One Year

Friday, June 27th will be the one year anniversary of Harold's death. I started writing a letter to a friend who had sent a card in anticipation of that date then decided to post it here as the sentiments reflect the thoughts I would share with so many of you who continue to reach out to our family in love and service. 

Dear Friend,  
I received your gracious letter yesterday and want you to know it arrived at the perfect moment. My youngest daughter, Rebecca was married Saturday. It was a beautiful, happy event. I had many house guests in addition to hosting the reception, so my home has been a busy place. Sunday my new grandson Conrad was blessed at church followed by a big family luncheon here. The weekend was full of love and family and friends. 

Monday I returned from taking the last guests to the airport and sat down in my quiet house. Quiet house. That’s an adjustment met with both anticipation and dread. I was in the dread part when the mail arrived and I received your card. I wasn't alone. You remembered me. It was very touching that you would remember the anniversary of Harold’s death, an event so pivotal in my life, yet so easily lost to others in the flurry of daily living. Thank you.

That upcoming date had of necessity been emotionally set aside as we celebrated Becca’s wedding and the baby blessing. Set aside but not forgotten. Evelyn and her husband Bruce were here for these happy events; and since Bruce had not been able to attend Harold’s funeral, he also expressed a desire to “see” Harold's grave. Bruce is blind. Still, Bruce wanted to have a sense of this sacred place. There was very little unscheduled time but we squeezed in an hour on Sunday morning.

Visiting Harold’ grave was not something I did in the months immediately following his death. Not out of a sense of denial, but because I didn’t need to go there to feel close to him. I felt him close in my home and at the temple. The cemetery was, in a sense, a worldly place with grand mausoleums and other monuments to prominent Denver society. Yet I felt I should want to go.

Early this spring I went with some of my older grandchildren. The area of Harold’s grave is quiet and shaded. It’s like an open meadow because all the markers are flat. I’d thought Harold would like that. The kids and I cleaned the gravestone and talked in hushed voices. This was a new experience for all of us. It wasn’t so hard to visit his grave after that. I returned another time with a friend who also has a loved one buried there. She reminded me that Harold’s grave site is dedicated ground. A place set apart even in the midst of a large city cemetery. It was a new thought.

Our first family gathering at Harold’s grave was just before Memorial Day. I watched as my younger grandchildren laughed and played on the lawn, delighted to discover this new park. They were fascinated by all the vases of flowers and their parents were kept busy making sure they didn’t “pick” any to add to those we brought to Harold's grave. Ages five and younger, they still remember their Grandpa Jones. Carly, who last year watched so intently as Harold’s casket was lowered into the ground, came to me this time with a big smile and said, “Don’t worry Grandma. Grandpa will be resurrected again.” I hugged her and smiled back. “Yes, Carly, he will!” 

This year has brought births and baby blessings, weddings and receptions, repairs and remodels, farewells and reunions – all the stuff of life. It has been a time of discovery and adjustment. I received another card yesterday that speaks to this: “Life is a delicate balance between holding on and letting go. Easy? No. . . "

No it hasn’t exactly been easy but it has been doable. I remember writing a year ago about the events leading up to Harold’s death and the days immediately following. Then I asked, “How did we get to today? Looking back I realize my answer would be the same as it was then. “It’s simple. We were carried.”

Who’s doing the carrying?

People like you who remember and reach out to lift.

I believe we are also carried by loved ones from the other side of the veil. We don’t necessarily see them or feel their presence yet reason says they would continue to have a strong interest in our behalf. Eternal marriage continues beyond the grave. The calling of father or mother is eternal. No releases there. So I’m assuming Harold and my parents and his father and other loved ones continue to lift and carry us in ways we may or may not recognize.

We are protected and sustained by our Heavenly Father and his son, Jesus Christ who so graciously offer to carry our burdens if we will allow.

Yes, we are being carried and I’m grateful.

I’m heading out in the morning for Girls Camp. The next four days will be an adventure supervising twenty young women ages twelve through eighteen. It’s been a long time since I pitched a tent, put on a back pack and hiked, but I’m sure I will be carried through this too, though I hope that won’t be literally necessary.