Life took a turn, however, on Monday afternoon. We were visiting my sister’s family at a cabin in the mountains above the Salt Lake Valley, and the cousins offered to teach my daughter, Meg, to ride a four-wheeler.

“Have fun – and be ’safety sallies,’” I called as they trooped down the cabin’s front steps. They left, joking and talking, and my sister and I settled down on the couches in the front room for a much-needed nap.

The next thing I heard was  my sister’s voice saying, “Is she okay?”, and my nephew’s voice hesitating, “Um….no…”

I awoke to see him carrying Meg into the cabin, obviously injured and in shock.

He laid her on a recliner, my sister grabbed a towel and  began tearing it into strips for bandages, and while we continued to assure Meg she would be okay, we began cleaning her wounds.

I began feeling light-headed. I’ve never been good around blood. But I was determined to stay present and to be a help, not a hindrance for Meg at this crucial time, so I sat on the floor as I attempted to wash the gravel out the palm of one of her hands, breathing deeply to keep the faintness away. We decided we’d better get her to emergency care immediately.

It seemed to take forever to drive her over the rocky roads to the nearest help in Park City, but thankfully the waiting room wasn’t too crowded, and soon we were ushered into the triage area.

As the doctors examined Meg, I became more and more relieved. No broken bones; no apparent internal injuries; no concussion – just a painful bump on her nose, a knee needing stitches and arms and hands in need of bandages for her ‘road rash’.

After the doctors made their decision and left the curtained area to get the supplies, Meg and I looked at each other, and I think we were both overcome at the same moment with the thought, “There were angels protecting you.” It was a deeply spiritual moment when we received that thought, and we knew it was true.

Later that night, Meg was lying in her bed resting when one of her cousins that had been riding an ATV behind her came to visit and see how she was doing, and he told me what he had seen from behind.

Meg had been following another cousin, who had turned to go down a hill. Meg turned too sharply, and the ATV lifted up on two wheels, then bounced down on the other two, and then completely flipped and rolled. It ended up right-side up – on top of Meg – who had landed face down in a ditch. The ATV wasn’t even touching her.

I know that for some reason, angels can’t – and don’t – prevent all tragedies. All of us who have lost any loved one are all too aware of that fact. Many of us know people who are para- or quadraplegics after incidents such as Meg’s. We were told Monday about a man whose ATV did the same thing as Meg’s – and he didn’t live.

Why was Meg spared? We may never know – but I can – and forever will express gratitude for those protecting angels, and for the answer to our prayer of that morning, asking for “protection in all that we do this day”.

As we strive to stay near to our Savior, He promises us, “For I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”*

As widows and widowers, and those who have suffered loss, even though our lives have not turned out as we would have hoped, I believe we can see evidence of that Heavenly help, and of those angels, in our daily lives. I believe they help us ward off despair, and whisper hope to our hearts. I believe they give us courage to go out just one more day and face the world. I know they give us strength to face the tragedies life brings our way.  And, sometimes, for reasons we may never understand, I believe they perform miracles that help us see that truly, we are not alone on this journey, and that Heaven is only a prayer away.

May you more often see the influence of those angels that are “round about you”, and may you, too, feel to give thanks for that Heavenly help.

With a thankful heart,

Roslyn

*Doctrine and Covenants 84:88

For her birthday, my oldest daughter Brooke asked if I would accompany her on a hike, high in the alpine mountains above Hyrum, Utah.

First you have to know that she is more than twenty years younger than I am – and has always had incredible energy and drive. She accomplishes more in a few hours than I do in an entire day.

I love the mountains, and I love her, so I willingly accepted. I did not take into account that, due to my recent schedule, I have not been consistent in my daily exercising (so I am somewhat out of shape), and that hikes usually entail significant uphill trails which can be pretty demanding. I only envisioned the joy of being out in nature with my daughter, and I was excited.

As we headed up the steep rocky trail, it very quickly became apparent that she was setting a pace I was unaccustomed to – and one that I would not be able to hold for very long. The path followed a stream that gurgled over rocks and tree roots, and there was frequent welcome shade where the tall trees’ branches reached over the trail. It was beautiful, and I drew strength from the beauty that surrounded us. But that strength was not quite enough, and after not too long, I guess she perceived I was beginning to ‘lose steam’.

“Let’s rest in this shade…” she graciously offered as we arrived in a cool glade of aspen. Her husband and my youngest daughter were with us, and they seemed almost as relieved as I felt when we stopped to catch our breath.

After a brief rest, we were back on our way. And although I loved being out in all of that breath-taking beauty, I wished I could slow down a bit! The pace demanded too much of my focus just to keep climbing, one step after another.

Brooke thoughtfully stopped us for frequent rests that I know she didn’t need. She still seemed full of energy when, after a few hours, we had hiked through meadows of wildflowers, groves of pines, hillsides of aspen and sheer rock cliffs. We finished the hike and headed down toward the car,  filled with a deepened appreciation for the beauties of this world.

But I have decided that I am at a place in life where, although I still love hiking, I now go with a different objective. No longer am I driven to get to the top of the mountain, or the end of the trail, or even to the wonder that the guidebook promises is just around the next bend.  I now enjoy a slower pace, and I am prone to halt more frequently to study the rock that, in earlier years, I would have simply stepped over. My eyes are less focused on the montain top and instead are drawn this way and that, eager to study a wildflower that beckons to be smelled, an unusual leaf, or the butterfly that flits from one blossom to the next. I am lifted by their beauty, and I am renewed by being surrounded by God’s abundant creations. I am content to sit and listen to the breeze rustling the tops of the giant pines while others continue the climb to the top of the trail.

I believe that trauma, loss, discouragement and grief require us to slow down and pull back from the frantic pace of daily life, and can even be an invitation to look for the small things that witness to us that God is aware of us and our struggles, and that He desires to lift us with all that He created specifically to bring beauty into our lives, and peace into our hearts.

Of course He knew we would meet with difficulty in this life, and I believe He planned  to surround us with things that would give us healing, hope and courage, if we would only open our eyes to them.

So if you are seeking that healing, and if you find sometimes that your hope and courage are failing you, slow down. Don’t let the length of life’s journey discourage  you, but rather, focus just on today, and open your eyes and find one of God’s messages of hope – a beautiful view of a mountain, meadow, or lake;  the song of a bird outside your window, or the intricate beauty of a flower.

Choose a slower pace – and find hope!

-Roslyn

I had just called in, a few moments late, to a seminar hosted by Heather Madder, and those were the first words I heard her speak. I immediately felt a confirmation that what she was saying was true – that I am not alone, but that there are unseen forces at work helping me.

I am studying to learn about the Internet and how to more effectively market my book and coaching services. I sometimes have thoughts that I am alone, and that it is too difficult, and that I cannot do it. Yet Heather says, “The whole universe exists to support what you want to build,” and tells us that we need to have a clear intention and belief that the answers and help we need will come quickly and easily, and that doors will open to pave our way.

Another thought I have frequently is, “I don’t have time to do all I need to.” Heather teaches that we are constantly scripting our own limitations, and that we need to be aware of thoughts like that, which become ‘programs’ we may be creating in our own lives that are holding us back.

We can change those scripts! I decided tonight as I listened to Heather that my old way of thinking and system of beliefs is not serving me! I am going to take her advice and open my spiritual eyes to the help all around me. I will envision, as she suggested, people all around the world, sitting at computers, making connections to help pave the way for my success. She also suggested there are spiritual beings ready to help us as we request that help.

I believe that. I love the promise in the scriptures:

“I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”*

We are not alone!

I believe each of us has something to give to the world. Longfellow said,

“Time is with materials filled;
Our todays and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.”

If we are to build something worthwhile to share with the world, we need to spend our time creating it – and we will need help. And I believe, with Heather, that it is there.

Open your spiritual eyes – and believe – and keep building!

*Doctrine and Covenants 84:88

Other pictures comes to mind, however: a woman, weeping as she kneels with a handful of flowers at the fresh grave of her husband; a man at the cemetery, standing by the marker bearing his wife’s name and wondering how he can go on. To these people, Memorial Day has a very different meaning.

This Memorial Day, are you (or is someone you know) grieving the loss of a loved one who is no longer with you? Are you still at the stage of grief where your emotions are unpredictable, you live with a perpetual ache in your heart, and you never know when the tears will suddenly surface again?

Memorial Day can be a hard day for those who’ve experienced loss. But there are things you can do to help make it through this weekend – and that will help you move on with life. Here are five tips to begin with:

First, grieve. Grieving is painful, unpredictable, and it can be a long process. No wonder people want to avoid it. However, grieving is part of the healing process, and if we refuse to work through our grief, we will never heal completely.
Allow yourself to grieve. Find a place where you can let the tears flow and the racking sobs descend. You will find that as you do, there is a cleansing and a renewal that takes their place.
Author Deanna Edwards tells of the young child who said about grief, “Tears are what God gave us to let the hurt out.” Admit that the void in your life hurts, and that it’s okay to hurt. As a wise man once said there would be something wrong if we didn’t hurt when a loved one dies. Take the time to grieve, and eventually, if you embrace the grieving process, it will bring renewal and peace.

Second, reach out and find a friend. Find someone you can talk to, who understands what you’re going through, and talk. Share your sorrows; share what helps you each get through hard times, and you’ll both come away stronger. Sometimes the very best gift we can be given when we are mourning is a listening ear, and understanding without judgment.

Third, write! Take out a pen and paper, find a quiet spot where you can be uninterrupted, and remember. Record the good things that came from your relationship with that loved one. Write what you appreciated about them. Write about some of your favorite memories with them. One day these memories will not be so fresh, and you will be grateful that you took the time now to create something you can look back on and find joy in remembering.

Fourth, get moving! When we are grieving, often the most appealing activity is no activity at all. It is so tempting to crawl into bed, pull the covers over one’s head, and retreat. But grieving is not just emotional work. It involves the whole body, and exercise helps move the process along more quickly. Walk, run, garden, get out the yoga CD and follow along – just do something to move your body and get the endorphins flowing. Movement will help banish the blues and help you to look at life from a much more positive perspective.

Finally, serve someone in memory of your loved one. Even if it is a very small thing, find something you can do for someone else to lift their burden. The old adage “It is better to give than to receive” is true – and how better to honor the memory of the one you loved than to do a kind deed in their memory. Einstein said, “The only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and learned how to give.” Many people have found that looking outside their own troubles, if only for a few minutes, and finding a way to give to someone else, truly has brought them comfort and happiness.

Make this Memorial Day memorable, by grieving when you need to; finding a friend to confide in; writing about your loved one; moving; and serving. As you do, you will find you make cherished memories yourself, and you will be further along on the path to healing, wholeness, and peace.

Paul, instructing the saints in Galatia how to find their greatest happiness and peace offered the following counsel: “…by love serve one another.” We can do the same. Make a difference for someone else – create a bright spot in someone’s day; place a call to someone you know needs a lift; contact a humanitarian center and volunteer a couple of hours; deliver a handful of flowers to someone who is down. Your service can be done anonymously, or out in the open – you choose.
And do it in loving memory of your loved one.
Yes, they are gone – but we are still here, and I believe that we each have something good to give to the world. No matter how small our offering may seem, we need to give it – for the world’s sake, and for our own.
I think I’ve decided what I’m going to do. I am getting excited thinking that those who’ve gone beyond this life may be able to look down and smile that we are remembering them this way.
I know I’m going to look heavenward and whisper,
“This one’s for you!”
In loving memory,
Roslyn

P.S. Once you’ve completed your service, I invite you to my facebook page (search “SOLO – Getting It All Together”) to post what you did – remember you can do it anonymously if you wish – and let’s share what good was brought into the world in memory of those we are remembering!

So says Alan Christofferson, the main character in Richard Paul Evans’ new book, The Walk.

Does any one of us know what the future holds? I can think of so many times in my life when I had a plan all laid out for the next weeks, months, and even years – and then, in the blink of an eye, everything changes. A phone call; a chance meeting; a turn of events, and life is altered forever.

After Alan lost his wife, his business, and his home, he decided to walk across the country to the place furthest from where his dreams all died. As he stops each night, he writes in his journal. His entries are brief, but telling. One night he wrote, “We can be victims of circumstance or masters of our own fate…” and I thought, “How can you write that when you have just lost everything, through no fault of your own? How can you say you are the master of your fate?”

Then it hit me. Alan had learned what Viktor Frankl taught: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances – to choose one’s own way.”

The night his wife died, Alan’s journal entry read simply, “All is lost.”

Shortly thereafter, he sat in despair at the kitchen table with two bottles of pills, contemplating taking his own life. He could find no reason to live, and was ready to end it all quickly, when he heard, from somewhere, the words,

“Life is not yours to take.”

Then, he thought he heard the voice of his late wife, McKale, whisper, “Live.”

I believe that is what each of our loved ones would say were they able to communicate with us. Not to simply exist, but to live with purpose; to choose our own way.

Again from Frankl: “Man does not simply exist, but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become in the next moment.”

I believe we too can make that choice, and determine who we will be and what we will do with whatever circumstances we are presented.

There will be times we too will say, “I do not know what lies ahead of me,..” but in those times, we will also be able to say, “…but I do know what I want to become.”

That decision will change everything.

Just two days ago my daughter and I noticed that the birds were gathering in our neighborhood and chirping cheerily, and we rejoiced at one more harbinger of the long-awaited release from the cold.

But this morning I awoke to grey skies, and soon snowflakes began falling steadily.

I went out to feed the cat, and heard the birds scolding the snow as they burrowed into the tall hedges surrounding the yard. By evening, our world was once more smothered in white, and we had donned sweaters and wool socks to ward off the extra chill in the house.

Grief seems to have seasons. There is the Autumn of grief, when we are numb from the shock and where colors fade and all things that bring beauty to life begin to wither and die. We sense that what is ahead will be long and cold.

Then comes Winter. The first flakes of snow herald a long season of grey, lifeless days with a constant chill in the air and in our souls. Since my husband died, at the approach of Winter I often feel dread at facing another string of months without warmth or color or life.

Mid-Winter follows; the darkest, coldest part of our grief, with no visible sign of release. The chill we feel is bone-deep, and darkness comes early and stays late. We have no control over when the storms will come, when they will rage with so much fury that we cannot travel out, when we have to build our own private “snow cave” and crawl in, curled up in the fetal position until it feels safe to come out again.

I heard from a dear friend the other day, mourning the tragic death of her husband. She mentioned her reluctance to go out in public because of the probability that she will end up weeping uncontrollably at any time. Those storms are so unpredictable! Not wanting to expose ourselves, nor to subject others to the awkward onslaught, we often choose to stay sequestered at home where we face them – or sometimes, just submit to them – in private.

This is the season when it is hardest to believe that Spring will come. Can there be healing, when one’s heart aches so profoundly that it is hard to breathe? What is there to look forward to when every glance out the window is greeted by bare branches and a dull, colorless landscape, matching the landscape of our soul?

I have found that I have to remind myself that Spring will come, however. Humans naturally crave warmth, and light, and color, and the first thaw in late Winter awakens a hope that maybe, even for us, there might be life again.

Grief does have its Spring. The ache in the heart gradually lessens, and though we never forget the pain of losing our loved one, one day we wake up and realize we didn’t weep in the night. We see a bird, or a flower, or a sunset, and smile. Something has changed so that beauty and warmth are entering our heart again, and our soul begins to take courage.

If you are in mid-Winter in your grief, hold on. Grieve, fully, and allow those storms to rage. Believe that they are cleansing and healing, and that once the tears are dried, you are that much closer to Spring. Each torrent allows the body and soul to purge another layer of the trauma and deep disappointment we have felt, and leaves room in our heart for light, and beauty, and hope.

The snow will melt. The sun will shine, and flowers will bloom. Hold on, and believe!

I just drove her to the airport an hour ago to catch her plane back to Washington, DC, and now there is a tangible absence in our home.

It seems like ever since Marty died, the children and I are a little more tender about absence from each other. We crave togetherness, and we dislike separation.

Maybe it is because we have felt the pain of loss, and we want to cherish every moment together possible. Shakespeare’s Juliet says, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.” I have yet to find the sweetness there.

When those who live away from home come visit, their presence lights up our home, and gives us all something more to smile about.

When they leave, we feel like a light has gone out and our hearts are heavy. We have to start in on a project, put in some cheerful music, or, on difficult days, curl up in the chair with a warm blanket and retreat into a great book for awhile to lessen the hurt.

Today, I can tell I need to look outside myself, beyond the pain in my heart, and seek to do something that will brighten someone else’s day.

I’m going to get dressed, put on fresh makeup, and go visit someone. Maybe I’ll even wear those beads.

Hoping for your healing,

Roslyn

The next morning, we awoke to cloudy skies, which, within the hour produced snow. By late this afternoon, it was still lightly snowing. It felt like we were headed back into the dark, cold days of Winter, and I felt that darkness creeping into my home.

I turned on the lamps, put in some of my favorite music, and started making some comfort food. That day it was Curried Lentil Soup*, and the aroma of the basil and curry steaming through the kitchen cheered me and helped me realize that the snow outside really is trivial – and temporary.

It reminded me of the days when I wake up in a dark, cloudy emotional state, and how I have come to realize I need to have some emotional ‘comfort food’ to lift me – certain music I listen to; designated books to read; light and fresh air – to buoy up my spirits.

Do you have your list of emotional ‘comfort foods’ ready in case of stormy weather? When we are grieving, it is essential to have a way to ward off discouragement and depression before they settle in our soul.

In my book (SOLO – Getting It All Together When You Find Yourself Alone) I suggest several ideas to keep handy so that as soon as you sense that darkness begin to invade your soul, you can drive it away.

Begin your list today – and be prepared!

-Roslyn

*for recipe, email me at author@roslynreynolds.com