35 Years Ago

This morning as I ate breakfast, I read the Salt Lake Tribune. Peggy Fletcher Stack wrote an article about the 35^th year anniversary of the blacks receiving the priesthood. I remembered Mom coming home from town that day and telling me that George could have the priesthood. I gave her quizzing look because she had to remind me who George was.. I was thinking of another George who I knew in Salt Lake my first year of college. He was strange and I am pretty sure he might have passed the sacrament in the branch I sometimes attended. When Mom mentioned it was my FHE (family home evening) brother from Ricks College then I understood. George came to Ricks College my second semester there. He wasn’t a member, but he still returned for a second time. I found out the following fall that he had been in my brother, John’s and my roommate, Deb’s branch the previous year while I had been in Salt Lake. Toward the end of the semester, George joined the church; students from the 8^th and 29^th branch were in attendance. I think it was the biggest convert baptism that I ever attended. As I look back on George’s baptism, I realize it took him a lot of courage to join the church. He joined knowing he would not have the full benefits of membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. In April of 1978, he wasn’t able to have the priesthood, serve a mission or even marry in the temple. But on June 8, 1978 all that changed for George and other Mormons of African heritage. Now I know of a biracial young man serving in Brazil and his brother who has been called to serve in California later this year. Most weeks in Sacrament Meeting, I see a young man from Africa pass the sacrament to members in the church. All because President Spencer W. Kimball announced that the priesthood was to be extended all worthy males 12 and over, 35 years on warm June day.

Inspired by History

Like most women, I am inspired by the stories that Mom told me of my grandmas. Some of the histories are from relatives. I don’t know who told me of Ann Grimshaw Jackson, but I admire her for getting on a ship and crossing the plains in handcart to settle in Nephi, Utah. Her husband, Benjamin Jackson, left England to pave the way. After he left, she never heard from him for a few decades. So after a few years he left, she took her family and got a ship sailing for America, which stopped in Boston (or New York) to meet with a son, who had come ahead also. Whether the son came with his dad, I am not sure. The son did not want to travel west, so she caught the train heading west, knowing that she would never see her son again. The train stopped in Iowa, where she and other families traveling to Salt Lake prepared for their journey. They were in the Martin Handcart Company that left in July. Ann had a weak heart, so she wasn't able to pull a handcart. That job was left to Samuel, my great-grandpa and another son. I think two of her daughters also pulled a handcart. Ann would walk with her youngest son each day, starting out before the rest of the company and usually coming in after everyone had camped for the night. If you know of LDS church history, you know that since the Martin and Willie Handcart Companies left Iowa in July and were both caught in early winter storms in Wyoming during the month of October. Ann’s family made it to Salt Lake Valley. But her son, Joseph died soon after. Years after she settled in Nephi, her husband, Benjamin came to Utah. It was the first time in a very long time that Ann had heard anything of him. When he got to America, he joined up with some 49er’s.  The lure of gold held the promise of bringing his family to America. I admire the courage Ann Grimshaw Jackson had.

Martha Eliza Philpot Boice traveled in the Willie Handcart Company that was just ahead of the Martin Handcart. Her dad, William Philpot, died somewhere along the Sweetwater River in Wyoming. A few days later, Martha Eliza’s step mom died. Then it was just two teenage sister who made it to the Salt Lake Valley on their own. My Mom once told me that because of the hardships Martha Eliza’s suffered in the early winter storm of 1856, she had problems walking, but she continue on until she reach Salt Lake, where she met Benjamin Boice. I admire the perseverance that Martha Eliza had. 

There is one grandma whose stories I learned from LDS Church history. But of course my Mom let me know I was related to her. Amanda Barnes Smith is well known for happen at Haun’s Mill, Missouri in 1830’s. After her husband and a son had been killed by a mob at the blacksmith shop, she had the faith that another son’s hip would heal after most of it had been shot away. She had him lay still for days when she put an ash mixture into his hip. Recently in the Ensign, the official LDS magazine, I read about her taking her horse back after it had been stolen, probably from someone who had been part of the mob.  She needed the horse to leave Missouri as the Mormons were ordered to leave the state as soon as possible if not sooner. I admire the faith Amanda Barnes Smith had.

I never knew my paternal grandma. Jane Schofield Jackson died shortly after my oldest brother was born. But I have learned of her through various relatives. Jane was widowed when my dad was three years old. She raised a young family by herself and most likely got support from the community that thrived in Manassa, Colorado. I was told that Jane could have lost her family when her husband, Lafayette died of cancer. I admire the strength Jane had to carry on through out a difficult time.

I did get to know my maternal grandma. Mary Slade Boice often visited us in Idaho. Every Christmas she sent her grandchildren homemade popcorn balls. One year, she almost decided not to send the popcorn balls. But she decided that despite the high cost of sugar, her grandchildren deserved a Christmas gift. When her daughter, Betty was dating a young man of Japanese descent, Grandma welcomed Herb Oba with open arms. World War II was still fresh in the minds of many Americans. Grandma also accepted my brother-in-law, Doug Stewart, two oldest children as her own grandchildren. I admire the kindness Mary Slade Boice showed throughout her life.

And then there is my Mom, Mary LaRee Boice Jackson. Mom passed away recently of cancer and as I remember her, I think of all the qualities my Grandmas had. Mom inherited them also, even the traits from her in-laws. Dad’s family was important to her. Like her mother, she also accepted the in-laws as family. Mom drew on strength as she raised her family and took care of my oldest brother in her later years. Mom carried on with faith, preserved through her battle and had the courage to forge ahead throughout her life. Mom is an inspiration to me as I continue throughout life. Mom has taught me to put my trust in the Lord. And I must admit that she learned from my grandmas. We were inspired by our personal histories.

My 2012 Summer Tour of the Rooms

A year ago I went to a workshop on change, not by choice, but I was glad I attended. Probably the thing I remember the most is “The Rooms” of change. At the time of the workshop, I thought was okay with life; I was in the 1^st room, the Contentment Room (which was modeled after the bedroom). Last May, I was quite proud that I faced a major change in my younger life and figured that any more major changes were up the road a ways. What I didn't know was that before summer semester would end at the University of Utah, I would be in the 2^nd room, the Denial Room (modeled after the living room). My mom’s health was declining; I would hear reports from my siblings that she was losing weight. I don’t remember anger or being upset, but I was in denial; probably out of fear. My brothers went home to see my mom, but I didn't  I used the excuse that I didn't like riding in my brother’s car during the summer. (it doesn't have working air conditioning system). But in reality, it was probably more me being in denial and probably because I was tired of the tension that my oldest brother would cause. (Mike is housebound by choice and my mom was his full time caregiver.)  I am not sure when I moved to the 3^rd room, the Confusion Room (modeled after the kitchen). I was becoming hopeful, even though I was still asking questions. I had my moments of disappointments, but I was making progress. By mid August, I was listening to my siblings. My mom was having problems eating and Mike was frustrated because she wouldn't eat. He was sure someone from church or the neighborhood was poisoning my mom. My youngest sister was on vacation with her family and in-laws in Southern Utah. On August 11^th, Mike phoned me in a panic; he was fearful that Mom would not make it through the night. Apparently she wouldn't eat what he fixed for her and he must have noticed the weight loss. He told me that her legs were thin as sticks. While I was calling neighbors of my Mom, I called my sister who was wrapping up her vacation at her in-laws in Bountiful. To my dismay, I found out that Mike had called her. She was shaking as I talked to her. Apparently Mike had made Mom tell her how bad she was. So Laura’s family changed their plans and left for Idaho first thing. Laura ended up staying with my mom while her husband and son headed home to Washington (the state, not the capitol). Before Laura took Mom back to Washington with her, my Mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 Non-Hopkins Lymphoma. Right before her first and only chemo treatment, Mom said her final good bye to Mike. That Friday night, Laura and Mom caught up with Mary, my oldest sister. Mary had flown into Boise from Seattle to help Laura with the driving. Mom did manage to eat on the way to Seattle. But she was exhausted. Shortly after arriving, Mom had to hospitalize. She was too weak for anymore chemo treatments. In the next few weeks, I talked to my sisters and Mom more than I had all summer. Even though Mom couldn't talk, I was able to hear her voice or grunt. I counted my blessings when I remembered the sacrifices Mom made for me. Labor Day weekend, Mom had another difficult time, but again she made it through the night. A week later, her health improved and she was moved from the hospital in Auburn to a care center in Enumclaw. During the week, I moved to the 4^th and final room, the Renewal Room (which is modeled after the bathroom), but I probably still had one foot in the Confusion Room. I was energized and feeling relief, even though I knew Mom would probably reunite with Dad soon. Shortly after Labor Day, I made plans to visit Mom in Washington. An hour before my flight took off that Friday, Mom took her last breath. At first I was little angry, not because Mom didn't wait until I got there, but I couldn't feel Dad’s presence like I usually did when I needed comfort. While I was boarding I felt Mom’s presence. Apparently she wanted to take one last flight with me and that was comforting. (We traveled together a bit.) While in Seattle, my sisters and I made phone calls and made funeral plans. When I got back to Salt Lake, I semi-went back to work and prepared the speech for my sisters. Mom had assigned them to give her life sketch during the funeral. Then on Friday, my brothers and I went to Idaho, my first time in two years. It was refreshing, but sad. Mom was laid to rest in Paul, Idaho. That Sunday morning as my brothers and I returned to Saturday, I looked at Mom’s smiling face on my iPad and silently cried out to her to help me out as her personal representative (or executor of her will). I was back in the Confusion Room.

I took this picture the Friday before my brother called in panic. When I woke up that following morning, I saw the magnet with this quote and I identified with what Hugh B. Brown said. It continued to be a comfort to me for rest of the summer and beginning of the fall semester. 

A Tale of Two Marathons

Monday during my lunch hour, I was minding my own business on Facebook when I noticed that neighbor from Idaho posted “Explosion at the Boston Marathon finish line at least 3 dead 30 injured turn on your news!” My first thought was of a current neighbor (in Utah) who was in Boston running the marathon. Of course I thought of Jay, who ran the Boston Marathon several years ago. I texted neighbor and friend to find out if she had heard anything about Tracy, our neighbor. She texted back that she saw Tracy’s husband interviewed on KSL. I took that tidbit of news as good news. At the end of today, I kept thinking of a question that my nephew (in his younger years) frequently asked - "Why?" Jay answered back “I don’t know” and I replied to his answer that we probably never would. For once I was serious when asking “Why?” Earlier in the day I had posted on Facebook “Why do we want to hurt our fellow man so much?”

The next day as I walked out of the Campus bookstore, I saw the heading of three newspapers (two of them local). When I saw Terror on all three front pages, I probably agreed with most of America that terrorist had invaded the Boston Marathon. I think this was my first resolve to get up early on April 20^th and watch the Salt Lake Marathon pass thru my neighborhood.

Late Thursday evening, I was on Facebook again. A different neighbor and friend posted “Not 5 min into the news....shootings at MIT....man....” It wasn’t until Friday morning at work (not on Facebook) that I learned that MIT shooting was apart of the Boston Marathon bombing. Suspect #1 was dead and Suspect #2 was on the loose. I was more determined to be cheering on the runners in marathon the next morning. When I left work, I told a co-worker that I was watching the race. That was before I knew about the capture of the Suspect #2. But the capture did cement my determination even more because I posted on Facebook “I don't care, I am going to be along the race route tomorrow morning. Thanks to the terrorists, they motivated me to get up early to watch.”

To my surprise and my ability to wake up earlier than usual on a Saturday, I was up to watch the race. While Jay and I waited for the marathon to come to our neighborhood, we watched the progress on TV. I posted on Facebook  “Waiting for the marathon to pass thru the neighborhood. It is now somewhere in the Parley's Way area.” Soon after eight, Jay and I were out in the rain cheering the racers on. If the terrorists weren’t stopping me from cheering the runner on, then I wasn’t going to let the rain send me back to a comfortable home.  

I watched most of the marathon pass thru my neighborhood. A number of runner thanked the cops along the route. A quite a few told us spectators that we were awesome. I don't think I've ever seen so much gratitude along the race route. It was nice to see Boston jerseys and those running in behalf of Boston marathoner(s).As I watched the race I also noticed green jerseys and t-shirts. I read later in Trib app on my iPad that a few runners wore green to honor the City of Boston’s Irish heritage. And I yelled out “Go Boston” to a few runners.

And when one of the last runners came thru, Jay and I walked back to the condo. Usually the cops providing traffic control don’t get notice.  Even though the crowd in my neighborhood was less than in years past, I was grateful for the support from the runners and spectators that I saw. Because of what happen in Boston earlier in the week, the Salt Lake Marathon was different this year. And may next year’s marathon in Boston be bigger and better.

A Different Ride on Trax

Saturday, April 13^th was the grand opening of the Trax Green Line to the Airport and of course, UTA offered free rides to the public. And yes, I took advantage of a free Trax ride to the airport, even though I ride free on UTA free five-six days a week, courtesy of my employer. When I finally arrived at the Arena, I picked up my UTA Trax to Airport Passport, which had a page for each stop along the new extended Green Line. After I got on at the Arena stop, I rode straight to the Salt Lake International Airport without getting off at any of the stops like Jay did when he rode later. Along the way, I saw places that I haven’t seen for years, like Diamond Lil’s and the State Fairgrounds. 

As soon as I got I went into the airport; I had important business to attend to. I had never been in and out of the airport that fast. When I got back outside, I stood in line to get my “passport” stamp and my picture taken; then I got back on the train. At the 1940 stop, I saw a week day Trax line Red line regular board. She told me that there was free tamales, but I decided to stay on. She got off the Power station. At the station named after my family (not really, but I do share part of the name) I saw Viva! Market again. Now I take Trax to get products from Mexico. There is hope that I can Choco Roles and Sponch! in Utah instead of waiting six weeks to buy them in Idaho. 

Finally I got off at The Bridge Station (which also includes a Frontrunner station) where I enjoyed some chili soup and cookie samples. I also got my third and last stamp before I reboarded the new extended Trax line. Then at Arena station, I got off and waited for the regular Green Line to take me to City Creek to some shopping before I headed home.  I have to admit I had a good time.

Easter This Year

Twelve years ago in April, my Aunt Reta passed away. Her funeral was held the day before Easter. At the cemetery, I was comforted knowing that one day, her recently departed soul would one day be reunited with her body. 

Maybe this is why I was able to post on September 14, 2012 something that I had wrote two weeks earlier. “My Mom is well. She is with my Dad once again and having a joyful reunion with her sister, Verla and her parents. She has even met my Grandpa Jackson for the first time.  I will miss Mom, but I have the faith that she is where she needs to be with her family that she hasn't seen for so long.”

All of this is possible because, Our Savior, Jesus Christ, was willing to suffer and die for us.  On Sunday morning, 2000 something years ago, he conquered death and was resurrected. This bought the hope that eternal life is possible. We have the hope of being reunited with our loved ones, even those we have not met in this life. When our souls are reunited with our bodies, they will be new and whole. Aunt Reta will have a youthful body once more and Dad, her brother will hear once more. Mom is reunited with Dad and has met extended family. That is the blessing Easter brings to each and everyone.

When I saw this video more than twenty years ago, it brought comfort for me. It has since become one of my favorite LDS Church videos. I will see my parents once more and my brother one day will be whole again, all because what our Savior, Jesus Christ did for us one Easter Weekend.

Waiting for the Shoe to Drop

18 years ago in the early part of 1995 (or the latter part of 1994, my brother Mike left Idaho for a few months. For a time, he rented a mailbox (not from USPS) in Henderson NV. He knew a young woman from his days working at JR Simplot’s. Apparently things didn’t work out and he headed to Woodland Hills in Southern California to visit my brother, Steven. He didn’t stay long before he headed out. It was our impression that he headed north to Washington State, but he never got there. For a few weeks, my family and I had no clue where he was or if he was alive. While he was gone, I had a dream that he had come home.  When I told a co-worker of my dream, I accepted the notion that he might have reunited with my dad. Then one March or April day, Mom called to say he had arrived at the house. All that I remember is that he lost a gun somewhere in Northern California or Oregon.  (He told Mom that it was stolen.) In the spring of 1995, Mike parked his Jeep in the back of house where the clothesline once was.  Mike hasn’t left the property since he returned home, except for a ride in Mom’s new car. Mom drove the car to northern property line of Dad’s farm (that was sold after Dad died). Mike will go out in the front yard to greet us when we come. When we had lunch at Mom’s a few years back, he helped with the yard work. This fall he put up a fence where the garden once was. While Mom was alive, she would get groceries and other necessities for him from town. When Mom left for Washington, a grocery fund was set up at Swenson’s in Paul. The plan was to have an employee deliver groceries to him while Mom fought cancer. But he never called in an order and when she had her funeral in Paul a month later, we bought him some groceries and visited with him. He doesn’t leave the property and mostly stays inside the house. My brothers and I make monthly trips to the groceries stores in the Mini-Cassia area. When we can’t a neighbor delivers groceries to him.

It is hard living with someone else’s mental illness. It is like waiting for a shoe to drop as it hanging by a shoe lace from the light fixture. Since my brother carries a gun with him at all times, we always make sure he knows when we are coming home. Even Mom felt threatened a few times when she come home from church or shopping trip. Years ago, there was a shooting at the Salt Lake Library. The person who held some of people hostage had a history of mental illness. At first, I blamed the family for not doing enough until I realized that my family and I were in similar shoes. I realized the pain they lived with and how helpless they felt.

Four years ago, I wrote my young friend while he was in the Mission Training Center in Provo, Utah. “Jay needs to write to my brother, so I better go.  My brother is undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenia and/or bipolar.  And my mom’s home teacher has asked we write to Mike on a regular basis.  Mike is one of the reasons that my brothers and I quit going home.  Mike disinvited some family members, so my Mom decided not to be partial.   I miss home, but I know I will get back there some day.  In the mean time, I just need to be understanding of Mike.”

I recently told another co-worker (I have a different employer than I did 18 years ago) that I have been mourning the death of my brother for 15 years. It is more of a loss than death. For one, Mike is still breathing.

But I miss the person Mike once was. He was a kind person who once gave me a teddy bear for Christmas when I was in junior high. I remember the evening before I left Idaho to go LDS Business College; he took me out for pizza. On the way home, one of his favorite songs Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of Edmund Fitzgerald” came on. He told me the background of the song. During my freshman year, I bought the album (a recording on black vinyl 12 inch disc). Since his return home, Mike has become fixated with murder. It is one reason that he carries a gun is because he feels threatened. He has accused Mom’s home teacher of murder and others too. When Baby X was found burned in a county landfill, he personalized that event. Last March, he was upset when a person drove from Pocatello to commit suicide on the lawn of a Mini-Cassia health facility. Mike hasn’t been the Mike I grew up with and I feel that loss every day.

It is difficult dealing with someone has a mental illness. But I am learning to hope and keep the faith. When resurrection happens, the old will be cast off and newness will come. And as I said to Elder Pugh four years, I need to be understanding and to have patience. I remind myself again and again, this too will pass.

*Please note, I am not in the pictures. That is my older sister, Mary, who happens to be a redhead like me.*

 I shared this on Facebook, but I thought I would include the video. It was the only video I saw, but I liked that included a clip from ABC News or whatever network Harry Reasoner was with in 1975.

My Last Gift

On Valentine’s Day 1980, one of the co-workers raved about the giant valentine cookies that were on sale at Albertsons on 200 South (Salt Lake City). I went along to buy my Dad a cookie. A heart failure the weekend before had put him in the hospital. (His first and only stay at the hospital) Now he was home and I was going home the coming weekend to see him. The cookie was covered in pink frosting and had other decorations. That is all I remember of it. I don’t even remember if my Dad ate it or if it got thrown out after I got back to Utah.

I remember dropping off my brother in Provo on Sunday, the 17^th after a two day weekend in Idaho. When I got back to my apartment in Salt Lake City, I called home to let my mom know that John and I made it safely home. I wasn't prepared for the news that I got. Sometime while I was on the road (probably passing Salt Lake as John and I headed toward Provo), my Dad had a heart attack and he died on the way to the hospital in Burley.

(For some reason, I don’t associate Valentine’s Day with the death of my dad, but I do associate President’s Holiday because he died that weekend.)

I think of the last gift I gave my dad and I realize he still gives me gifts, not material of course, but the gifts are of his love. And they aren't on Valentine’s Day, but when I need them the most. I felt his love and support when I had an EKG in February 2004. (The doctor was concerned about a possible heart murmur.) Once when I was sick, I felt his support as I walked to my bed when I started to black out. Recently I felt his comfort one September morning after a tough night. In his own way, he let me know my mom had survived another difficult night.My dad is gone from my earthly life, but he stills loves me.  Yeah, love is eternal. Happy Valentine’s Day, Dad.

Cupid's Heart Attacks

A few years ago, Jay and I were watching TV in the evening. Jay heard someone outside the door. He opened the door, but no one was there. But I did see some familiar looking valentines on the door. Cupid aka Crystal, Whitney and/or Brittany had decorated Crystal’s grandma’s bedroom wall with homemade valentines. Grandma had no clue who did, even though she saw them wander in and out of her room as the posted the heart attacks (valentines) on the wall. I knew it was the three amigos because I recognized Mom’s car. Crystal and her friends weren’t old enough to drive then, so Mom was recruited in the heart attacks on my door. And I was at the house while they gave Grandma heart attacks.

When I asked Crystal, she flat out denied it; claiming she had no clue who did or what heart attacks (or cupids as I called the heart attacks then). I guess she forgot that I had witnessed her cupid her Grandma’s bedroom wall.

A few months later, those heart attacks saved my life. I was down on myself because of problems at work. I felt as if I didn’t have the ability to get along with co-workers and I was having a tough time thinking well of myself. I happen to notice one of the heart on my bedroom door and then another. One of the Cupids had wrote “U always think of others”, “the most amazing kind person”, “U brighten lives around you” and others. Looking at those heart attacks made me realize that I mattered to someone. A young woman still in her teens, who thought a lot of me. Crystal helped me pick up myself from ground and lifted me up in my time of need. Crystal and the Cupid team saved my life.

It is true that you never know what a kind word will do or when it is needed. Marjorie Pay Hinckley once quoted “There is no such thing as a small act of kindness.”

Thank you, Crystal, Whitney, Brittany and Jewel.