A Sketch of Abigail

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/address-book-notebook-notes-2246432/

In my previous post, I interviewed my family (well, the members that were home at the time) asking them how they will celebrate Abigail's 3-month birthday. What I said I would do was sketch a picture of Abigail. That is exactly what I did.

Here is the video of me sketching a picture of Abigail:

https://youtu.be/m0FNtAgDzwE

This is the finished picture of Abigail that I sketched:

And this is the side-by-side comparison of the actual photo and my sketch:

Happy birthday, Abigail!

Forgiveness is Divine

The sky is tempestuous tonight (Saturday, May 30) after a fairly nice day with a lot of cloud cover and some beautiful sunshine passing through silver linings. Bill was going for a run so I joined him, even though my body still feels like Olaf when he can't find his legs, disjointed and confused.

Running might not be as easy as it used to be for me, but it is still a great time to ponder. We had some good conversation about current events, likening them to our own lives, and trying to learn from them. And then we got to Abigail's grave and took a few pictures before going our separate ways. Bill had a 7-mile goal and I was planning to walk the rest of the way back (four miles total). I carried some purple mums a friend told me she had left at Abigail's grave and would like to see rehomed in Abigail's garden.

They are happily rehomed there now. But while I was walking about a mile by myself, I was thinking about the things I specifically need to work on in my life. The thing that kept coming up in my mind was forgiveness.

I used to boast that in our marriage relationship, I was the forgiving one. I would forgive quickly and completely. I had lots of practice with four siblings and two parents growing up. But even before Abigail was born, her presence in my life was making me dig deeper with forgiveness. I realized there were hurts I was holding tightly to that I hadn't completely forgiven, even though I thought I had. These were unhealed hurts that had become part of my identity, they had been with me so long. 

I was up all night once, late in my pregnancy with Abigail, taking refuge in the sitting room because the bed wasn't letting me rest. I spent time talking out loud to myself about the messages I needed to reject in order to forgive more fully, to stop letting myself be hurt by those false messages. Nobody was hurting me now, just the shadow of what was. It was time to release the shadow and let in more fully the light. Lots of prayer helped me do that, and I went into the day of Abigail's birth a free woman.

The pain of the past was in the past. I spent that time with Abigail in a state of wholeness, even though my body was in distress.

After she left for heaven, I cried so many tears. That, combined with the histamine already in my system, left me with the puffiest eyes you've ever seen. I cried so much I was surprised there were more tears. I didn't hold it in.

But it wasn't really enough, because a new bitterness had taken root. It was tiny, still dwarfed and overcome by the incredible spirit Abigail had brought with her when she came. Some of her glow was still with me. I could feel that, and it was comforting, stabilizing. I was so sure that she knew why she had come and that she was satisfied with her mission. She was fulfilled. That was what mattered the most.

That seed of bitterness stayed with me and over the three months since her passing, it has grown steadily. See, my ability to forgive before Abigail came was superficial in a lot of ways. I had a method that worked for me. I'd give people the benefit of the doubt when they offended me. Like The Four Agreements say, I tried not to take it personally, realizing that most of the reactions people have are about them, not me. If it hurt really badly and made me feel defensive, I would acknowledge why it stung--where lay the grain of truth in the accusation or name-calling. If it was something I could and should change, I would consider that. If not, I would go back to trying not to take it personally. One thing that helped a lot was thinking about the person (who hurt or offended me) as a little child who had already been hurt by someone else. I could be more patient and understanding with a hurt child. This one worked with even the most severe forms of hurt and humiliation. If I could see where they had been hurt and then acknowledge that I have often lashed out in my own pain, then I could say with King Benjamin, "Are we not all beggars before Christ?"

I could forgive because people are fallible and we ALL need forgiveness.

But...

The person I was struggling to forgive now, with this particular bitterness, wasn't fallible. I couldn't imagine Him as a hurt little child lashing out. He was God. He was unchangeable and unapologetic because He was always right. Right?

So when--less than two months after losing my daughter--I was told I needed a root canal, I still prayed constantly through the procedure. I asked God to send me comfort and angels to keep me company. And He did.

And then a couple weeks ago when I died again--at least it felt exactly the same as flatlining in the OR, both before and after--I prayed and asked God to help me want to be here, and to help me get healthy because I know that's His will for me right now and that all healing comes ultimately from His son's healing wings. I could tell I wasn't healthy, despite my attempts to grow stronger with time. I knew my body and my mind were both still struggling with the trauma of February 25 and 26, 2020.

I have had too many experiences with God acting in my life to deny His existence and care--giving me help, or a miracle, or a feeling exactly like a warm hug at the precise moment I needed it. I had already been near death and miraculously saved, through mini stroke or car accident. I had already struggled through "no" answers and "not yet" answers and times when I was so sure I knew what was best for me and then God gave me what I needed instead of what I wanted.

Our relationship is not new. Like my relationship with my parents, siblings, spouse, and children, my relationship with God has been tested in the fires. If it hadn't been, we wouldn't be having this conversation at all. I wouldn't have had the faith or the strength to do what I have done. And that strength and faith I do have, it's all creditable to Him. He's the one who formed me in my mother's womb. He's the one who is forming me now.

So when I say that I am mad at God, it's not a simple emotion. Some of the people close to me suggested I try yelling at God to get it all out, kind of have it out with my Deity. But I'm not that kind of angry. I'm the kind of angry where all you can do is cry because it just hurts. How could this be the plan?

Just like a fight with my mom or my sister, where I know we'll be okay again because the love is too tried-and-true to doubt, I know at the end of this journey, there will be healing and increased understanding. I think one of the hardest things right now is that I do not and cannot understand. His ways are higher than mine, His thoughts are higher than my thoughts. I stood at the edge of a cliff and leapt into the darkness, and He caught me, but I had to go on with a loss. It was just the way it had to be. And now I know that the only way forward is trust.

I'm suddenly feeling stingy with my trust. My heart is saying to me, "If we trust again, what will happen? Will it hurt this much again? Still? Forever?"

I thought my problem was only this lack of trust, but after pondering a while on forgiveness and recent conflicts in my life, I am realizing that my problem is holding back love when I feel hurt. My problem is forgiving someone who doesn't need forgiveness. And this unwillingness to forgive God for putting us through this is spilling out into other relationships. Suddenly I am not quick and complete in my forgiveness. Suddenly everything is deeply, deeply personal, and I do not feel empowered to take it any other way but personally.

I am so far from where I want to be. But I am positive now that forgiveness is the only way forward.

Today I watched video from the Best.Day.Ever. Abigail was born on February 25, 2020. I missed her first hour because I was in the ICU, but as soon as I was stable, Bill was allowed to bring Abigail into my room. When I met my daughter for the first time, I looked like an awful mess, but you could see the recognition in my eyes that I was holding a miracle! As I watched these videos, I came across image after image that reminded me of that miracle. She was so perfect. Her brothers held her and sang to her in the sweetest way. I even found a video I had forgotten I took of my husband Bill singing so softly as he rocked her, I almost couldn't make out the words to our love song, "Come What May." 

I happened upon another video, taken by and narrated by my midwife Roxanna. She was sort of interviewing the grandmas. She asked them to list the miracles that had happened that morning, and they had no trouble naming several--first the little ones. The boys had gotten dressed that morning without trouble. The songs playing in the car were from the Saturday's Warrior soundtrack and everyone was singing along to those songs all about eternal families and this journey of life. Then there were the big ones, things I had begun to take for granted: that Abigail lived, that she breathed on her own! We had been told she might cry once and die. Nobody had expected a whole day! That she was so much more fully formed than we had been taught to expect by ultrasound glimpses. That she had been able to receive a name and a blessing from three priesthood bearers in her family. That I lived.

All miracles. The big ones and the small ones.

I watched how calm and happy and peaceful the members of our family were on that day. It is surreal to look at now and think of the huge things that happened, yet everyone is happy. Miracles.

Reviewing those miracles brought Abigail back to me today. In those moments, I remembered the gift... the gift I had accepted. And I realized how ungrateful I have become in my bitterness. How can I withhold my love when I have received so abundantly?

God didn't do anything wrong with me or with Abigail. She was everything she was created to be. I had forgotten.

I can't forgive God because He doesn't need forgiveness. I do.

So tonight I took a minute to mend bridges with others who have been denied my love because of my hurt. I have a long way to go to get where I want to be. I'm grateful for the patience of my friends and family. Forgiveness and trust are foundational to any relationship. Without them, we can't feel each other's love. And for a while now, I haven't been able to fully feel my Savior's love for me. It wasn't because God had turned away from me. I was the one holding back all along. I just couldn't remember.

I'm writing this so I will have something to read in case I forget again. I miss Abigail so much. A few nights ago, on the night before her three month birthday, I dreamed my Aunt Karen was throwing Abigail a party for her three month birthday. There were a bunch of beautiful little girls in Easter dresses and the room was decorated for a grand party. I held Abigail's body, which had inexplicably grown over the past three months even though I knew in the dream that she was dead. And I felt sad that I had missed out on that growth. Later, as I crossed the gymnasium where the little girls in beautiful dresses were celebrating Abigail, one of them turned to me with an accusatory tone and said, "It's not all about you."

I know that Abigail came to our family for many reasons, but her coming and going wasn't an insult directed at me from God. She was and is a gift, not just for me. The other day a friend I haven't talked to in ages sent me a message about how Abigail's story had touched her. Abigail's life is way bigger than me. And that makes me very, very happy.

Abigail's 3-Month Birthday

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/babe-smile-newborn-small-child-boy-2972221/

Tommorow, Abigail will have been 3 months old. She would be chubby and nap a lot. She would be able to respond to sounds, and make them as well. She would begin to smile a lot and start learning how to roll around on her blanket. I would hold her every time I got the chance and look into her beautiful face.

Today I asked my family how they are going to celebrate Abigail's 3-month birthday (Daniel and Ben couldn't do it because they are at their grandparents house).

Here is the video:

https://youtu.be/U-N4p5tjXHo

And me? I'm going (try) to sketch a picture of Abigail and put it on one of my mirrors so that I can see it every day when I wake up.

Happy Birthday, Abigail!

Lessons from Katrina and Abigail by Shayna Gorton

My sister Shayna sent us this for the blog:

My big sister has always been a sort of mirror for me. Not that we look alike, because we don’t. Nor that we think or act alike, because well, we’re very different personalities. No she’s a sort of mirror merely because we were sent to pass the same life together at the same time. But not a perfectly reflective mirror. More like a photo negative of me. As we grew together we had similar good times and similar bad times all of which we dealt with in very different ways. She was always very feminine and emotional, while I was more masculine and stoic. She was a great speaker, writer, and poet, while I preferred numbers, science papers, dictionaries, and power tools.

I didn’t understand her as a child but I looked up to her, and she gave me advice when I was struggling that turned me to God. 

As I became an adult our lives paralleled either in a strange dance. She got married and a few months later when I announced my engagement she stole my thunder by announcing her first pregnancy. Don’t worry, my first pregnancy soon followed. She had her first son, 6 months later I had mine. I had my second and 6 months later she had her 2nd. We continued this strange dance sharing the joys and sorrows of life. Our children played together when we were close and we even nursed each other’s babies. 

I've never had a hospital birth and teach unassisted birth. She started her births in the hospital and moved to home birth, even trying unassisted once!

She never put her children in public school. I started mine in public school and fought very hard to make that work until I submitted to homeschooling. Something I’m now very grateful for her influence for. 

I call her my mirror because I could look at her and see a parallel life with a different lense and different effect. 

We both had only boy babies the first 4-5 times.  When I had my first girl I was terrified I would lose her. No, I was certain of it. So when my sister told me she was terrified something would go wrong with her baby girl pregnancy, I laughed at my former self and said, “I thought so too."

We both were carrying babies due 2020. But I was not thankful for this pregnancy, and she was!  And I was carrying a healthy child, and she wasn’t.

My baby lived, to change my mind, hers died to change her heart.

My sister affects me greatly and so does her daughter Abigail.

My daughter is 6 yrs old and a treasure to me so I know what Abigail is to Katrina and what she represents in missed connection.

My newest son? Well when I was in labor, wanting contractions to hurry and bring him closer, I thought of Katrina and how contractions meant the end of a life and not the beginning of it ( or so she thought). When my son was born I was overjoyed and so thankful. And when I suffered pain, fatigue, depression, Abigail was there to remind me how grateful I was to have this baby to make the struggle have meaning. To remind me that when Katrina feels those things she won’t have the sweet touch of soft baby skin gripping your finger tight to soften the heart. When my baby cried in the night and I prayed for relief, Abigail reminded me I didn’t want relief. 

And today May 18 when I was having a stressful day, wondering how to make it through, I read my sister's blog about contemplating death, and then how she almost succumbed to it.  

Going through this journey with Katrina and Abigail has taught me to be grateful and have joy for everything, All the time, everyday, everyday, everyday! The old adage that someone always has it worse than you is powerful when that someone has a name, and a face, and is close to your heart. 
 My son and Katrina's Abigail are closely connected. For me they have a shared impact. I can’t see him without seeing her. Ever. 
While pregnant I was so mad at God for not honoring my desire to get a break from childbearing to recover my body. Over time I came to bond with my pregnancy and understand that I would need to learn to enjoy the journey rather than halt it. 

A powerful moment for me was in sitting in the temple very pregnant, with a very pregnant Katrina beside me. As I mentally chatted with my Eternal Father and apologized for being ungrateful for the pregnancy He drew my attention to my sister. It was as if He said, "Look at your sister! She wants this baby. She is thankful, and hopeful, and won’t get to keep this baby. You have been sad and bitter, and you are receiving a gift! The very gift, she wishes for, but you have been ungrateful." I came to understand deeper what a gift each child is. 

I've had heartbreaking miscarriage before many times; it’s actually why I welcome babies freely into my home now. But this was even deeper. I've learned that in the pre-existence I agreed to be a mother of many babies. I took it upon me as a mission. I said, “I can do hard things, give me something big to do down there! And give me all the babies that need homes! Of course I'll take all the babies, they are a joy." But I forgot that joy for a moment, and that mission. Abigail and my baby reminded me. 

When I was third trimester pregnant and pondering about Abigail, I prayed an unusual prayer. I prayed my baby would have a physical connection to Abigail. I knew they would be close, not only because they were  in heaven together, but also because my children were always close to the Lantz cousins they were born around. I prayed for that confirmation, knowing it was a little late in the game to give a physical altering to my baby that matched Abigail. I didn’t know what it would be or even that it would be anything. But I prayed for it just to say, I'd like it.

When Trevor was born I didn’t think much of that prayer at the time. I was thankful for a healthy baby and breathed in the joy of that gift over and over. As we readied for his footprint I noticed two toes stuck together! “KISSY TOES”! That’s what my family calls them. I knew instantly they were the sign I had needed, that Father graciously gave. As he’s grown you can see that he not only has kissy toes but actually there are 6 toes! 4, and 5 are webbed and 5 and 6 are fused as one.

Abigail was born with very unique limbs. Katrina said each one was different and she cherished the uniqueness. She had on one foot, syndactyly of two toes. Kissy toes!

So when I’m up late rocking my baby in pain of body and mind from the day, as I am right now, I think of Abigail and just how much Katrina would love to rock her till it hurt. When my breasts ache from nursing I’m thankful I can nurse. When my arms hurt so bad from the constant holding of a very demanding baby, I see Abigail in his feet. When my mother heart sorrows for the weight of parenthood I think of Katrina and the weight of being trapped between two mothering worlds.

My heart aches for her. My heart fills for her and because of them! My pain turns to their pain. If only I could turn my joy to their joy. 
Now I don’t live near my big sister, and I’ll be honest, I hate it! I want to stand as sentinel over her home, but maybe those that served her so well wouldn’t have had the chance. I want to visit Abigails grave every day! But maybe I would have ignored the living. I want to rescue and snuggle my nephews! But maybe I would have interrupted intimate family bonding! I wanted to buy Abigail's memorial Angel, but the beautiful gesture of many people providing it was far more powerful!! I want to protect Katrina and save her. But what would I be protecting her from? Her wonderful new community? Her doting husband and true protector? Her living children? Her serving friends? 

I want to save her. But if I ever could possibly have that power what would I save her from? Greater depth? Conversations with her heavenly Mother and Father? Sorrows turned to joy? Lessons I can’t even comprehend? Strength I can’t fathom? Vulnerability that I can’t touch? Connection to her true Savior?
No, it’s better that I’m at a distance, but I hate it! 

In all the sorrow and pain, I am learning greater capacity, greater quality, and greater joy.
I love your family.

Aunt Shayna

Life and Death, Again

I took my third oldest son to the ER Sunday night. It had been a weird day. Where Saturday was a celebration of family and life and all the good things we could do together, Sunday was a day of reckoning. I felt attacked on every side and ended up walking by myself toward the freeway filled with dark thoughts, mostly about why I am still here. It was only later that I came home and learned that Ben had fallen while rollerblading and injured some tender skin that might need stitches.

I took this cute picture with Ben in the ER.

I still was taking pictures to commemorate what we thought would probably end in stitches when a button panel on the wall caught my eye. There at the bottom was a blue button that read, "CODE." I immediately had a flashback to watching the videos of Abigail's birth and hearing the anesthesia doctor say, "We've got a problem here." I remembered a nurse I know telling me after the code blue was called, there was a group of people standing outside the OR praying for me. A lump formed in my throat as I thought of those people praying for me while I was unconscious and, very briefly, dead. Were they the reason for our miracle? Most of the day of February 25, 2020 has been reconstructed for me by people sharing stories, pictures, and videos. In fact, these things were shared so quickly after I revived that sometimes I think I remember being in the room when everyone surrounded Abigail and welcomed her to the family. But I was not there. I was being sewn back together and then carted into the ICU with a whole new team of nurses I had not yet met.

Of course when Abigail was handed to me, still breathing like a champ after a few hours of exhausting life, I was very glad I had pulled through to share her moments on earth with her.

But afterwards, that's the hard part. Afterwards, after the funeral, I just wanted to crawl inside that hole in the ground with her. I didn't care if I had to be buried alive. I had the eerie sense that I had cheated death, that I should have died but didn't.

Bill says I couldn't die because we had an agreement. "You promised."

I did. We were driving somewhere and I think we had just turned onto the freeway. We were talking about near death experiencers and how sometimes they say they were given a choice to return to their bodies or stay in heaven. He wanted me to promise that if I was given a choice, I would choose to stay. So I did. I promised.

I don't remember receiving a choice, but I know I couldn't break a promise and I came back.

The problem is that I feel torn between worlds now. Aside from feeling like maybe I should have died but didn't, I also have children now on both sides of the veil. Every time I had brushes with death before, I had been the one bargaining with God to let me stay to raise my kids. I felt strongly that they needed me. But to have one who doesn't need me in a place where I can't reach her--it's an excruciating kind of pain. There's a different kind of bargaining now. If you want me to stay, please give me a sense of purpose again. Please help me to find joy again. Please help me to have righteous desires. Sometimes I feel like these prayers are being answered. I started doing my own research on NTDs for a writing class I'm taking this semester. I'm being creative, making art, poetry, and DIY projects for the house and the kids. I'm growing an entire indoor seedling garden. There's even a little pepper growing on one of my outdoor plants. Purpose.

But on days like today that start out with high emotional demands and physical pain that lingers even after two and a half months, I want to curl up into a ball and die. That's it. I just want to die.

I'm not being dramatic. The sense of purpose just disappears and I spend the day arguing with myself over whether life has any meaning at all. I watched butterflies fighting the wind by latching onto the ground and hanging on for dear life. Dear life.

We recently listened to an audiobook of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. He's a china rabbit with real rabbit fur ears who goes on an unexpected adventure that lands him briefly with all sorts of different people. 

Once he watches a little girl die, he loses his desire to love ever again. "It's too painful," he explains to another doll who tells him she is over 100 years old. She tells him he might as well just dive off the shelf of the toy store and end it all now if he doesn't intend to love again. He doesn't really want to do that. She offers to push him but he declines politely. Very soon after, the 100-year-old doll gets picked up and taken home by a little girl who falls in love with her. As she's leaving, the doll reminds Edward the rabbit to open his heart again. "Someone will come for you," she assures him.

He repeats her promise over and over again in his mind for years, just sitting on the toy store shelf. "Someone will come. Someone will come."

My purpose isn't to tell the end of the story (you can read the book yourself). I only want to share this bit because it hits so close to home.

I still love my kids and my husband. I still do all I can to serve them and help them prosper. But on certain days or certain hours I lose my ability to be in love with anyone. It hurts too much. I would rather write off love than to feel this depth of pain. The desire to be past the pain, to stop feeling it, is too strong and interrupts my grateful thoughts.

Sometimes I think it wasn't a miracle at all that I lived. Just a mistake. Because how can I live in a world without Abigail? Like the rabbit, I repeat reassuring things to myself. I'll see Abigail again. We'll still have a mother/daughter relationship. It will still be beautiful. But it never feels like enough to cover the loss--all the things I will never get to do with Abigail.

Other people around me are so busy with their political fights. I don't care. Not really. I want my daughter.

Update: I wrote this Sunday night after coming home from the ER with Ben. We were in good spirits and then the lights went out and it was time for bed. That's when I get thoughtful and it's usually when I cry. I wrote this and cried and went to bed. 

I woke up around 3:30am to go to the bathroom. When I got up, I felt really awful physically. I walked back out to the minifridge to take some liquid iron. I'm terrible at taking supplements regularly so I take them when I feel awful. I woke up Bill and he saw that I was in distress. He came over to help me, and my dizziness, weakness, and nausea just got worse and worse. This felt so familiar. It's how I felt before I flatlined in the OR. 

I sat down and asked for water and then promptly passed out, hitting my head on the door. Bill, poor Bill, was having deja vu, too. He tried to wake me up but I wouldn't wake up. He tried to check my heart but was panicked and had trouble figuring out what to do. Then he saw me gasp for air, just like I did in the OR. Four or five gasps, he said. I do not remember this because I was still unconscious. I just know that when I woke up, I felt just as awful as I had before losing consciousness. He helped me to lie down on the bed and get comfortable. 

Then we were both afraid to go back to sleep. Every time I looked at Bill, his eyes were big and he was watching me with a lot of emotion behind them. I am sure it was as awful for him as it was for me. I felt weak enough that I thought I could go to sleep and die. I saw Bill worrying so much and remembered our deal. I said in the hospital they had replenished my potassium and other electrolytes, so maybe I should try to eat something to get my strength back. He googled potassium and brought me a cooked sweet potato and some sliced peaches. Bill got on the phone with our OB on-call doctor at four in the morning. We had a choice of going to the ER for the second time in one night or going to the OB in five hours when they opened. We chose the latter. My good husband fed me, bite after bite, until I said I wanted to try to sleep again. Once, I opened my eyes and saw him still watching me with worry. 

I slept deeply and woke up in the actual morning still feeling pretty weak but better than before. 

We got blood drawn for tests today. I'm home now, and at the point where I can go to the bathroom unattended again, so that's good. 

So far nobody knows what this is. It's still just a fluke. Vasovagal syncope, a fancy word for passing out. There was some perfect storm of circumstances that led to my episode. It's funny, I feel like the 100-year-old doll just offered to push me off the edge and I politely declined.

I feel like, unlike the china rabbit in the story, I'm not near the end of my miraculous journey at all, but still very much in the middle. But maybe I am near the end, and it feels this hard because it's the transition part of labor or the senioritis part of highschool. Either way, the road feels so long and undoable much of the time. I have to open my heart consciously to love, over and over again. And it's so painful. And it's so hard. But here are the only scraps of joy I find. Joy in the middle of so many hard things: Missing my daughter, fighting with my loved ones, and trips to the ER that thankfully don't end in stitches. Mysterious fainting spells where my heart stops or slows beyond detection and I'm left gasping for air without any further light and knowledge about why this is happening. Trying to make a difference and feeling exhausted most of the time. Feeling insignificant or bothersome, wondering why I'm still here. In between are the tire swing projects, Abigail's beautiful and thriving flower garden, sweet little boys that tell me they love me and miss Abigail, campfires and smores, and my devoted husband who tops them all. There are stunning sunsets and sparkling stars and incredibly artistic brush strokes evident in the play of light and darkness in any patch of clouds in the sky.

Why do I try to make the bad and good in life balance out, as if they ought to rule each other out somehow? I guess, like the china rabbit, I have to wait patiently if I want the joyful reunion. That's when the imaginary scale tips and all the good we cannot even imagine unfolds to our delight.

I must keep repeating to myself, "Someone will come. Someone WILL come."

I hope it's Jesus and I hope it's soon. ❤️

Abigail's Messengers in Heaven

Source: https://pixabay.com/photos/angel-angel-figure-sculpture-statue-3740393/

"Please bless that the messengers in heaven will surround Abigail."

This sentence is said almost every time Daniel gets the chance to say a family prayer. Three questions always come to my mind whenever I hear this. 

1. Who are the messengers surrounding Abigail?
2. What are they delivering?
3. Why are messengers surrounding Abigail?

Here is an interview I had with Daniel asking him these questions:

https://youtu.be/EBdsgwBfTes

Sam: Who are the messengers surrounding Abigail?

Daniel: Joseph Smith and Hank Smith and.... Jesus.

Sam: What are those people delivering?

Daniel: They are delivering words!

Sam: They're delivering word? What kind of words?

Daniel: Thou shalt not hurt.

Sam: So they deliver commandments?

Daniel: Uh-huh. Thou shalt not steal.

Sam: Why are the messengers surrounding Abigail?

Daniel: They're full of love.

In the first question, Daniel said three peoples' names: Joseph Smith, Hank Smith, and Jesus. Why would he talk about people who lived in completely different times? I think that Daniel was making a point. Those people are/were great people! Abigail is surrounded by angels, not demons.

I like what Daniel said about angels delivering commandments. I was hoping that Abigail would strengthen our family. We use her as a good example all the time!

The angels and the godhead love Abigail. They love her very much.

And so does her family.

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day! We went to visit Abigail's grave today. We are hoping that the grass over Abigail will grow green soon. My mom cut a tulip out of Abigail's garden to put it in the vase on her grave. I joked that this was because Abigail had only one lip.

I really apreciate how much my mom cares and loves her children, even though we are sometimes hard to handle (or always hard to handle). My mom wanted to visit Abigail and show her love for Mother's day, so that is what we did.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Abigail's Grave (by Sam)

We went to visit Abigail's grave today. I took the picture with my camera and ran inside the frame. It took a couple of tries to get it right because someone always blinked before the picture was taken (Dad and Mom). I said that I was glad we could have Abigail in the picture.

I took the picture below the day before. This time it was only me, my mom, and my dad. My mom asked me if I wanted to take pictures with her phone since I forgot to bring my camera. "Heck yeah!" I thought. You may recognize this photo from my mom's other blog post. It is the one I am most proud of.

I am so happy that Abigail is getting the love that she so fully deserves. Whenever I look on that statue of an angel, I think of Abigail. I like how it looks like the beautiful statue is taking the flowers out of the ceramic vase and feeling like she is loved, which she so greatly is by each and every one of the members of her family.

I love you, Abigail, and I will never forget you.

Abigail's Grave

Our friend at the local mortuary set our collection of memorial items in cement for us this past week. Today (May 1st), he and his boys placed our memorial angel in her proper place at Abigail's grave.

I am so thankful and so relieved. There is a sense of closure. Thank you again to everyone who donated for her memorial costs! We could not have done this without your generosity. I know some of the donors didn't even know us personally and gave anyway. I am so touched by that, and by the many kindnesses from our dearest friends and family who have never let us feel abandoned or alone as we welcomed Abigail to our family in this heartbreaking way.

We know she is with us forever. This angel, with cheeks as big as Abigail's and a chin just as pronounced and familiar, will stand over her body's final resting place offering her gift of flowers, a symbol of beauty, to everyone who visits.

She gave us her heart, and we will always be reminded of our promise to give ours to her in return.