I'd felt a tugging at my heart for over a year to start writing again. I'd push it off. "It's too much time." "No one cares about what I have to say." "People might judge me." "It's not worth the work."
This is the story of how God rebuilt my confidence, restored my hope, and helped me realized that I was good enough.
Once I got into Dartmouth, I was advised that my alma mater had enough "brand name" recognition that I would have no trouble finding a job after college. I didn't exactly know what my dream job was, but I was told I could find something to tide me over until the epiphany happened. "Your major doesn't have to be related to your career." "You'll develop great transferable skills in college and be very employable in a lot of arenas." "Going to a 'good' school is job security." At least, that's what everyone told me.
As I was driving back to work from lunch on Friday, I got stuck in an insane amount of traffic. As I got closer to the epicenter, I saw that there had been an accident and there were sirens and lights everywhere. As I drove by, there was a single motorcycle laying in the middle of the intersection, with a pool of blood all over the asphalt.
I lost it.
Twenty-three years ago today, September 6 1992, there was another single motorcycle laying in a road, surrounded by sirens and covered in blood. That time though, it was my father's.
The timing of seeing that sight on Friday was so eerie, considering how close it was to today. I'd never even thought of what the accident scene looked like, but now I have an image forever seared in my mind. Very rarely, given the development of the brain, do we have memories from our first years. Thankfully, my young brain nearly perfectly preserved all the events of the day he died. The following are some excerpts from a post I wrote ages ago on an old blog, as well as some reflections from today.
Distraction is a good thing on September 6th. I generally try to fill this day with lots of friends and activities, so I don't have to think about it. Today, I didn't have many distractions: just a lazy morning, some scripture reading, and church in my new ward. I even bore my testimony in front of all these strangers in the new ward (yikes!). It was really scary, but I felt like I would be remiss if I didn't bear my testimony today, of all days. But I've mostly spent the day alone, and that's been difficult.
It's hard to describe to others what it's like to lose a parent (or never really know one). It is SUCH a different experience to grow up without a mom or dad than to have one pass away when you're a grown adult. I've heard/seen two main reactions:
"Aw, that's so sad for her/her sister/her mom," and go about their day.
"She was so young, she shouldn't be sad about this. She barely knew him."
That last one always gets to me. It's always frustrating for me to see others try to judge how someone should feel or react. Everyone's feelings are valid. Everyone has hard things and that should be respected, not judged based on age, perceived difficulty, etc.
(Sorry, I just had to get on a little soapbox there because I don't want to write this and try to justify to the judgers about why this is sad or hard or unpleasant.)
It's hard to believe it's been this long. I was barely experiencing life. Somedays it feels like I never had or needed a dad...and other days I am EXTREMELY aware I've missed something so vitally important. Sometimes I feel like I'm missing half of myself. I was created from two people and I only know one of them. What about the other half that created me? What about that man who loved me so dearly? What was he like?
As a daughter, I've lost that essential element of protection and care only a father can provide. Whenever I hear a church leader or teacher talk about raising daughters, taking them to the temple, interviewing boyfriends, etc., I cry. Last night at a friend's wedding, I broke down listening to her father give his toast, reflecting on how much he loved her and how hard it was to watch her grow up so quickly.
I have desperately wanted that all of my life. For years, I would pray each night to just have a father figure even just give me a simple hug. The hugs never came (I was too afraid to ask), but it was a connection I prayed and cried to the Lord for often.
I've looked for father figures everywhere (at church, work, etc) but they can never compare to having one of my own. Ultimately, those men always return to their real families and children at night, and you know they could never love you as much as their own. You don't want to be a burden to them or bother them too much for help, because you aren't their real child.
So for me, I just have a small smattering of photographs, some background narration in videos (my dad hated being on camera), fuzzy memories, and daydreams about how things could've been different.
It's more than an event for a biography, a footnote on my life, or interesting fact about me. That motorcycle laying in the road on September 6th has been a huge lightening rod in changing EVERYTHING about the trajectory for the rest of my life. From this day alone, I could write a complex series of discourses on human relationships, family history, behavioral neuroscience, divine intervention, abuse, love, confusion, anger, hope, the wisdom of God, why we've been sent to the parents we have, and the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ.
I will say this though. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real. His Resurrection is absolutely real. Of these things, I have unequivocally no doubt. Everything in my life revolves around that. Because of those two great acts of love, the bonds within my family will never be broken.
When I think about the great blessings of the Atonement & repentance and the power of sealing families together, this is the guy I hope it's true for. I have faith that my father died for a divine reason. And even more, I have faith and hope that, through Jesus Christ, the hole I've carried for 23 years will be filled and I will eventually know what it's like to have a father.
I didn't get to know him or love him much on this earth, but I eagerly look forward to that sweet reunion on the other side. I can't WAIT to tell him all about my life. Everything I saw and did. All the hard things, the great things. The tears I shed, the things that hurt me. The extreme joys and sacred experiences. I want to tell him everything. And I know he'll want to hear every little detail. I can't wait for that sweet first embrace in heaven. I weep whenever I imagine it. It's the hug I've been praying for for so many years. That first embrace, I'll feel whole again.
Time for some real talk: For years I dreamt of leaving Oregon. In fact, I never wanted to go back to Oregon when I did (more on that another time). I daydreamed about different cities I could move to (LA, NYC, Boston, DC, abroad) and the programs I could enter (humanitarian work, grad school, traveling and working odd jobs, the "dream" job). I saw people post on social media about glamorous wanderlust dreams. It's so simple, right? Just pack up your bags, get in a car/plane/train/boat/mule/carrier pigeon, and go explore! So romantic and magical!
After saying many goodbyes to so many important people and places, I spent my last day in Oregon packing everything I could possibly need (and would fit) into the back of my car. I only needed to furnish my bedroom, and didn't think spending $800+ on a moving truck/trailer was worth the cost for just moving some of my bedroom furniture. I only really needed a bed, a bedside table, a desk and chair. Why spend hundreds of dollars and effort lugging them 900 miles, when I could buy new things for a fraction of that cost and effort (holla IKEA & Target!) I also didn't really NEED a real bed, so I'm electing to sleep on an air mattress for the next few months. It's free, light, and can be easily stuffed under a sear in my car. Perfect!
I'm currently driving 14 hours to Utah, but if I was still in Oregon, I'd be here today. I had my last shift as an ordinance worker in the Portland Oregon Temple last Wednesday. I only served there a few months, but they had the most impact on my temple appreciation and testimony within the last 8 years. The Portland Temple had been closed for 2 weeks prior to my shift, so I wasn't able to attend or serve there during that time. As soon as I arrived on the grounds, I realized how much I missed visiting it during those 2 weeks. I truly felt like I was coming home. I was full of mixed feelings that day--while I was incredibly happy to be back, I was also sad because I knew this would be my last shift. The temple was the first goodbye I had to deal with before the move. I even teared up a bit as I changed out of my white dress and had to say goodbye to my trainer. The temple is a place that has saved my life on a few key occasions. One particular dark night, I asked God why I shouldn't commit suicide. He told me "Just wait until you go to the temple tomorrow. Then you can make a decision." When I got to the temple the next day, the grounds were bursting with tulips, my favorite flower, and my heart was instantly filled with happiness by the sight. That, of course, wasn't enough to pull me out of the darkness. Once inside the temple, I prayed again "Why should I hold on? What am I staying alive for?" The answer didn't come instantly. But it came--the temple was why I needed to hold on. My ancestors were why I needed to hold on. They still needed me on the earth. That answer came so powerfully to my soul, and in some of the dark moments of suicidal temptation that inevitably followed, I have relied on that answer.
Yesterday I had to say goodbye to my wonderful ward and the people in it. I didn't realize it was going to be so hard to say goodbye to everyone--you never know how much something means until you have to leave it. I was originally planning on having Zach give me a blessing before I journeyed off to Utah, but I decided it would be even more fitting if I had a member of the bishopric give me a father's blessing before I go. In my faith, a father will typically give a father's blessing to his children during important transitions in their lives, like before the beginning of the school year, etc. As a convert, I never had a father who could give me a blessing...or really a father at all. But Brother Snyder has been like my adoptive father for the last 5 years: he's filled that role magnificently and been a huge support for me. I've spent hours crying to him, asking for advice, sharing my joys with him, etc. This is a HUGE transition in my life, so I felt it only fitting to have this man give me a father's blessing before I left (probably the only one I'll have in my life.) I also had Bishop Wight (another father figure who has been a huge resource) and Zach take part in the blessing circle. It was a BEAUTIFUL blessing: we were all very emotional by the end and it was a touching and perfect goodbye to these men who have impacted me so much.
This last Sunday in Oregon: I’ve replayed it over and over in my head for 5 years. This is a moment and a day I honestly thought would never occur. As much as I daydreamed about leaving Oregon and moving on, I really thought that would never be a reality for me. I delivered my last talk in the Eugene YSA ward (congregation) this morning, was released from my callings, and wrapped up my time here. Five years is a long time to spend in one ward as a young single adult. I am filled with mixed emotions: moving away has been my dream for five years and I am so excited to take on Salt Lake City...but I will miss this ward and these people terribly. After I gave my talk, some asked to see a transcript of it to read later. I've summarized the majority of my talk (i.e., left out all of my rambling and lame jokes) below: 1. Jump in & bloom where you’re planted.
I moved back to Eugene in 2010, promising myself that I wouldn’t be here long. I didn’t apply for grad programs here because I said “I’m not going to be here beyond a year.”
And I told myself that EVERY year as 5 years quickly ticked by. I missed so many opportunities by not just jumping in where I was. You never know how long you’ll be in a certain area or time in your life. Take full advantage of every opportunity.
Last weekend we ventured up the Oregon coast for a big YSA beach activity. We love the coast and wanted to go one last time before moving, so this was a perfect excuse. Except--we get there and it's raining! We stopped in this candy shop and the owner says "Yeah, we haven't had rain for 4 months until today! The summer has been so pleasant!" We were so thrilled:
In the last few weeks before the official move to Utah, we hit up the Scandinavian Festival up in Junction City! (Fun fact: last summer I was too nervous to invite Zach to come with me...little did I know that he liked me and just days later we'd end up dating. Missed opportunity!)
As someone who has STRUGGLED deeply with depression, anxiety, and suicide for years, it has often been a hard choice to stay alive and endure to the next day. So this blog is my way of celebrating EVERY moment in life I've endured that darkness for--the vacations, miracles, joys, triumphs, the mundane details, the midnight donuts (YUM), the crafts....even the hard lessons, struggles, and honest reflections on mistakes.
Good or bad, every moment of my life is so important to me because I make an active choice (sometimes daily) to keep living this life. These are all of the things I would have missed. I want to celebrate those moments and that enduring spirit.