and I'd never had much of a chance to serve him during his life anyway, so I wasn't going to pass this up.

We met out at the local cemetery, after changing into more proper digging clothes, and at the foot of my mom's grave we broke the ground as Uncle Rick hopped onto the new shovel, acquired just for this occasion. Rick is the more down to earth, preferring to work with his hands, so he led the way on the digging. Of course, the other brothers, Larry and Steve would make some joke here about leaving it to him to take the lead, alluding to his more overbearing personality. The boys jab each other often about each other's quirks - always in fun, and I've never seen it go negative. I have a great family.

Anyway, after Rick had a few turns at moving dirt, he handed the shovel to me, reminding me not to break the sides down and to put the dirt in the depression at the foot of mom's grave. That way when we were done, the excess dirt would help to even out the ground right there. He's always thinking of these kinds of things. The hole he began was a perfect rectangle, and he cut the sod with the flat-edged shovel into four perfect rectangles and removed them carefully, stacking them to the side and not where the dirt was going to go. He does this as if it's common sense, but it was new to me.

I enjoyed my turn at digging and gave the shovel over to Uncle Larry who took a turn. I took over his camera to take pictures and we all stood around making jokes and laughing. What a wonderful way to spend an occasion that most would think dreary or morbid. Uncle Carl is a practical man, never caring what happened to his belongings after he died - he didn't even have a will. Being practical, we knew he wouldn't want us standing around crying and mourning his loss - what use would that be? Plus, we all understand that this is more of a happy occasion for him as he is now free of the arthritis that plagued his body and his life.

The stately wooden cubicle urn, holding Carl's ashes, was put into its vault, which Rick had painted green. Why, he asked us, did he paint it green? Well, because that was his "marking color" when he was a kid. Grandma marked their underwear, socks and even kitchen cups with their colors so no one would get them mixed up - and they could keep using the same cup all day. Carl was green, Larry was blue, Steve was red, and Rick was purple. Ok, now we know what colors the other vaults need to be painted!

Using a long string, Rick and Larry lowered the vault into the hole, and then we carefully placed the dirt back in - around the sides of the vault first and then on top. Larry did the job of packing down the dirt because, as Rick said, "he had the girth." Rick carefully put the four cut squares of sod back on top of the very neatly square hole, now filled with dirt, and packed it down one more time. The leftover dirt was spread evenly over mom's grave as planned.

Then Rick said a prayer to dedicate the gravesite, a special ordinance in our church meant to protect it and its sacred contents. It is now holy ground.

The rest of the day, we spent as a family at grandma's house - our favorite gathering place. It is here that we all feel peace and love together. We conversed, joked, poured through old photo albums, especially those found at Carl's house, and played with Jennie Mae, my cousin Alina's 7-month old. She helps to remind us all of the cycle that keeps going. One person leaves this earth, another comes - all part of God's great plan of happiness.

We love Carl and will miss him greatly, but we all know he will be there after this life and for now we can celebrate him, grow in our love for each other, and feel God's spirit closer than ever as the veil between this world and the next is thin. These are the times that make life so special and worth living.

My Mom's Last Gift

One of the people I wanted to write about in this blog is my mom. She died in March of last year.
I don't want to go into any detail at all about her death because at first read, it is long, depressing and extremely pointless. My mom suffered quite a bit in her last year and I hated watching her waste away without any ability to really help - being literally across the country. But, I would like to say that having the perspective I have in life - an eternal perspective that I've gained through a strong Mormon background - I know that her death and suffering were not pointless, at all.

When people wonder why bad things happen to good people, I can actually hold my mom's and my experience with her illness up as an example. I know why they happen and it's actually for a good reason. Mom spent her last year in a hospital, unable to get up, communicate or do any of the normal things we take for granted.

When she first went into the hospital, I was called back to Florida to be with her and to help with the doctors and tough decisions. I am her only child, which leaves me "responsible". My grandmother and all my uncles have way more life experience, but the final decisions as to her care were in my hands. That certainly doesn't seem fair and at the time it almost felt ridiculous. Who am I to know how to handle this stuff? I'm just a kid in comparison to the wisdom necessary for this.

I was scared when I took that first long flight home - scared of what she'd look and be like, what would happen while I was there and the great unknown. But, I had one thing going for me. I had the distinct thought that this would be one of the most important educational experiences of my life and I had a choice. I could either wallow in the overwhelming depths of despair that I felt or I could face the next few days or weeks as the learning experience it was and grow with it. On that flight, I chose to stay faithful, make the decisions and handle the situation the best I could - for my mom, my grandma and for myself. I have never regretted that decision because anytime I began to feel overwhelmed again, I could remember why I was doing all this. And, I knew that at the end of it, I would be a better stronger person than I was then -and I was right.

What I didn't know at that point was that not only would I be in FL that first time for 3 weeks with no resolution to my mom's situation but also that it would be a full year and more before I was through the muck of that time - before my mom would be through the muck of her experience only to be released in her passing. She spent that year without the ability to speak because of being on a respirator or write because of her weakness. Though we could talk to her, she had no way of telling us her feelings or what she was going through. She was alone in her thoughts. My uncle often said that she was having her own experience in her own spiritual world, wrestling with God in her own way. And, she was ever-so-patient in that trial.

In March of 2007, came the culmination of all that effort, waiting, fighting and learning - she was alone and unconscious when she passed and I heard via a phone call late at night after having made the last decision of her life - not to have the doctors resuscitate her if she went into another code-red. Had I recognized that they meant it could happen that night, I might have asked them to keep her alive until I got there. But, all that really would have done was eased my own guilt for not being there with her- it wouldn't have made it easier for her. To this day, I'm not sure I did the right thing on that last decision but I think that she had lingered long enough and didn't need to wait any longer. One day, I'll see her again and ask.

Anyway, the great things began to happen after her passing. It's funny how the deepest sadness really can be the most cleansing. I learned that I really appreciate mourning. So many folks don't like funerals or can't handle death but I now understand why we go through those steps and I actually felt honored to be able to give my mom that time of mourning, planning the funeral, preparing a tribute to her and performing the ordinances we all perform for our loved ones.

One of the things we Mormons do for those that pass is to dress them in the special temple clothes for their burial so that they are ready for the resurrection. I've never done this before and it was a bit shocking, very solemn and actually quite beautiful. We consider it the last service we can do for them and I was so honored to be able to participate. It was me, my grandma and 2 other ladies from my mom's ward and we dressed her in the funeral home. It was a very spiritual experience and one which I wouldn't mind doing again. You feel very close to the person you're serving and close to God and the spirit world. In a world like ours where everything is so base and profane, it is wonderful to have things like this to remind us of who we really are and where we come from.

I spent several days planning the funeral and writing an obituary for my mom. The obit in the paper only turned out to be a very few lines - any more would have cost more than we could afford but I used what I wrote on the program for the funeral which I created. I also spent time at the funeral home, picking out her casket and organizing the service and paying for these things (a rant on the death industry is surely in the future of this blog). I also put together a table of pictures and items from her life, including a life-sized color drawing of Goliath that she made several years ago. I was happy to do all of these things to honor my mom and it brought me some joy in that time.

The funeral itself was one of the most beautiful services I have ever been to. I had my uncle Rick do the eulogy. I felt he was the right one because although he and my mom didn't agree on much, he is the only Priesthood holder in the immediate family and I wanted his authority in that spot of the program. My daughter played a gorgeous piano piece by Beethoven that was perfect. I was so overcome with emotion while she played and so filled with the spirit. We then had folks come up and share their feelings and stories about my mom and it was amazing to hear how everyone else was dealing with the situation and to hear things I'd never heard about her.

The most powerful was shared by a man who was the High Priest group leader in her ward. In his role, he felt he had a responsibility to visit my mom occasionally. So, he did about once a month while she was there. None of us in the family knew he was visiting and since my mom couldn't communicate - though she was awake and aware most of the time, she had never been able to tell us, either. He said in his remarks that though he couldn't talk with mom much, he spent time with her and was amazed by the great amount of patience she had in her situation. Patience was a common theme in the service and in her life. He said that he had learned something about patience and dealing with trials from visiting my mom and that he was a better person for having done that. This was what really made me think about why these bad things happen to good people.

If my mom, had not gone through this experience, she never would have had the opportunity to learn and grow in that spiritual world that we can never comprehend. I would never have had the opportunity to deal with these doctors, lawyers, decisions and most importantly emotions that I'd never dealt with before. I certainly am a stronger person than I was before then. My grandma would never have had to learn whatever lessons were hers to learn. And, even this man had an opportunity to grow because of my mom's situation. All these people, her brothers, her friends, my husband and daughter and more that I don't even know of have all become a little bit stronger - a little bit better because my mom went through that.

That is what this life is all about. We have these terrible awful experiences so that we can wrestle with them, so that we can try to figure out what we need to learn from them, so that we can prepare for even more life lessons to come - and ultimately, so that we can prepare for what comes next - after this life. I am ultimately very grateful for the experience I had to go through. I'm even joyful about it now that it's over and I can see the stronger person I am - braver now to take on new challenges I never would have thought about before and much more appreciative of my wonderful mom who sacrificed most of her life to raise me and teach me. In her sickness and death I learned even more from her and for that I'll always be grateful to her and to God.

So, when something horrible is happening in your life - think about what you can learn from it and how it's going to make you a better person after you're through it. It's all for our good. It's all for our learning and it's all because we have a God, a Father above who loves us as we love our own children. He hates to see us suffer but allows those things to happen because He knows what He wants us to be on the other side and knows how to get us there. Have faith in Him and in the trials we experience.