Every Moment

Today, I’m thinking about this time last year. I can’t help it. It’s inseparable to me now.

I’m grateful for so many things.

I’m grateful for hospital nurses who pretended they couldn’t count to two so we could ignore the swine flu rule and overflow mom’s hospital room with people.

I’m grateful for my family, who understands that people are always more important than money or things. Examples: when we ripped out the built-in desk without a second thought to make room for mom. When various relatives paid tons of money for airplane tickets to come help us. And when we bought that huge ugly transport van, because “even if she only rides in it once, you can’t put a price on her freedom,” according to dad.

I’m grateful for the flowers that overflowed the counter, and for the tender cards which we strung up in rows. Mom could never read those cards, but that wasn’t the point.

I’m grateful for the sanctity of midnight watches. It was peaceful, sitting there in the middle of the night with the Christmas lights shining through the window and the soft blue chair rocking you. Listening to mom snore; each breath one more blessing, one added moment granted to our shared existence.

I’m grateful for the pure voices of forty primary children piercing the despair that cold, bright Sunday. Standing on the frozen lawn, singing through the window, they were a choir of angels.

I’m grateful for the funny moments. All the code brown jokes, the nights we got two dinners and scrambled to hide the evidence when dinner #2 showed up, the hoyer, the lunch fairy, mom making jokes about her paralyzed left half, the bamboo catching on fire, the cleansing of the shire (aka when dad went crazy with the borrowed dumpster), mom making jokes about how hot tamales give you cancer and since it was too late for that we better let her eat as many as she wanted.

I’m grateful for family and roommates and friends and surrogate mothers and elementary school teachers and even acquaintances that Heavenly Father placed in my path. They still haven’t given up on me.

I’m grateful that the last thing my mom said to me was “I love you.” Even later, when she could no longer talk or remember who I was, when I said “I love you” she squeezed my hand, and I know what that meant. I’ve never doubted that my mother loves me. That’s a blessing so many aren’t privileged to claim.

I’m grateful for pictures, and cedar boxes, and voice recordings, and necklaces that remind me my mom is never far away.

I’m grateful for the angels that watched over our house, gave me strength to get out of bed each morning, and courage to return to it each night.

Most of all, though, I’m remembering all those nights when I laid in bed and sobbed, the cannon sobs that hurt so bad, and I remember thinking no pain could exceed my pain, and that I was going to hit rock bottom. But I never did, and I never will, because my Savior Jesus Christ hit rock bottom for me, so I don’t have to. He died for me, so my pain and my grief would have an end. More than anything, I’m grateful today for the Atonement and for my Redeemer who made it possible for me to overcome everything and be with my mom for eternity.

Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you find occasion to feel as grateful as I do today.