Holding Our Family in Prayer

 

Dear Frenchie,

Today has been an incredibly difficult day.

Blake called and asked whether Chloe had contacted me about a flight credit. I was confused and asked him what he was talking about. While I was still on the phone with him, Chloe called, so I switched over to speak with her.

She asked whether Blake had called or texted me about the credit. I told her he hadn’t explained anything to me, but the credit had come from the cruise. I had purchased tickets for all of us to fly to Los Angeles, and when Chloe canceled, the value of her ticket became a trip credit. Apparently, Blake wanted to use it to fly to California, while Chloe wanted to use it for something else.

I was already confused, but then Chloe told me that she and Blake were separated—and had been for quite some time. She said they were planning to get a divorce.

Eric, I was completely shocked.

I had no idea.

When I went back to my conversation with Blake, he confirmed that it was all true. He has been staying at Kaitlyn and Brian’s house. I’m grateful they have opened their home to him, but I am so worried.

Apparently, the girls have been telling him for months that he needed to tell me.

Months?

What the hell?

My heart is breaking for both of them—and really, for the entire family.

I talked with Blake for a while and told him that, if I could offer him any advice, it would be to protect the children from as much of the conflict as possible. I didn’t mean that he should hide everything from them. I meant that he and Chloe should try not to speak badly about each other in front of the children or put them in the middle of what is happening.

They are so young, and children should never feel as though they have to choose between the two people they love most.

Blake told me that Weslie had asked him, “Dad, is our family ever going to live together in the same house again?”

He was broken.

I could hear it in his voice as it cracked while he repeated her words to me. I asked him what he had said to her. He told me that he and Chloe had planned to sit down together and talk with her, but Chloe had already spoken to her about it. He was hurt that they hadn’t been able to have that conversation as a family.

I told Blake I would help him in any way he needed. I also told him I was grateful he had finally trusted me enough to tell me what was happening.

He said he hadn’t wanted to tell me because he didn’t want me to worry.

I told him never to keep something this important from me again. Of course I will worry—I’m his mother—but I can handle whatever he needs to share with me. He doesn’t have to protect me by carrying something this painful alone.

Eric, I miss you so much.

The night Blake told me, I lay in bed staring at the pillow with your face on it and cried. I wanted more than anything to hear your voice and talk through all of this with you. You would know how to calm me down. You would remind me not to react too quickly and to love everyone through it.

I’m not sure how to help Blake, and I don’t know what the right answers are. For now, I am praying and planning to go to the temple, hoping Heavenly Father will give me clarity and help me know how to support our family without making anything harder.

I wish you were here.

I love you.

Father's Day 2026

 

Dear Frenchie,

Well, hello again—and Happy Father’s Day to you.

Later today, I will drive out and place flowers at your gravesite. I’m not sure why I go there as often as I do. I think I find peace in knowing your body rests there, even though I understand that your spirit has moved on.

Eric, you were the best of the best fathers. I am so grateful I had the privilege of raising our children with you. They are good, happy, and genuinely kind people. Isn’t that what success really looks like?

Most of the time, you and I disagreed about the consequences they should face for misbehaving. You wanted them to pull weeds in the backyard or clean out a room or closet that you probably needed to clean yourself. The weed-pulling punishment was especially difficult for me because Gary used to make us do the same thing. It was a real trigger, and I hated that rule. I probably raised my voice more than I should have.

Actually, there is no “probably” about it. I did.

I wish we could take back some of those moments, but I also believe they helped me understand both of us a little better now that you are gone. I have never liked the saying, “We did the best we could,” but in many ways, it is true. We made mistakes—some we would give anything to undo—but we also apologized, learned, and tried to do better.

Parenting without you has been sad and difficult. Since moving, I don’t see or talk to the kids and grandchildren as often as I might have if I had stayed in our Gilbert home. I miss that part of my life so much.

At the same time, moving has forced me to create a life with some balance. I have made new friends and found walking buddies in the neighborhood, including people you once sold homes to. I even started a Bunco group in the ward, and there is always a waiting list. They love it—and so do I. I also join the widows in my ward on Thursday nights to play cards. They are a hoot; of course, I am the youngest amongst them, but man, do they love to share life experiences I love. laugh and learn from.

Learning who I am without always being known as “Eric’s wife” or “Kayla, Blake, Kaitlyn, and Haleigh’s mom” has helped me discover more of myself. Don’t get me wrong—I still treasure those titles. They are among the greatest honors of my life.

But as I continue moving forward, I am also Monya Williams.

I am a woman trying to become a better person. I am learning to laugh at myself, to worry less about my facial paralysis, and to live fully even without the smile I once had. I am releasing the shame I carried about my mothering. I am grateful that the Lord entrusted these four amazing children to our family.

I will no longer allow thoughts of failure and unworthiness to take up space in my mind, and I will never place those thoughts upon our children. They are adults now, making their own choices and living their own lives. I love them exactly as they are.

You would too.

Happy Father’s Day, Babe.

I love you so much.

Happy Birthday

 

Happy Birthday, My Love

Today is your birthday.

I am in Mexico with some friends from my ward. It has been a while since I have been here, and being back has stirred up more memories than I expected.

We rented a car from Hertz. I didn’t feel comfortable taking my new car because it still has temporary plates. Maybe that sounds a little crazy, but one of my friends is a little nervous about being in Mexico. Obviously not nervous enough not to come, but nervous enough. Her husband, Chris, is a DEA agent and never really wanted her to come down here. It reminds me a little of Kevin Bennett being a police officer. I suppose people in those kinds of jobs know much more about what “really” happens than the rest of us do. As for me, I think there is some peace in not knowing everything. Sometimes ignorance really can feel like a blessing.

The weather has been beautiful. The sunrises and sunsets are absolutely gorgeous. There is something about the sky here that feels different to me. Softer. Warmer. More peaceful.

When I drove up to the security gate, they remembered me. They asked how I was doing and welcomed me with big smiles. The HOA office remembered me too, and they talked about Blake’s and Brian’s families. It touched me more than I expected.

Walking into the condo brought back so many memories of you. I had no idea how many little things would take me right back to the two of us being here together—the walks, the talks, the vendors, the security guards, the familiar streets, the places we loved. Everywhere I turned, there you were.

Of course, I ran and got fruit bowls for one of my friends. She loved hers so much, and it made me smile because I knew you would have loved that.

We shopped at the Malecón and had lunch at Poncho’s. He gave me a big hug and welcomed us like no time had passed. I took my friends to all your favorite places to eat, and we loved every one.

There is such a peaceful feeling I have here. The sunrises and sunsets mean so much more to me in this place. I can almost feel you smiling down on me with your twinkling eyes. And, of course, the mangos were ripe and delicious.

Estifano’s wife was so kind. She asked me about Kaitlyn and her family. I thought that was so sweet of her, and it reminded me again how many pieces of our life are still here, tucked into this place and these people.

Happy birthday, my love.

I appreciate you and love you more and more every day.

Love,
Monya

My April Lesson

Hey Babe,

Today I taught in Relief Society. The lesson was based on Dallin H. Oaks’ talk “Alive in Christ and the Resurrection.”

As I stood there teaching, I felt you with me. Not just a passing thought—but a real, quiet presence. It was emotional… in a way I didn’t expect.

I shared stories about my birth father, Colby—and about you.

I told them Colby was a good man. All I ever wanted was for him to be my dad. He was kind and gentle… but he carried demons he couldn’t overcome. The night he hit me in a drunken rage—that wasn’t who he truly was. Addiction changes people. It clouds memory, distorts truth. I don’t think we ever really knew what happened that night.

He said I was playing with the ironing board, that he asked me to stop and I didn’t. Then he struck me—his hand across the side of my three-year-old head.

I believe that moment haunted him for the rest of his life.

Mom divorced him, and over the years, we barely spoke. Maybe ten times, if that. But every time we did, he would say the same words: “I’m so sorry, honey.”

And every time, I would stop him and say, “I forgave you a long time ago.”

But now I see it differently.

When he sobered up, the weight of what he had done crushed him. And instead of healing, he ran back to the very thing that destroyed him. Over and over again.

Now, I find myself wishing I could say something different:
“I’m sorry too… for the anger I carried. I just wanted you to be my daddy. I wanted you to rescue me.”

I believe he’s in Heaven now. Whole. At peace. I wonder if you’ve seen him. I hope you have.
I look forward to the day I see you both again… along with your mom and dad.

The lesson also touched on something that stayed with me. As members of the Church, we sometimes feel misunderstood—but we’ve also had moments in our history where we didn’t fully accept others either. That has to change.

You and I never lived that way. We’ve loved people from all walks of life, all beliefs. And truthfully, many of them have been better at loving than I have.

That’s what I’m learning—really learning.
To love people where they are. Not where I wish they would be.

Because if we are judging, we are not loving. And if we are not loving, we are not living like Christ.
That’s the part I’m still working on every single day.

Haleigh still hasn’t reached out.

And I’ve come to a hard realization… I can’t keep doing this to my heart. It’s exhausting. I love her unconditionally—I always will. And I will always be here when she’s ready. But I think it’s time for me to write one final letter and let her know that.

I’ll pray. I’ll fast. I’ll make sure it comes from love—not pain.

As I prepared this lesson, a thought kept coming to me: she’s not there yet.
Not in the place of unconditional love.

And maybe that’s okay—for now.

Because I know who she is.
She is kind. She is gentle. She has always been that way.

She stood beside me during cancer. During her senior year—when people constantly asked her about me, about my illness. I know that hurt her more than she ever said out loud. And I will never forget it.

And I will never forget her final dance at Highland High… “Curing Cancer, Dancer by Dancer.”

I sat there, bald, watching our little girl cry as she danced to a song she chose just for me.
She doesn’t cry easily.

That moment… it held everything.

I have made mistakes. I see them more clearly now than ever before. But I am so grateful that every day, I can repent. Every day, I can forgive—and ask for forgiveness.

I am trying to become more like Christ. I fail often… but I’m changing. I can feel it—in my thoughts, in my actions, in the way I see people now.

And I want you to know something, too.

Thank you… for asking me for forgiveness—for a lifetime of hurt.
That mattered more than you may ever understand.

And I need you to hear me clearly:

I forgive you.

All of it.
Even the things that almost broke us.

We’ve carried things that could have destroyed our marriage… but they didn’t.
Because love—real love—chooses to stay, to heal, to forgive.

And I choose you. Still.

I love you.
Monya

Remember when?

Hey Babe,

I’ve been thinking about you so much today.

I finally closed on our Gilbert home. Saying goodbye was harder than I expected. As I walked through the halls one last time, memories came rushing back—some beautiful, some not so easy.

I realized something as I stood there.

Not every moment in that home was healing or happy.

You and I… we were both stubborn. There were times I was so frustrated with you I wanted to scream—and I’m pretty sure I did. And yet, there were just as many moments when I fell in love with you all over again.

Funny thing is, I don’t think I knew you as well back then as I do now.

So much of our story feels like a blur of love, confusion, and misunderstandings.

---

I still think about our first date.

I remember thinking you seemed like a nice guy—someone I might be interested in. Then I found out you had asked another girl to the same fireside and canceled on her. She still showed up, and she was not happy with you. I remember thinking, " Who does that?

And then… You took me to your grandmother’s house.

You walked through every room, checked under beds like you were protecting me from something, and then asked if I wanted a foot rub.

I thought, " This is weird.

And then… well, things escalated quickly, and I remember thinking, I need to leave.

When you walked me to my car, I honestly hoped it would be the last time I’d see you.

---

But it wasn’t.

You kept calling.
You kept showing up.

And somehow, every time I was with you, I found something else to admire.

I had my eyes set on a mission, and I made that clear from the beginning. That didn’t seem to scare you away—in fact, looking back, I think it may have been one of the reasons we stayed together.

Maybe because marriage wasn’t on my mind.

And now I know… it wasn’t really on yours either.

---

As I got closer to your family—especially your mom—I realized something.

I wanted the Williams name to be part of my life forever.

---

We had so many good times.

Your softball games.
Trips to Prescott.
Staying in the Cozy Cabin with your parents.

Walking through the woods, finding quiet places just to be together, laughing the whole way back.

That’s when we really started to fall in love.

---

I remember being so jealous of your ex, Vicki.

She would come around your parents’ house, even sit down for dinner once, and I was furious. Your mom had to gently remind me that she was part of the past—and not the one for you.

She was right.

---

We spent hours playing Pac-Man at that arcade on Alma School and Southern before Fiesta Mall was built. It felt like everyone in town was there. And right across the street, that old movie theater—where you always wanted to sit in the back.

Of course.

Years later, after we were married, we went back there with friends. I will never forget that night—the rain pouring down, and suddenly a section of the ceiling collapsed right into my lap.

I laughed.

You? Not so much.

You went after that theater like it was personal until they finally gave us free tickets.

---

I still laugh thinking about that.

---

I also remember the day I stopped to help a stranger on the side of the road.

I was late getting to your house, and everyone was waiting for dinner. You were worried, and when I told you I had given someone a ride, you couldn’t believe it.

Looking back… You were probably right.

But that was me. Completely clueless about the dangers of the world, a true blonde!

---

Lately, I’ve been thinking about those early days—when life felt simple, carefree, and full of possibility.

I’m so grateful for those memories.

Because missing you… It is the hardest thing I have ever lived through.

If I could trade all the trauma I’ve experienced in my life for this grief, I would take the trauma again and again just to have you here.

---

I still talk to you.

You know that.

But not hearing you respond… that’s what breaks me.

Sometimes I close my eyes and try to feel you near me. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can’t.

At night, I imagine your arms around me, holding me, and there are nights I cry myself to sleep.

---

This wasn’t supposed to happen to us.

We were supposed to grow old together.

We had more trips to take. More memories to make.

I still ask God why.

I know I may never get that answer.

---

But I hope I’m making you proud.

Because I am so proud of you.

We had a life full of experiences—both beautiful and hard—and I am who I am today because of all of it.

Because of you.

---

Thank you for loving me the way you did.

I know I wasn’t always easy.

But you stayed.

And you helped shape me into the woman I am today.

---

I love you.

Always.

Christmas 2025

Dear Frenchie 

I woke up this morning to the rain — sweet, welcome rain that finally cooled us down. It’s been much needed. This is the first Christmas I can remember with temperatures in the 70s, and honestly? I don’t like it. You would love it, though. The forecast promised a few days of rain; instead, we got maybe an hour. Still, the Red Mountains outside my back patio were breathtaking in the mist and drizzle.

I didn’t do much today. I watched a Lifetime Christmas movie. Thought about you all day. And cried a little. I miss you — especially on holidays.

I received a message from Blake that said:

“Merry Christmas, Mama, I love you.”

Simple words, but they wrapped around my heart all day.

Kayla called to check on me. She’s been sick, and so were the boys. Of course, I didn’t want her coming over ill, so I told her to rest and that we’d talk another time. Haleigh sent three pictures — one of you standing in the snow, one of you and me together in the snow, and one of Ellis and Sena opening gifts this morning.

In that moment, memories overtook me.

I remembered that ski trip … the one where you tried to teach me how to ski for the first time. Oh boy, that was a mistake. You could glide down the mountain like a pro — I loved watching you. But when it came to teaching me? Patience wasn’t on your radar. You wanted me to catch on quickly so we could ski together. I just remember how hard it was — the bruises on my body and my ego.

I ran off the path more times than I can count — into trees, off balance, falling. You’d yell, “Monya … turn in your knees … what don’t you understand?” Then you’d ski down to meet me, completely perplexed.

I’d cry, and you’d ski off, shaking your head.

I vowed then I would never let you coach me again on anything you could do far better than I. I finally retired to the lodge, drank hot chocolate, and — would you believe it — met Robert Redford and his wife.

When I think about that now, it makes me laugh. You have never been the most patient when it comes to teaching — remember trying to help the kids with math and getting so frustrated with their homework?

Later in the day, my Bishop invited me to his home for dinner. I knew the kids were busy and I wouldn’t be seeing them, so I texted him to say I would love to come.

But first, I went to your grave. I shed a few tears, placed flowers, and talked to you — quietly, like I always do. I’ve come to realize something: most of the frustrating memories I have with you are now the ones I wouldn’t trade for anything. They make me laugh. They make me shake my head. They remind me why we allow silly things to ever upset us in the first place.

At dinner, Bishop Evans and his wife, Katie, told me about the years they struggled to carry a baby. Katie’s mom and dad were there too. They’ve served five missions — two as Mission Presidents. Katie served in France when she was young, and she lit up when I told her you had served in Belgium.

They most recently served in the Philadelphia Spanish-speaking mission, and before that, in the Dominican Republic. I told them I would love to serve on a mission someday — that when I retire, I plan to do just that. They made me feel so comfortable and welcomed.

Overall, Christmas Day was memorable — not in the way I expected, but in a way that reminded me of love, loss, connection, and the strange beauty that comes with remembering. I came home last night hoping our children had a great day too.

I love you,
Monya

Christmas Eve 2025

 Hello Sweetheart,

My heart has been tender these past couple of days. Christmas will always be a reminder of the memories we shared. I remember you going out shopping every Christmas Eve with Mike Scow, convinced you two could find last-minute gifts for your wives. When I think of how magical you always made Christmas for our children, it tears me up.

Last night, I made cheeseballs for members I know in my new ward. I cranked up the Christmas music and rolled those balls with a smile — and lots of thoughts of you. I took one to my bishop, Jason Evans, along with a book I recently bought at Deseret Book called Direct Messages, a collection of social media posts from the General Authorities this year. Bishop Evans was happy for both the cheeseball and the book.

As I was walking away, he asked if there was significance to making the cheeseballs. I told him you, and I loved doing that for our VIP friends. Then he asked if I had plans for tonight or Christmas. Sadly, I told him I had no plans. Then he invited me to his home for Christmas dinner with his family. I told him I’d let him know, but I wasn’t sure.

Kaitlyn posted a beautiful tribute to you today, and it brought me to tears. She truly loves you and often feels you near. Blake called this morning and asked if he could bring Wes and Zeek over to play, and if I could drop them off at 1:00. Of course, I told him I would love to — so he and Chloe could get their last-minute wrapping done. I waited until 12:30… but he never came. And he didn’t answer his phone when I called. I’m sure he was just busy; he wanted to take Wes to get a gift for his mama. You would be proud of him — he is such a great dad and so kind.

Kayla will come over tomorrow with the boys. I’m excited to hear how their Christmas will go. Recker is getting so big, Ezra is in the choir at his school, and Teddy is such a sweet boy. I see them more than any of the grandchildren, and I know that would have made you very happy. Kayla and I have grown much closer. I’m amazed at her ability to handle what she is going through with Jeremy, but I wish they would move forward with the divorce. It seems inevitable, so I don’t know why they wait. As parents, we never really know everything — and I’m okay with that. I just want to see her happy again. We’ve often talked about how we thought you would have handled all this mess with Jeremy. I know you, and I would have been on the same page. I know you were disappointed in Jeremy, and this would have stirred you up even more. I just let her know I am here for her if she needs anything.

Haleigh and Scott are still not communicating with me. I miss them, and I haven’t seen our grandchildren for over a year. But I have learned these things can’t be rushed, and my door is always open to them. I still bought them gifts, and Blake delivered them.

I have felt you so strongly this week. Thank you for that — and I thank Heavenly Father for allowing it to happen. These tender mercies help me through the days when I long to be with you again, when my tears come easily from missing you so much.

I am going to bed tonight, so grateful for the memories you left me with. We have so many — and I think about them every day. They come at random times, when I am reminded by a beautiful sunset… or the rain that falls on the mountains behind my home.

I love you.
I’m hopeful that I will hear from the kids tomorrow… I know that is what you would want too.

Love,
Monya

---

Long Summer

Hey Babe,

It’s been a long and hot summer — the kind I always said was treacherous and unforgiving here in Arizona. I remember how much you liked it, how you said there was something about that heat that felt alive and real. I, on the other hand… not so much. I dread these summer months, and this one has been no different.

I still think about you every day — almost every minute. I wonder if that will ever go away. Life without you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever endured. I still find myself glancing at the clock around 6:30 pm, wondering when you’ll be coming home. I thought moving away from the house we'd lived in for so long would help, but it hasn’t. Every night, I stand at the window in our new home and watch the sun set, and I find myself wondering if you see sunsets like this, too. I suppose not… but thinking about how much you loved an Arizona sunset gives me a few moments of peace.

I don’t love this new home — not the way I thought I would. Living in Reserve reminds me so much of you, and I’m right next to the model where you used to work. Everywhere I look, there are memories — the furniture, the rooms, the quiet. Changing homes, changing wards, changing routines… It’s been harder than I ever imagined. I get very lonely. Besides Kayla, I rarely hear from our children. Being without you is so much worse.

When this happened before — when I missed the kids and the grandchildren — at least I knew I had you to lean on. You were my support. You were my safe place. I had friends in our old Ward I could call on, people who knew us, who knew how to help, who could give me a blessing if I needed it. Here, it’s different. I pray a lot for relief. I ask Heavenly Father for peace and strength… and sometimes I feel it, like a soft whisper that carries me through the day.

Our sweet Kayla is going through a tough time right now. Her world feels like it’s being pulled apart, and it breaks my heart. Jeremy is not the man we thought he was when we welcomed him into our family. I wish I had talked to her more when she was distant, when she needed a little more of me. I’m not always sure how to help, but I pray that she and Jeremy make the best decisions for their boys. I talk to her several times a week, and it hurts to hear what she’s enduring. I just want her to be happy and safe.

I love you, babe — more than words can fully express.

Love,
Monya

Year Two: The Ache That Lingers

Frenchie

Everyone told me it would get easier with time. But here I am — deep into the second year — and it hurts even more than ever.

The world expects healing to follow a schedule, as if grief has a deadline. But the truth is, I still cry every night. I stare at the pillow with your face — that big, beautiful smile — and I miss it just as much now as I did the day you left. My heart still feels shattered. I still reach for you in the quiet moments, and each time I wake and realize you’re truly gone, the pain comes flooding back all over again.

I’m learning that grief isn’t linear. It isn’t something to check off a to-do list. It’s not something you “get over.” It has reshaped me—woven into the fabric of my everyday life. I’m learning to carry it, but some days I still fail.

Grief is complicated because it’s invisible. From the outside, I look delicate — maybe even strong. But no one sees the weight I carry: the lump in my throat, the restless knots in my stomach, the exhaustion that comes from pretending I’m okay. Grief is quiet and heavy, a burden most people never see.

You were my anchor. My peace. The one who helped me breathe when the world felt too heavy. Without you, I feel like half of me is missing.

Still, I move forward. I carry your absence with me like a shadow — sometimes light, sometimes suffocating. Some days, the grief feels like a soft whisper. On other days, it rages like a storm, leaving me breathless. But always, underneath it all, it’s love. Pure and enduring love.

I am learning to coexist with the sorrow. I don’t feel whole — not yet — but I am still here. I’ve changed. I’ve grown in ways I never expected since you left.

Haleigh still will not talk or text me. My heart aches for her, but I’m learning that I have to keep moving forward without her. I miss her so much, and I know this would have hurt you, too. I may never see her or our grandchildren again. So much has changed, and I no longer have the energy to keep trying to force what isn’t flowing. I’m not getting younger, and I want to build healthy, joyful relationships with the children who do reach out, who show up, who love me back.

Kayla tells me I wasn’t supposed to reach out to Haleigh — that there’s no contact rule— but I never got that memo. I send texts at random moments: I love you, I miss you. I don’t know how else to hold her in my heart.

Despite all of the brokenness, I can feel Heavenly Father near. I feel you cheering me on in the quiet moments. And while I may not be alone, I am — undeniably — deeply, quietly lonely.

I’ve decided to serve in the Mesa Temple. I’m on the waiting list for a calling — just one day a week, but as much as I can. And I’ve decided I want to serve a mission someday. In two years, when I retire, I hope I’ll be healthy enough to go. You know this was always my dream. I wanted to serve when I was twenty-one, but life had other plans — beautiful, messy, unexpected plans. Then you promised me we would serve a mission together. You promised me.

I don’t know what our mission will be, Eric. But I see it two ways:

1. I get to serve in this life — healthy, devoted, and doing good — carrying you with me in every prayer.

or
2. I finish this life and serve with you on the other side.

In either case… I win.

I love you so much. I want to do everything right while you’re gone so that when I cross that veil, I can run straight into your arms.

XOXO
Monya

The Day the Silence Spoke Back

 

Dear Frenchie,

There was a time I believed that once someone passed, they were simply gone—out of reach, out of touch, out of time. The physical pain of your absence has been unbearably hard. The silence I’ve felt is so loud, it hurts.

But then something changed.

Slowly, quietly, profoundly—I began to hear you. To feel you with me.

It didn’t happen all at once. It started with a whisper of intuition, a warmth in a room where I stood alone, a flicker of a memory that came alive in real time. I thought I was imagining it—but I desperately wanted it to be real. Over time, those feelings returned, again and again, with clarity, with power, and with love.

Grief has cracked me wide open. And in that open space, your spirit found room to enter my heart and soul. Thank you for that.

I’ve realized that spirits don’t always come with flashing lights or dramatic signs. Often, it’s subtle. It’s the beautiful sunsets and the wondrous sunrises I now love to wake up to.
It’s the song that plays when I’m thinking of you.
It’s the memory of you learning the Stanky Leg and how happy that made you.
It’s the feather on my doorstep or the ladybugs that continue to show up.
The dream that felt more like a visit than a vision.
It’s the way my body chills just before a wave of peace washes over me.

The more I’ve leaned into trust, the stronger the connection has grown. I began talking to you—first out loud, then in thought, and sometimes just through tears. And always, you responded—in your own way, not in words, but in presence. A presence so unmistakable, I can only call it sacred.

I’ve come to understand: love doesn’t die. Energy doesn’t end. And your spirit hasn’t abandoned me. Quite the opposite—you have stepped into my heart and reassured me that you are with me anytime I need to tap into that spirit.

Because of your visits, I’ve learned to stop and enjoy the small things—like you did during that year and a half before you passed away. My awareness is palpable. Strikingly overwhelming at times, but I am grateful for the continued lessons I’m learning about you.

I’ve learned to meditate by sitting in the silence, breathing air into my lungs, and feeling your presence wrap around me like a soft embrace. I only remember the good times we shared. I don’t take your presence lightly—it is profound.

Our loved ones are not “lost.” They are transformed. They walk with us, whisper to us, and when we get quiet enough to listen, they answer.

Your mom did that with me after she passed—her first visit was when I had to be resuscitated during a very long and dangerous surgery. It only lasted a few minutes, but what took place with her seemed like much longer. When I opened my eyes, I was in Heaven. Your mom was there, holding her arms out, wanting me to run into them—and I did. Her eyes were as blue as I remembered, like the Caribbean Sea. She told me Heavenly Father had asked her to visit with me, and she instructed me about three things I still needed to do here on earth.

On that visit, your dad was there too. I hugged him and felt the strength of his embrace. I told him I didn’t want to go back—that my life was too hard. He didn’t hesitate. He waved his hand to his left and said, “Do you see those children playing? Those are your grandchildren, and they need your influence and example in their lives. Now it is time for you to return to your life on earth.”

Then he looked at your mother and said something I later found peculiar: “It’s time for Monya to go back to her life on earth, and it’s time for you and I to get back to work.” Get back to work? What did that mean? I had so many questions as I tried to make sense of what had happened to me that day.

The second time your mother appeared to me was in a dream. We walked through a beautiful garden as she explained one of her “jobs” in Heaven: she oversaw it. She asked me about you, whether you were treating me with love and respect, just as Ray had treated her. She asked if I was happy. We talked about spiritual things, and I remembered why I loved her so much. She still visits me in my dreams.

I felt it when my brother, Lance, passed away. I carried shame and guilt, wondering if I had taken him to the hospital that night instead of worrying about him keeping me awake, could I have saved him?

But when Lance visited me not long after his death, he placed his hand on mine as I prayed about him. I reveled in those moments, eyes closed, listening as he spoke. I heard him as if he were alive and standing beside me. He said:

"Monya, my death is not your fault. It was my time to go, and I am happy. Now it’s time for you to move out of Mom and Dad’s house and start living. Go and enjoy your new life with Eric—he is a good person."

And then he was gone.

When Jami was diagnosed with breast cancer, I knew I needed to visit her—but I didn’t. I felt uncomfortable. How could I face someone I loved so much, someone who had already suffered so deeply?

After her death, I punished myself with guilt for not going to her. That pain became even harder to bear when I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself.

But I began to pray about Jami, and the spirit I felt was hers. She assured me she knew I loved her—and she understood why I didn’t come. She told me that now, having received the same diagnosis, I would appreciate it. She reminded me to focus on the fight ahead. She told me I would be blessed through the process and that Heavenly Father would never leave my side.

She was right. I didn’t waste energy worrying about who came to visit or who said the wrong things. I gave grace—because I remembered how I felt with Jami. And when I told you that story, you were mesmerized. You asked why you’d never had experiences like that.

I’ll never forget what I said:
I told you that you didn’t need the reassurance like I did. You were raised in a very different environment from mine.

For me, those spiritual encounters kept me grounded, alive, conscious. They carried me when I felt I couldn’t go on. It wasn’t always easy—in fact, it was humiliating at times—but I made it through.

And finally, there was Black Rock Beach.

The Lord allowed you to visit me in the very place where you took your last breath. I believe He escorted you there and left us to share sacred time together.

You told me you saw me on the beach that day—you knew I would never be the same again. You told me about where you are. You said you are so happy that where you are, there are no negative feelings or thoughts. You said Heaven is real—it’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen. Then you shared your spiritual connection with Heaven and the life you now have. It was the first time I had ever seen you in this light, and it was so refreshing.

You told me you were excited to be allowed to visit me. And that I have a gift—a gift to feel the spirits of those we love who have passed.

You told me you knew you couldn’t help me any other way—but visiting me was enough. It was everything. You shared your love for the Lord and assured me He lives and loves us all. Those spiritual thoughts you shared with me are my favorite—because I had never heard you speak with such intention.

I know now, without a doubt, that there is life after death. And I can tune in to those feelings when needed. I didn’t want our moment to end. But when it did, I looked at my watch, stunned that we had spent four hours together.

I treasure your love and your presence in my life. I feel you often. And I am eternally grateful to Heavenly Father for that day on the beach—and for the life we shared.

As rocky as the beginning of our marriage was, I will always be proud of us—of our grit and determination to keep going. The world said we were a statistic, that we’d never make it. But we did. And we both know we had a beautiful love story. It is more evident to me now how much you love me.

Thank you for loving me the way you have, and for continuing to show me your beautiful, vulnerable heart. I love this part of you.

Now, when I feel that gentle tug in my soul—or the warmth over my entire body—I no longer wonder. I know.

I am a special daughter of God, protected and guided by the spirits of those who love me.

I am not alone.
I never was.
And neither are you.

I am in love with our eternal companionship.

I love you. And I look forward to seeing you again.

Love,
Me, your cute wifey

Easter 2025

 

Hello, My Lover,

It has been a whirlwind of activity — moving from a 5,000-square-foot home to a 2,100-square-foot one has kept me on my toes more than I ever expected.

Yesterday, I did something sweet. I invited the kids and grandchildren over to our Gilbert home for one last dinner and a Golden Egg hunt. As the grandkids searched for eggs, I could hear you in my head — cheering them on as each one found their egg with $20 inside. I could practically feel your wink when they succeeded. I miss your belly laugh… your smile… everything about the joy you brought to even the simplest moments.

Today is Easter, and I attended my new ward. The people there are so kind, and I felt a sense of peace in their presence. Do you remember when we were deciding to move from the house on Cove? We hunted for land, but what mattered most to me was the ward. I will never forget the spirit we felt when we visited the Sixth Ward together. Yesterday, as people introduced themselves and welcomed me, I felt that same spirit — a warm reminder that I am not alone. It’s a good ward, with a beautiful mix of children, youth, and many retired couples our age. This was my third week there, and I already feel welcomed and embraced.

I grew spiritually in that old ward, surrounded by so many dear people who helped build my testimony of Christ. Today, more than ever, I remember that Jesus Christ’s sacrifice assures me we will see each other again.

I arrived at church just a little late, and as I sat in the foyer, I gazed at the life-size picture of Christ. I pictured Him standing with you, and I had a quiet conversation with Him. I know He lives. I know I will see you again. I can’t fully understand why Heavenly Father allowed His Son to suffer, knowing the pain it would bring Him, but I know it was part of His plan — a plan of love and mercy that gives me hope.

The grandchildren are growing so fast. Haleigh and her family were unable to attend today, but she sent pictures of them — and oh, they are getting so big. Ellis is tall, and Sena was sweet as ever. She reminds me so much of Haleigh at her age. Haleigh has always been a kind, gentle soul. What a joy it was to raise her! I’ll never forget her senior year of high school — so many times, she would crawl into bed next to me just to be near me, no words needed. She was my fierce advocate during my cancer journey, even without knowing it.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Kayla lately. She and Jeremy are separated, and I fear their marriage may not survive. Kayla is an incredible mom and an amazing listener. I understand her more now, and through her, I’ve learned so much about Autism and the depth of patience it requires. Recker is fifteen now — big and strong like Jeremy —, and he often echoes what we say, letting me know he understands. When I say, I love you, he responds in his own beautiful way. Ezra is gentle and loving — just the other day, he ran back to me for a big hug that brought tears to my eyes. Teddy is thoughtful and kind, though he’s understandably confused about his parents’ separation.

You would be so proud of Blake. He has helped me tremendously this past year. You know he’s such a mama’s boy. He’s a hard worker, a great husband, and an incredible father. Chloe is thriving in her job at Denver’s office, and Weslie — sweet Wes — oh, she is a dancer like her mom, and she loves it. Yesterday, she kept hugging me and kept asking when she could have a “sleepover.” You know how much I adore that. She wondered about Papa — where you are, physically. I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to say something her parents wouldn’t like, so I told her how much you still love her, and that one day, when it’s my time to leave this life, I’ll be with you again. She listened earnestly — I’m not sure if she fully understood, but she wanted to be comforted.

Kaitlyn and Brian are excellent. Kaitlyn works from home and really enjoys her job. I am so proud of her in so many ways. Brian works hard, and I’m grateful that they continues to lean on the Lord together. I asked Brian if he would come and dedicate our new home in The Reserve — and of course, he said he would. He is solid in the Gospel, and I am so glad he is Kaitlyn’s partner.

Phoenix is ten now — growing so fast. He loves soccer and football, and life with such joy and friendships. And Archie… you know how my heart melts with that boy. Kaitlyn may say he’s sneaky, but I’ve never seen it — to me, he is all sweetness. I love how much Archie and Phoenix adore little Florence. I feel a little sorry for the boys who want to date her someday — she is something truly special. Something spiritual and radiant. Recently, she looked up at me and said, “Do you know Jesus died for all of us?” Oh my heart. I answered, “Yes, He did — and He loves you. He loves all the people in the whole world.” She is much like Kaitlyn was at that age—full of wonder and expression. Every time she sees me, she runs with her little arms wide open and yells, “Bonbon!” — and I can’t help but laugh and melt right into her arms.

I’m so grateful we have these children of ours. Every one of them holds a piece of my heart. They are responsible, good people — and their spouses are wonderful too.

I used to tell you how sad it was that they never got to know your mom. Now I fear they may forget you. I try to remind them — especially the little ones — how much you love them.

I love you, and I always will.

Love,
Monya

How Long Does it Take to Move?

Oh Frenchie

I love you so much… but the memories we collected in this home with our beautiful children make it so difficult to leave. Every corner of these rooms holds a moment — laughter, tears, growth, love — and though this house will no longer be ours, those memories are etched deep in my heart and mind. We had such a good life together, and I thank you for every bit of it.

It took me two months to go through all the receipts and bank statements you saved — trying to find proof about Dana. Kayla helped me by taking bags home to sort through, and last night we finally finished. I’m so glad that chapter is closed. I used to get so upset with you for leaving receipts and unopened mail everywhere. I never understood why you did it — but I do now. So, a big thank you for that. We found a lot of what we needed. I’ll admit, there were moments I wanted to be mad at you… But now I see your intentions with a new understanding and even some gratitude.

I’m scared, nervous, and eager all at once — all swirling together in a way I can’t quite sort out. A new way of life is coming for me. And honestly? I don’t like it. When I walk into that new house, I feel nothing. I don’t care. None of it means anything if I can’t share it with you.

I remember our first home on Seneca as if it were yesterday. You were so worried about providing for Kayla and me — the pressure weighed heavily on you. I see us on that sofa together, you explaining how much you wanted to do right by us. I remember saying, “I could live in a shoebox with you and be happy. Money? It’s just not that important.” I thought I meant that more than I really did. But I see now how important it was to you — not for greed, but for security, for stability, for family.

I remember when we got engaged, and your mom talked about her children. When she spoke about you, she looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and told me how happy she was that you chose me — that we would build a family together. But she warned me gently: “Don’t let Eric love money more than he loves his family.” I’ve always known you loved your family more than anything. That was never the issue. You cared deeply about providing, but I always knew what truly mattered most to you — us.

No one knew you like I did. Even though you were successful in real estate, you never let it change who you were. You were humble. You were kind. And now, missing you has shown me just how rare and beautiful that combination really was. You loved your work — you loved making money — but never more than you loved our family. That was your heart.

Soon I will be moving — and I’m not sure how to do that gracefully without you. Some days it feels impossible. But thank you for loving me even when I wasn’t sure I deserved it. We had a beautiful love story — one that I will cherish forever. Remarriage is not part of my plans. I know in my soul I could never find another like you — and I don’t want to try.

I hope you are enjoying your new, beautiful life. The thought of your reunion with your parents brings tears to my eyes — but also a sense of peace. I look forward to seeing them and hugging them someday, just as I look forward to seeing you again. Until that time, I move forward — one day at a time — hoping I make you proud.

I love you — always and forever.

Love,
Monya

I Closed on the House

 Frenchie,

Today I did the walk-through on the house I purchased. I had Blake and Kayla with me, which helped so much. Not much needed fixing, but I asked them to take down the front railing so I could put out chairs and have room to sit. Honestly… am I ever really going to sit out front? It seems like such a small, strange thing, but most of the houses here have chairs out front — so of course, I had to do the same thing!

My stomach turned as I signed the closing papers. It made me sick. Part of me is still holding back, wanting to say, I don’t want to move. I want to stay in our home — the home you and I built together all those years ago. There are so many things I want but can’t have anymore. One of the biggest? You. I want you back. I want us back.

Since the house was being built, I only drove out there twice. Terry sent me pictures as it progressed, but quite honestly… I couldn’t care less. I knew the structure existed, but without you, it felt like just walls and wood.

After I left the closing, I came home and cried. I know the house is just a building, but the memories we made there — that’s what I’m leaving behind. I feel guilty — like I shouldn’t be making these big decisions without you. I still think we should make them together.

I put beams in the bedroom and my office, and brick on the walls too. I added a bathtub to the master bathroom — you know how excited I am for that first bubble bath! I even put a TV right above the bathtub — remember when we went to see Tim McGraw and Faith Hill in Las Vegas and our hotel had the TV over the bath? Yep… just like that. My favorite upgrade is the bathtub, but the ice machine comes in a close second! I know you wouldn’t have chosen any of those options, or add-ons, but I plan on staying in this house. I never want to move again. It’s hard work — emotionally and physically — but I’m trying.

I can’t tell you enough how much I miss you — your smell, your smile, your eye-rolls at me, that cute little grin you gave me so often, and even your runs to Costco and Sam’s Club. The move keeps me busy — and that distraction helps — but it’s still so weird to go to church without you. At least in the Sixth Ward, they knew me and understood why I couldn’t smile. I really don’t want to have to tell that story over and over again.

I loved being your wife — and being part of the Williams family. They have always treated me better than my own family ever did. Your mom and dad… they are the best. I miss them so much, too.

Thank you for loving me — in the good, the bad, the ugly, and through sickness and health. But the best promise we made to each other… that promise is what will bring us back together again.

See you soon.
Love,
Monya

---

Christmas 2024

 

Frenchie,

You’ve been gone for ten months now. This is our first Christmas without you.

Last night, all I could think about was how many times I drove with you on Christmas Eve to get gift cards for the kids. You loved Christmas — it was always such a big part of our children’s lives. Now, looking back on all those years, I want to establish traditions that our children and grandchildren will remember long after I am gone to be with you. I’m not very good at traditions… well, at coming up with them — so I’ll have to ask around for help.

I woke up this morning and looked at your face on the pillow, whispering a quiet Merry Christmas. I took a shower and got ready for the day, but this year I didn’t put much effort into decorating. It didn’t seem right without you. Honestly… nothing seems right without you. I’m still trying to process the fact that you are gone — and the terribly tragic moment on that beach when I watched you leave me. The nightmares are still unbearable.

This Christmas was very quiet. None of the kids came over. I drove by Blake and Chloe’s home… and then by Kaitlyn and Brian’s. But I didn’t stay. It hurts to think that our grandchildren will not know you — the laughter you brought, the joy you added to this family, especially on Christmas Day. Thank you for all the years and Christmases we spent together; they truly were magical.

Dr. Lettieri called me today to check on me. I thought that was really sweet of him — a kindness I didn’t expect, but one that warmed my heart.

I found myself thinking about that Kathy Lee watch. I teased you so much when I opened it, knowing exactly where you bought it — Walmart, the night before Christmas — with Mike Scow by your side, hunting for anything that would make Jenny and me happy. I still have that watch, still in the box it came in. You swore up and down it wasn’t from Walmart, but we both knew the truth. We got so many laughs out of that moment, and you were always such a good sport when I teased you.

I keep thinking about Christmases past — and I cannot think of one that wasn’t full of fun and joy because Christmas meant so much to you. I remember our first Christmas after we were married. We had Kayla and Blake. They were so little, but you made sure Kayla felt extra special that day. Blake was only a few months old, so we knew he wouldn’t remember — and I’m sure Kayla doesn’t either — but you bought her a little doll, and she loved it.

I was alone most of the day, and I was okay with that… until it got dark. Because then I knew I would be walking up those stairs to bed alone. And now I’m sitting on our bed, looking at your pillow and wondering what you’re doing today, where you are, who you are with. I wish I knew exactly what happens after death… all I know for sure is that I will see you again. The covenants we made in the Temple — the promises we made to each other — will make every moment of this loneliness worth it. Eternity with you sounds perfect.

I love you so much.

Merry Christmas, Babe.
Love,
Monya

My Experience in Maui

My Experience in Maui

Eric,

I needed to discover the truth for myself. So I scheduled appointments with the Maui Police Department and the medical examiners who handled your case after your passing. I felt compelled to meet with them and ask my questions — even though it took courage, I wasn’t sure I had.

I booked a flight to Maui for December and counted down to that trip for three months. To prepare spiritually for what I would discover there, I dedicated myself to studying the scriptures and praying. I wanted strength and peace before I set foot on that island again.

I rented a condo nearby and spent almost a week there before my meetings. You know me — I needed time to pace the floors, process everything, and wrestle with my thoughts. I stayed mostly inside, venturing out only once a day for a meal and a quiet sunset over the ocean.

Oh, and I met Linda and Kevin Bennett for dinner one night. I treasure my friendship with Linda — she kept me sane through the worst parts of my childhood, and she is one of the few who truly understands me. I will always love her. I thought of Jami too — how early she left this life, and how much I wish I could still be in touch with her.

My first appointment was with the police. When I saw the officer who helped lift you from the sand and guided me onto the ambulance that day, I immediately recognized him. He gave me a hug and asked how I’ve been. Most people ask out of courtesy, but I wasn’t fine. I haven’t been fine. I’ve been unraveling.

I asked about the witnesses—and whether they knew their names. They don’t release that information and ask why I wanted it. The truth was, I didn’t need the names — I was just talking, trying to connect dots in my head. I forgot to bring my notebook with my questions. Typical me. But after thanking them, they confirmed what the death certificate said: you drowned.

The next day, I met with the two medical examiners who performed your autopsy. I remembered barely anything from that day — just fragments —, and I needed clarity.

I asked if you were already gone before the EMTs worked on you for 45 minutes. They told me most likely, yes. The moment they said that, my eyes filled with tears. They gently explained that none of your organs — including your heart — showed trauma or inflammation. As they spoke, my own heart began pounding. I thought I might throw up. I shook my head “no” through much of it, remembering that awful day and reliving it with a different perspective. I cried hard.

They told me you died of what’s called a “dry drowning.” When I asked what that was, they explained that it’s most common in toddlers who accidentally inhale air into their lungs and never show distress — yet don’t wake up the next day. They said that when an adult drowns in Hawaii with no water in the lungs, doctors first want to know if there were heart issues. That might be why the EMTs asked me if you had ever had heart problems while they were working on you.

Their conclusion was compassionate and straightforward: In their opinion, you were caught in rough surf, probably panicked or fainted, and that’s when you drowned, and your spirit departed. They assured me you felt no pain. I left with a clearer understanding, and even though the truth was heavy, their patience and kindness gave me the answers I needed.

On my final morning, I knelt and prayed — asking Heavenly Father for strength once again. I drove to Black Rock Beach and sat in the car, listening for answers… but nothing came at first.

I brought a journal and something comfortable to sit on, hoping words or impressions might come to me. As I walked the path you and I had walked hand-in-hand just ten months earlier, the pain resurfaced. I stopped where Jori and I had once sat, remembering your hug and that last kiss you gave me. I remembered the moment you said to me, “I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Hearing you say it felt strange then… but meaningful now.

As I sat beside the place where your spirit left your body, memories came flooding back.

I watched your body being pulled from the water — blue and still — and I sat next to you as the EMT's tried to revive you. When they called the time of death, I screamed, “No! Please no, don’t leave me!” — the exact words that now play back in my memory like a nightmare. The police officer gently helped me up and into the ambulance.

I wrote this in my journal:

I just want the Lord to help me escape this storm I can’t get away from. People ask how they can help, but I don’t know what to tell them. I want to be brave and move forward, but I feel alone. It’s been almost ten months since I lost my favorite person — my sweet husband — in this very spot. I pray every morning and night, trying to appear strong, yet I still question why this happened, why you? Why now?

As I sat there, the waves crashed in and out, and something incredible happened — something only Heavenly Father could have orchestrated.

Suddenly, everything went quiet. I sensed His presence so strongly I looked to my right … and there you were. Sitting beside me. Young. Peaceful. Beautiful. You looked at me and said softly, “Hello, sweetheart.”

I couldn’t touch you… But I could see you and hear you. Just the two of us on that beach. At first, I thought it was a dream — like those dreams I had of your mom when she passed, or the spiritual experiences I had during my cancer journey. But this felt different. I wasn't dreaming this was Real.

You looked at me and said, “Don’t cry. I am so happy. I’m with mom and dad.”

I began asking questions — some you couldn’t answer — but one you could: “Were you scared? Did you have pain?”

You told me there is nothing negative where you are. Nothing at all. You confirmed you did not die in pain, and that you are no longer scared or anxious. You told me it is beautiful where you are and that God is real. You said you watched me on the beach after your spirit left your body — saw my fear and pain — but could do nothing to help.

Then you said something that pierced my heart:

“Believe me — Heavenly Father is proud of you.”

You reminded me of the strength I’ve had throughout my life. You told me that before I came to earth, He knew I would face trials… but if I stayed close to the Lord, I would be blessed through them — and grow into the woman He designed me to be.

You told me to give my heart to Heavenly Father — that He sees beauty from within. And then you whispered… “You are beautiful.”
I thought of all the times you told me that, even when I struggled to believe it — especially after my facial paralysis. I cried, embarrassed by how much it meant.

You sat with me for four hours — longer than I realized. I knew that Jesus had escorted you to me — that Heavenly Father prepared me spiritually so I could receive what I needed.

You said:

• Continue to attend the Temple.

• The covenants we made are sacred.

• Those covenants will bring us together again.

• No matter what choices our children make, we did our best.

• Jesus Christ lives and loves all of God’s children.

You reminded me that love eternal never dies — and that I will see you again.
You told me to be happy and to keep serving and preparing.

You said your work continues — that you are serving others, sharing the Gospel as a missionary in the next life. I am so proud of you.

I will keep those covenants we made in the Temple. I will continue to serve others. I will prepare to see you again.

My love for you is eternal, sacred, and deeply profound.
This isn’t goodbye…
I’ll see you soon, my love.

Love,
Monya

                                        

Our First and Last Thanksgiving

 Hey Frenchie-

I am so overwhelmed and feel like I have no one I can trust to talk to. You were my one and done, my first and last lover. The day I leave this earth will be the happiest day of my life, for I will get to look into your beautiful eyes and hold you in my arms. Oh, what a day that will be. By then, you will have everyone convinced Donald Trump was the best President the world has ever had; it probably won't go quite like that, but I can dream. 

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, Eric; you would have loved it. Chloe is organized, you know? She called me and asked what the plan was for Thanksgiving. The next thing I knew, she had everyone's responsibility to bring for dinner. Blake Chloe made the Turkey, and it was unbelievably good. Kaitlyn made that raspberry jello salad. She tried to tell us it was a salad. Who's she kidding? That was our favorite dessert. She also made cream cheese with spicy cranberry jelly dip appetizer; you would have loved her sweet potatoes, too. I am trying to remember everything that was brought, but it was the best ever. I missed having Haleigh and Scott. She is still not talking to me, but I am no longer taking on anyone else's drama; I can't do that again. I would love to talk to her, and I think it is sad I don't get to see Ellis & Sena, but I cannot control this, so I'm letting it go for now.

Kayla went to New Mexico with Jeremy. His sister Megan was in a severe car accident with her family and Eric; it was terrible. Her husband and all of her children died. Megan was pregnant, so they had to do an emergency C-section, and that sweet little baby also died. I believe she was carrying her sixth child. I can't imagine waking up in the hospital and being told that my entire family was gone. She has strong faith, and that is what carried her through when her daughter died a few years ago. This is different; there is no husband to lean on. I hope her faith will take her through this trial. I pray for her every day.

I hoped the entire family would see the importance of being together for the first Thanksgiving without you and our last one in this house. You know what? I was grateful to the ones who could come. Kaitlyn said, "Mom, you made a perfect chocolate pie. I love it." That truly made my heart break. Do you know when you remember those moments as a child, and no one else does? This was like that. I automatically thought of my mom. She only complimented me once in my life, when she said I had the remarkable ability to forgive people. I remember where I was standing, what I was wearing, and how incredible it made me feel to have my mom acknowledge me in such a way. I will never forget this moment when Kaitlyn complimented me. I loved it. I also loved hearing the kids talk about the fun memories they shared with you. 

The night before Thanksgiving is usually the night you and I—well, really me—stay in the kitchen all day, wanting Thanksgiving to be perfect. You always went to Costco at the last minute for a sale on Pumpkin pie, and you were my go-to for running errands and picking up last-minute things from the store guy. I miss you coming in with that sly look like you thought you were in trouble with two turkeys in hand. Every year, I would ask, "When will we eat another Turkey before our next Thanksgiving?" It bugged me so much because the following year, you would want to donate it; well, you always wanted expired food to go to a shelter or be  donated somewhere, and every year, I would tell you, "Let's find a family who could use it this year."That never happened. I miss those little things. Every year, there was an argument about who I was inviting and whether we had enough tables and chairs- you knew we did. Your passive aggressiveness was saying, "Can you clean the tables and chairs so I don't have to do it?" It bugged me then, but I've changed since you left me. I can only control myself, and I've been leading with compassion towards people who say things that are just stupid- bless their hearts. They just don't understand the depth of my loneliness.

I'm packing up the house and don't want to get up in the attic—ugh—but you know I will get up on that ladder and start throwing things out. If there is anything worth keeping, I will save it, but honestly, what were we thinking, putting my old vinyl records up there? I'm sure they are cracked and wilted by now. There is certainly a lot to keep me busy for a few months. How in the world did we accumulate so much crap? I need to find out how much it will cost to have the city drop off a large garbage bin. I also need to call about getting someone to come to our house and shred everything that was essential papers. I know how important that was to you. 

Overall, our Thanksgiving was wonderful. Everyone got along, but everyone missed you, and I left your end seat empty—no one sat in it. 

I need some strength right now. I'm going to ask Brother Arnold to give me a blessing. I pray every night and listen for answers, but nothing comes, so I am overthinking this whole 'moving' thing. 

It's time for bed. Tomorrow, I will begin putting up Christmas, and I will think of you the entire time, knowing this is your favorite time of year. 

Love,

Monya

Unconditional Love

Dear Frenchie,

I’m in Utah visiting Teri. Two nights ago, I fell off a ladder and ended up in the hospital. I hit the ground so hard — it really scared me. Thankfully, I have no broken bones, but I have severe bruising on my hip, shoulder, leg, and left arm. My neck has been hurting like hell, too.

I just want to go home. I’ve been crying myself to sleep lately, the same way I did when you left me. We had such a wonderful life together. I look around and see so many people struggling to stay together. The only time the “D” word ever entered my mind during our marriage was when you had your first heart attack — what an unbelievably frightening time for both of us. I assumed you wanted to divorce me because I hadn’t heard from you… What a painful misunderstanding that was.

Now, seeing so many friends divorcing after decades of marriage, I’m eternally grateful that I will be with you forever. The Lord has truly blessed me. When I think about how easily I could have turned to drugs, alcohol, or worse when I was younger, I know it was prayer that saved me. I promised Heavenly Father I’d follow Him if He would get me out of the chaos I lived in — and He did.

Then I found you.

I remember being the “Mormon Nerd” — and yeah, that’s a fair description. I was so afraid of doing anything wrong, at least until three years into dating you! Lol. Looking back, I realize how scared you were of disappointing your dad right after your mom died. I’m so glad you finally learned to release that shame. As LDS members, we shame ourselves far too much. The closest thing to a perfect person I have ever met was your mom… and oh, how I miss her.

I wouldn’t trade our memories for anything in the world. We have many.

I know this:
I loved each of our children. I gave them all my heart, and I love them even more now as I watch them become beautiful wives and mothers. Blake is a good man, a committed husband, and an incredible father. Even though you and I never fully understood why some of our kids stepped away from the church, I’ve learned what unconditional love truly means. I love our children for who they are — not because of where they stand spiritually. They are grown adults, and as much as I wish I could go back and do it all over again… that simply is not His plan.

I love you, and I need to get to bed soon.

You won’t believe this — but I’m having a yard sale. Yes, really. I hate yard sales, but you, my man, left me with a lot of “stuff” I never even knew we had. You were incredible at hiding your things. I always thought I would die first so you would be the one to have to go through it all. Lol. Now I’m entering a new phase of life — living alone in a home where I don’t really know anyone. My biggest fear is that the kids will forget about me.

Next month I will be sixty-two, and I only have three more years until retirement. I’m counting down the years. I won’t have a mortgage, thanks to you. Blake thinks our house will sell for more than a million, and the new home is worth less than that, so I should be okay financially. Ronnie Mabry keeps reassuring me about everything. When I call him worried, he laughs and says:

“Eric was always worried about you and told us the most endearing stories about you. He really loved you a lot. You are in a good position. Stop worrying.”

So I’m trying. Really trying.

I love you, babe.
Good night, my love.

Monya

Taxes

 Frenchie, I started gathering all I needed to for our 2023 taxes. I'm sorry, but I never appreciated your hard work, not only for our family but also for filing our taxes. You were right, it SUCKS.

I'm not sure if I'm doing everything right, but the folks at Alt Key have been great about helping me. I am happy to say, tomorrow I will be turning all the tax information over to them.

I will be driving to Carlsbad again on Saturday with Josh and Dulce. We will meet Jori and Dwight at their condo, and then Dwight will drive Josh's car home. Believe it or not, he did not want to go to Disneyland with us. I know that was not your favorite place to go, and it is not the happiest place on earth. Jori wants to go to Sea World again. Eric, you, and I went there in January with them, and I do not want to go but have a hard time saying no to Jori. 

I went to Kara's today. Her daughter Graci is now helping with my hair extensions. The other lady was too out there for me. The last time I went in, she said, "So, you're single, right?" I answered NO. Then she said, "Didn't you recently lose your husband?" I said, "Well, I didn't lose him; he left to be in his next life." She looked at me like I was an idiot. Then said, "You know what I mean. You don't have a husband you are living with, so you are not having sex, right?" Then I told her it was really none of her business. She proceeded to ask if I was Mormon, I told her "Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" She said, "Well, I have a client who came the other day; she is a divorced Mormon and thinks it's ok to masturbate; can you believe that?"

I had no idea what to say. I just looked at her like she was an alien, which I think she is. Then she said, "The Church is against masturbation. Didn't a bishop ever ask you how many times you did that a week when you were growing up?" I said, "No, I have never been asked that question ..." When I was trying to finish my sentence, she interrupted me and said, "Well, I did, and I was told never to do that and that it's unpure. This lady has been divorced for a while, and she said she masturbates... OMG, so against the church. No matter what your age or marital status. PERIOD." Then she proceeded to ask my take on using a vibrator; I told her I believed everything she was talking about had more to do with the person's personal relationship with God than it does with 'the church.' I have never been asked such questions before. I no longer wanted to participate in this discussion and tuned her out. 

Grace is getting married in December; I can't wait to attend her reception. It should be beautiful. When Kara started cutting my hair 30 years ago, Graci wasn't born. I remember how excited Kara was to be pregnant with a girl, and I told Graci that today. I wished someone could tell our daughters and Blake how I felt about being pregnant with each of them. I loved being pregnant. I never got sick and didn't gain too much weight. With Kayla and Blake, I lost weight, remember? You know that seems like yesterday?

I had lunch with Linda Bennett on Monday. Her oldest son, Kevin, named after his dad, lives less than a mile from us. Geez, I remember when he was born, also. How does time go so quickly?

I need to get to bed, Kaitlyn is coming over tomorrow, and I am excited to see her, so I need to get to bed.

I miss you and love you so much.

Monya