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

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

---

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

                                        

I Bought a House

Frenchie, have you been listening to me? I needed your opinion on moving, one of the things I miss the most about you is our sincere talks. I know you better than anyone on Earth, and I know you stood before your Heavenly Father with great pride. 

So I wanted to talk to you tonight; I need to decide about moving. I met the children at Reserve at Red Rock so they could see my interest in the home. Surprisingly, they all loved that I was considering moving to where you sold homes. Terry walked me through several specs. I thought I was set on one until I was told the house would be done in October. I am not emotionally ready to do that yet. Would you be if I was gone? You

would have stayed in this house, even if it's because you would never want to clean it out. Today, when I was at Red Rock, I told Terry I could not move that quickly, and he said he understood. He really has been so kind to check up on me. I saw the lot you saved for the lady whose husband passed away. He was a pastor, and they lived on a ranch, but she could not sell her house. I asked Terry about the lot and if I could build something new. He asked Jeff, and he approved it. Today, I wrote a check for $100,000, which was weird. I've always had to make decisions like this with you. I can't count how many times I asked Terry, "What would Eric do?" 

I bought a house, WHAT? I love that the neighbors all know you and love you. Terry and I went to Vito's house to visit him and his wife. He is something else. When I came into the house, he tried to kiss me on the lips. I knew it was just the Italian in him, and Joanna didn't seem to mind. It's who he is. Remember when we went to dinner with them? He was quite a hoot, and the stories he told were funny. I think about that night and can see you laughing so hard. You winked at me when he tried to kiss me that night. I was a little grossed out until you explained Vito to me. Vito said, "I loved Eric. Do you know what he always said when he saw me?" I said, "No, but I'm sure you are about ready to tell me." With a big smile, he said, "Eric always said, when I grow up, I want to be like Vito."

I miss you

Frenchie, every day I am without you, I know I am one day closer to being with you. Today has been one of those days when I have been crying more than usual. I appreciate you so much for taking care of me when you were physically here. I took you for granted, and I miss you. I hate that life is going on around me, and I can't help but feel abandoned and lonely.

I had no idea I would have to make so many decisions. You protected me from a lot. I always thought I would go first, and you would move on, find a new wife, and be waiting for me. Why does this have to be so complicated? We had plans for this last chapter of our lives. Remember we were going to sell the house, live six months in Mexico, and spend six months at the cabin? You lived your life for our family to be safe and happy. 

I've been so depressed since I got home from San Carlos. Tomorrow night, I have our two tickets for Tim McGraw. I bought those tickets for your birthday and looked forward to going with you. I will go by myself and I hope you show up to dance and sing with me. You and I have been to so many concerts, and one of your favorites was when we flew to Las Vegas to see Tim McGraw and Faith Hill. You loved it because the venue was so small and intimate, with second-row tickets on the end seat, you got to shake Tim's hand. I'll never forget how big you smiled. I miss your smile and belly laughs. I kiss your pillow every night after I pray and then cry myself to sleep.

See You Soon

I love you so much, Monya

Begging VS. Believing

 

FRIDAY, JANUARY 30, 2015

Begging vs. Believing

When Haleigh was about 13 years old, she asked Eric, "Dad, when I get my driver's license will you buy me a car?"  Eric said, "Yes, we will have a car for you to drive" I remember this because I told Eric, "I wish you wouldn't have promised her a car; we will have to hear about it for 3 years now. What if our situation changes and you can't keep your promise?"  Eric looked at me and said, "I always keep my promises" I dreaded having to listen to Haleigh constantly ask about that car. To my surprise, she never asked again; she talked about how happy she was about the prospect of her driver's license and freedom, but she never asked about the car again.

I have often thought about that. Eric was so confident he could provide a car for her to drive that he felt comfortable making a promise. She believed him; he had never lied to her before. I know Eric well enough to know if Haleigh had continued to bug him about the car for the next 3 years, he would have been hurt or annoyed. The hurt may have come from her not trusting his word. 

I have often asked in Faith for the Lord to heal me. He heard me for the first time and knew the answer before I asked it. The first time he listened to my prayer, the miracle was in motion. He never said it would be easy or quick. What I thought was my question was me begging. He thinks, "Why is she asking me this again? I already answered her. Does she not believe me?"

Lazarus was dead for days when Jesus thanked Heavenly Father for bringing him to life before it happened. My mind tells me some things are impossible. I need to have more Faith and thank Heavenly Father for the answers before they come. Having Faith means I cannot see the answer, but He will provide the solution. The Heavenly Father already knows, and he has given his word. He must feel bad when I beg and plead with him.

 I've been getting all my initial pre-operative work done this week. Did I mention I'm having surgery on February 6? This will be my 23rd surgery in less than 5 years. A huge part of me wants to thoroughly check it out. I'm so done with hospitals, surgery, and doctors. The other side says, "It's not your time yet. I can do all things through Christ."

Trying to find a vein today, the RN asked me, "Do they usually have a hard time finding your veins?" I smiled and politely replied, "Yes, they usually do" She was frustrated, and after the sixth poke, she said, "I'm going to try one more time. If I can't get a drawback, I will get someone to help me" She finally had to take the blood out of the upper part of my arm just below my elbow. Painful? Yes, it was, but I was calm. Before she rolled me into the CT scan, I asked if she would shut my right eyelid. She did; what a job, was my thought. When the contrast entered my body, a sudden warmth penetrated every cell. It was a strange sensation; my fingers tingled, I needed to pee, and my ears burned. This was all done at the Maricopa County Hospital. Dr. Lettieri is employed by the Mayo Clinic in Rochester but does facial trauma surgery at Mayo Clinic and Maricopa. More about him later; I am again blessed with an incredible surgeon.

I left Maricopa Hospital and went to the Mayo Clinic Hospital to finish the rest of my pre-operative work. Time to collapse some more veins. I dreaded going into the blood lab, knowing they would have difficulty finding a vein. After another 7 or 8 pokes, she finally got a smaller needle, which I had asked her to do in the beginning ... No one believed me. She finally found a working vein on the side of my left hand close to my wrist...painful? Umm ... Yes, but grateful she found one. She had tears in her eyes. I told her it was ok, and she said it looked like I had been poked earlier. I told her she said she couldn't believe how calm I was. I left there, sat in my car with my head on the steering wheel, and cried just a little.

I must believe the Lord is on my side; he knows what is best for me. Put it in his hands and let it go. Today, I will thank him for the healing coming my way.

I'm Trying ...

 

I'm trying...

I have missed a few blog posts so today I will post three.  First, I went to Cleveland Clinic, had my surgery with Doctor Gustman, then flew home with Eric to recover.  I'm getting good at this.  I do not like the pain medicine, Eric gets upset if I don't take it, but I try to muddle my way through without using it.

I received an email message from one of my physicians who reads this blog, so this is for him... "You made a mistake on your blog, which was your 21st surgery in less than 5 years" "Well excuse me for the miss count, btw your nosey" "No, just want you to be exact" So there you have it, yes, I have nosey physicians.  It's a good thing I love him enough to care that he was kind enough to correct me and that I never say anything on this blog I wouldn't be proud for them to read.

I want to add this little tender mercy to this blog post because it is another one that truly took me by surprise.  I have been involved with a company I feel the Lord placed in my lap a year ago for a reason, He knows how much each of us can handle, and knowing what was about to make a life-altering change to my life, He knew I needed to be with people and circumstances that could bless my life, and it has in such a precious way.  I have made lifelong friends, who never knew me before my paralysis or cancer diagnosis.  Most don't know my story.

I recently was invited to listen to a conference call by a woman who I had already admired, for her down-to-earth, funny, humble way of telling the story of how she and her sweet husband have gotten to where they are today.  Like always I was sitting on my bed with my phone in conference mode with my notepad ready to take notes and learn something that may also help me in my venture.  I was not prepared for the emotion I would feel when I listened in.  So many who have followed my story know I use the word HOPE so much, I have studied it, pondered it, lived it, and tried to wrap myself up in the warmth of that word.  Mariel began to speak with her team, (everyone on the call is muted) that's a good thing because it was not a minute or two into the call when I began to blubber like a baby.  It was as if she was speaking to me directly. (This is not the case she had about eight hundred people on that call) I am not going to go into all my notes, mostly because I stopped taking them at this point.  She was directly delivering her message to me.  Gracefully and gently, she spoke of HOPE.  Giving HOPE to others during a time in life when so many just need to know there are people in the world who care, and who want to help make a difference. It's been 6 months that I have dedicated myself to doing something kind for someone every single day, I have been successful in doing this, and it has changed my life. It doesn't take away my own needs and realities, but it has helped me to become a better person and to learn that when I fall, I can be lifted and reminded of my potential.  I've been reminded once again time after time as I'm guided to people daily that I have so much to work on, so much to learn but by taking the hand of others like Mariel and Frank I can be led and guided with thoughts of goodness and mercy and do it with humility and grace.

I had a few days off for recovery after surgery but started back to work last week.  I love my job at USAirways.  I really had a breakthrough last week while working.  Not the place I thought this would happen, but anymore I am never surprised at what, where, or who touches my life in a significant way.

I was taking a reservation for a man, just doing my job when out of nowhere he asked me if I was OK.  Not knowing exactly what he meant I asked, "Yes I'm OK, does it seem I am not doing my job, or have I offended you?" "Oh heavens no, just the opposite you are lovely to talk to, and today I feel grateful it was you who answered the phone" A little stunned I thanked him and finished up his reservation, when I asked if there was anything else I could do to help him he said "Yes, you can" thinking he was going to either change the reservation, have me send him to rental cars or add his dividend miles number, you can imagine my surprise when this is what he said "Did you recently have a stroke? I don't mean to be nosey but your voice sounds a little staggered" for the first time I was finally able to hear the truth from someone, a stranger and for the 1st time a light went off in my head I replied "No sir, I didn't have a stroke but I do have partial facial paralysis and sometimes it is difficult to speak clearly, I'm sorry if you had a hard time with me today" I felt this sweet peace come over me, I am healing, from the inside out.

Facial paralysis has been by far the most challenging misfortunate obstacle I have had to come to grips with.  I've felt so many times that I just can't do this anymore, begging for relief, for complete physical healing.  I have felt broken, alone, and misunderstood. To finally say aloud to a perfect stranger "I have partial facial paralysis" may seem so insignificant to other people, but for me it was HUGE.  My physicians have been perfectly honest with me.  Right now, there is not much hope for a full recovery without more surgery, which I was told from the beginning.  I like to think I want to hear the full truth, the bottom line, then I can deal with it.  Boy, was I surprised at how much I didn't comprehend my own understanding of what difficulty was?

I have so many people say "...but you're beautiful" for some reason that ".... but" hesitation has penetrated my heart too many times.  I know there is not one person out there that has said those words to me who is comfortable saying it, but I've come to discern they love me and just don't know what to say, and that is OK, I don't know what to say either.  The absolute truth is, my soul, is trying to heal, and it will take some time for me to be ready to accept this new life I have been offered.

Something Amazing

MONDAY, OCTOBER 13, 2014

Something Amazing

THIS WEEK, I RECEIVED EMAILS ASKING ME TO EXPLAIN MORE ABOUT PAST POSTS. WILL EXPLAIN NOW.

I HAVE BEEN DEAF IN MY RIGHT EAR FOR 48 YEARS DUE TO A BLOW TO THE HEAD AT AGE THREE; FROM MY BIRTHFATHER (COLBY); IT HAPPENS TO BE THE SAME EAR I'VE HAD MULTIPLE SURGERIES ON THIS YEAR. 

MY LEFT EAR IS MY 'GOOD' EAR. EVEN THOUGH THE BAHA IMPLANT IS ON THE RIGHT SIDE, IT TRANSMITS SOUNDS WAVES TO THE GOOD EAR ON THE LEFT TO IMPROVE MY HEARING. MY RIGHT EAR IS NOW COMPLETELY EMPTY, WITH NO INNER CANAL, NO EARDRUM, NO NOTHING; THE DOCTOR TOOK SKIN FROM MY HEAD AND MADE A NEW-LOOKING EAR FOR ME.

Today, something unique happened to me. I had appointments at Mayo Clinic, and I met with Kelly Conroy in the ENT department to have my Baha hearing device finally connected to the implant. I was not prepared for what would happen; I usually go to Mayo Clinic without thinking much about why I'm there or who I am supposed to see; I just don't let my mind think about it unless I'm going to the third floor then I need to prepare myself.

I have met with Kelly before for hearing tests and to be fitted for my Baha, but it's been a year since my implant was placed, and so much has happened since then. The Baha has not been on my mind. Today, I was blessed with a Tender Mercy from Heavenly Father, which I needed. I now have a new person to love at Mayo Clinic, I will never forget today, and I am so grateful Kelly Conroy was the one I shared this moment with; she was so compassionate and loving.

Kelly placed the device on my implant and then adjusted her computer to customize the hearing device to my needs. What happened next was amazing; I wish I had it on video, or Eric could have shared it. I could hear everything clearly and crisply when Kelly activated the device. I smiled, and we sat and talked for a while so she could make sure everything was working well. We both cried as I explained some of my emotions this year. This was not even the impressive part. Once I got to my car, I could not believe the sounds.

 
I opened the door to get in the front seat, and when I started the car, my music was so loud I quickly turned it down, smiled, and backed the car up--and the sound of putting the car in reverse was something I had never heard. 

As I drove down the beeline highway, I noticed a man walking; I pulled over and asked him if he needed help. He assured me he had AAA on their way and thanked me. I wondered, "why is he talking so loud?" I was overcome with emotion; I had to pull the car over a few miles away, get out and walk through the wildflowers; never had I seen anything more beautiful. I looked at the sky, brilliant blue with fluffy white clouds, and cried. I heard a bird chirp; it was beautiful. I thought I knew what that sounded like all these years, but today it was more apparent than I had ever felt or heard it. 

I could feel His love for me. He loves me, He really, really loves me, and not only me, but He also loves my biological Father, Colby Belshe. I could feel his presence; this was more than an emotionally draining day for me, but at that very moment, standing with my arms high, twirling in the Arizona desert, I could feel that finally, Colby was happy; his daughter could hear. 

Colby never could forgive himself for being the fault of my deafness, and I forgave him. I don't remember being angry with him; I only knew partial hearing. I told Colby many times that I didn't blame him, was OK, and didn't blame him, but even to his death, he took that guilt. Today that is over for him; he watched me, I felt him, and I know he can now move on. Thank you, Heavenly Father, for such a beautiful gift you have given me.
I picked myself up, got back in my car, called Eric, and could not believe how loud he was; I smiled, tears running down my cheeks.

When I got home, this is when the real magic happened. I opened the door, and I heard the doorknob turn. I smiled. When the door shut behind me, I screamed. It was so loud, it scared me. I did the same thing when my phone rang, I had "Happy" as my ringtone, and I about jumped out of my skin, but I smiled. Walking across my wood floors, I heard every step. In the kitchen, I opened the microwave and shut it several times. I did the same thing with the refrigerator, and I smiled.

When my hand touched the staircase to walk up, I heard my hand even softly dragging, and I smiled. I sat on my bedroom floor weeping, alone, just as it should be. I'm sure it was not too pretty. I could even hear the carpet as I ran my hand across it; all I could say was thank you so much for this unexpected miracle. I pulled the string on the dental floss tonight, and the sound was nothing I'd ever heard before; I did it repeatedly until the container was all gone. Turning the pages of my scriptures was terrific; I listened to every crinkle and smiled. I sat on my bed in awe of what my Heavenly Father had blessed me with at such a critical time. I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, HE LOVES ME. I don't think I have smiled like I did today for so long, and even though it was a half smile, I didn't care; I couldn't help it. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is as beautiful as being able to hear everything; all the creations He has created for us to see, hear, feel, and smell we take for granted.
I can't wait to hear more things. I immediately turned my primary music on, my favorite song has always been My Heavenly Father Loves Me...I cry every time I hear this song.

My Heavenly Father Loves Me:

Whenever I hear the song of a bird,
or look at the blue blue sky,
whenever I feel the rain on my face
or the wind as it rushes by.
Whenever I touch a velvet rose
or walk by a lilac tree,
I'm glad that I live in this beautiful world,
Heavenly Father created it for me.
He gave me my eyes that I might see
the color of butterfly wings,
he gave me my ears so that I might
hear the magical sound of things
He gave me my life, my mind
my heart, I thank Him reverently
for all his creations of which I'm
apart, yes, I know Heavenly Father
Loves me.

Today these words mean more to me than ever before. I can't help but think that Heavenly Father has been waiting for this day, preparing me, and refining me, preparing Colby, too, as he has suffered with this guilt for so long. I am happy for him too. I cannot stop crying. I am so blessed the tears are flowing like a river with no end in sight. I just want to open and close things. I want to hear my grandkids laugh, oh I can't wait for that; I thought I loved those belly laughs before, but I have a feeling as I get used to this new blessing, I am going to continue to have tears, learning so much of what we take for granted. So, if you see me tear up, I'm OK. I'm just hearing something new and enjoying it for the first time. I don't know if I can say thank you enough to Him who gave me this gift today, and I know He is smiling down on me too. I've been so lost these last few months, trying so hard to understand what I am supposed to do? What am I supposed to be learning? I will continue to ask, but not today. I am grateful this is a feeling I will never ever forget.

LABELS: HEARING, HOPE, KELLY CONROY, LOVE, MAYO CLINIC, PEACE 

Trust in God

 

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 12, 2014

Trust in God

Another night of insomnia; I cannot stop thinking about The Wentworth Family tonight. Our girls danced together for years; Darbie and Sierra have always had a special place in my heart, especially offering their personal prayers for me when needed. As I knelt to pray tonight, I asked God to wrap his arms in and around their hearts and comfort them with His love. I have perfect knowledge that their son Buddy is being watched over and taken care of, he is in a peaceful place that is nothing like earth, and he will be with his family again.

I recently received this bookmark from a dear friend, who I admire and love for her strength and love of the gospel of Jesus Christ. She, too, lost her son; it just never seems fair that a child should go to Heaven before their parents. Living in this world, we face so many challenges, and what makes it all worth it is knowing the Savior died for us; we have knowledge of the Atonement. We hear, "The Lord never gives us trials we cannot endure"  I have had some bumps along the way, especially in the last few years, but I am grateful the Lord knows I could not handle losing a child or grandchild. I'd instead take on any pain or heartache to keep my children and grandchildren safe from harm.

I love this...Thank You, Carla Kelly. I see this every day
when I read, and it reminds me of great promises.

Even when we are feeling broken, we are loved. It's hard to heal from a tragedy like this, but the hands of mercy and grace offer us a peaceful feeling of HOPE and FAITH in something bigger than ourselves. I know I am loved; I know He is aware of me, and I know what I must do to return with honor to Him and live with my family forever. There is a reason we are all here on earth, we are all children of infinite worth, and we are part of His eternal plan; we may not always understand what that means, but as we discover His unconditional love for us as individuals, we start to understand just how hard it is for Him to see us suffer, we are His children. I know I've had to turn to the Lord for peace on days when I no longer wanted to be here. Searching for your soul and discovering who you are, I mean the REAL authentic person you are, has been more fulfilling than anything I have learned in the past 51 years.