Who Pandemic-ed Better?? Please Stop.

This Pandemic gets me to thinking a lot....



To start, I need to go back to a time long before I was born. My Dad had an older sister he never knew. She died just days before her 14th birthday, and 14 months before my dad was born.. Ollie Jean died of a suspected case of Rocky Mountain Spotted fever. It was a time before antibiotics and other medical advancements were available that would likely have saved her life.

The grief and trauma of Ollie Jean's death has reverberated through the Merrill family for decades. My Grandma Beena would weep when telling us anything about her only daughter. I came across Ollie Jean's death certificate not long ago, Seeing her time of death, the funeral home she was taken to and my Grandfather's signature. I wept too. Their grief so tangible even 85 years later.

As if by some cruel twist of fate the summer my dad was 14, he contracted Polio, during the Polio epidemic. My Uncle Bob shared the experience of watching  my dad leave in the family's Studebaker, headed to St. Benedict's hospital in Ogden, Utah.  Uncle Bob was sure he would never see my Dad alive again. It was so traumatic for all of them. Dad spent the entire summer there and almost didn't survive a choking incident while there.  He would struggle with polio's aftermath the rest of his life, I remember countless occasions watching my dad choke because polio had affected his ability to swallow.

It was the summer of 1996. Holly, Bailey and Madison were exactly 31 months, 18 months and 5 months old, respectively. We had just returned from a family vacation in Alberta. Holly and I woke up the next morning with Chicken Pox. We had attend a family reunion in Alberta where someone thought it was no big deal to bring all their kids who had Chicken Pox to the event. Ten days after Holly and I came down with it Bailey and Madison now had it as well.

I called the doctor very concerned about how young Madison was. We were told to watch her closely but not worry too much. A few days later on a Sunday I changed Madison's diaper and noticed an extra angry sore on her thigh. She was miserable and nothing settled her. An hour later I changed her diaper again and the angry redness covered her entire thigh.

I called Grant at work and he immediately rushed Madison to the hospital. I wasn't able to go with them because I was still contagious. Grant called an hour later saying they were admitting Madison and her fever had spiked to 105 F. She was critical. I was terrified we were going to lose her and I couldn't even hold her. My heart broke. Grant held her as she screamed through that night. After a few days on IV antibiotics she turned the corner and was eventually able to come home. She was not left unscathed. Her optic nerve in her left eye was damaged, leaving no functional vision in that eye.


So much grief, trauma and heartache for conditions that are now treatable and even preventable.
Antibiotics saved Madison's life. Alex and Dallyn were given a vaccine that was newly  available for them to avoid repeated misery.


So why tell you my family's story??

We now sit in the middle of a world wide pandemic. Something I never imagined happening. There is no vaccine, only supportive treatment and people are dying.

What I have been surprised by the most is the public pandemic shaming that seems to be escalating....

That if I express worry or concern and choose to wear a mask, gloves or make masks for my friends I'm overreacting and being too cautious by those who feel differently.

All I can say is you do you and I'll do me. You pandemic your way and I will pandemic my way.

My life experiences simply lead me to take the precautions I feel necessary. I know the feeling when statistics that seem to be in everyone's favour, suddenly are not in yours. I know the lasting trauma that can destroy families following the death of a child. I know the fear of waiting, hoping and praying hoping your child survives..

And now I will do what ever makes me feel safe during a pandemic and so will you. Let's just stop shaming each other. There is no reward  at the end of all of this for who Pandemic-ed better.

  

Soup Sandwich Sunday

Dad and Uncle Bob

Easter weekend always brings a soup sandwich full of emotions for me. Its messy and awkward and probably somewhat beautiful.

My Dad died on  Good Friday eight years ago.

What a weird day to die? A loving friend said to me, not long after. She was right. There are almost always two days to mourn his passing each year. The date (April 6th) and the Friday. I find the Friday the one that pulls most at my heart strings. Its hard to articulate. As a christian the symbolism of that means even more to me now that my dad is gone. I understand in a more poignant way the earth shattering grief of Good Friday and the beautiful promise of Easter Sunday.



Elder Joseph B Wirthlin said it better than anyone in his talk Sunday Will Come:

Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.

But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come.

I have had some years to grieve and mourn and understand . Good Friday will always bring tears and Easter Sunday brings tearful and  joyful gratitude. I know because of the death of my Saviour on the first Good Friday I will surely see my Dad again.


 Be patient with yourself. Our Heavenly Father gives us time to mourn and time to be joyful because Sunday will come. Happy Easter!

Never Skipping Church

Kelli and my childhoods were often unpredictable and even chaotic. There were few things we could count on. But there was this one thing. Mom ALWAYS took us to church.

No matter what was going on, mom got us up and dressed in our Sunday best, EVERY Sunday morning and we went to church.

I'm not sure where she found the motivation, when so many other things seemed like insurmountable mountains for her. I know there were times she was afraid of going to hell if she sinned, like at all. Mom spoke so little of her beliefs in the gospel and I can only remember a handful of times she got up and bore her testimony. We never fit the mold really. My mom always brought us on her own. My dad wasn't the church going kind. Once he left I know my mom felt shame. But no matter my mom's awkwardness we simply never missed a Sunday.


Even as a young child I remember loving church and especially primary. It was the only place that I consistently felt safe and loved. Even though home was anything but safe and peaceful, I always knew my Heavenly Father loved me. It started with primary songs.

Its been four Sundays since the Pandemic has made going to church impossible. I'm really starting to miss it. I've also realized the tremendous gift my mom gave Kelli and I by always taking us to church. She built our foundation Sunday by Sunday. She struggled to show and provide safety and love but she knew who could. Although she barely spoke of testimony, her actions taught us to turn to our heavenly father and I always knew he was there, especially when others couldn't be.

Her determination to take us to church was all she had to give us spiritually. It was more than enough. Her ultimate sacrifice, considering ALL she was up against lead to my firm testimony.

I know God lives. I know His son Jesus Christ died for me that I can repent and return to him. I know I am loved and valued beyond measure. I know there is a special work for me to do here on earth. I know families are forever and that our deepest hurts and heartaches can and will be healed. I know no matter the challenges I face here, I do not ever face them alone.

Knowing this makes peace possible for me now. In all the chaos my mom laid a foundation for me to find peace now. My heart feels tender with gratitude for her. I look forward to the day when we meet again and I can hear her love and testimony and thank her for never skipping church.

After this pandemic I hope I never take for granted going to church and the gift the Sabbath is.

Somedays with Superman

Our bishop checking on our family:

"How's Grant handling things with all this Covid stuff?"

 Me: Staying home and not having to interact with people, it's ALL his dreams come true.

We both laughed.


In all seriousness, Grant has been so unwell. His struggle with mental illness have reach depths we never imagined it would. My heart breaks for him as we both come to terms with this ever changing beast.

I could go into all the medical terms for what is going on. What the DSM-V says. How our psychiatrist came to each diagnosis. The brutal choices we have had to make with treatment and medications. The stigma and mistrust of our choices from outside our arena. The isolation. But your understanding of all that doesn't change our reality for a single second. So it's not needed.

Some days my Superman is funny, engaged, and busy. Some days getting out of bed takes hours and he doesn't remember to eat unless I put a plate in front of him and self care is impossible.

Some days he laughs hysterically at some dumb B movie and is showing me funny memes he's saved on his phone. Some days he struggles to respond to a question and carry on any conversation. Flipping through video after video, for endless hours trying to find focus for a troubled racing mind.

Some days he is sweet and kind and tender and some days the frustration and anger rage and nothing I do can reach him.



We no longer talk about healing. Its something we have accepted isn't coming. Not because we have lost faith or hope. We haven't. It's because we have decided to hope for other things. Hope that on the some days that are really terrible we will just be able to cope and not become bitter. Hope that on that one or two or ten really good days we will just be grateful and enjoy it while its here.

I don't know why trials come. And I don't believe platitudes ever help. "God only gives the hardest trials to his toughest soldiers" Um? BARF?? I will seriously punch (from a distance) the next person who says this or anything like unto it.

Some days I am full of courage and faith and some days I'm pretty angry at Good.

Some days I am quick to count my blessings and some days I grieve deeply the things we have lost to an illness we didn't ask for.

Some days I can let the ignorance of others roll off my back and laugh at the stupidity  and some days it hurts my heart deeply and I shed many tears.

 Some days hoping for different blessing is my only way to find comfort

We are all at a time we never imagined in our lives. (Unless you're Prepper or watch some crazy stuff on Netflix :) )

Lets give others something else to hope for because some days we really need each other.

Fighting Forgiveness

I thought God had abandoned me. Suddenly I was invisible to those around me. Anything anyone did say felt like judgement and scorn.  Life felt like it couldn't get worse. My emotions raged like fire.

I was so hurt, so angry. so afraid.

Loving God, yeah right. I was losing everything. My husband and marriage to a cruel illness that no one understands. My testimony was failing in a gospel I knew was true, but in that moment felt like cruel irony. Keep the commandments and life is good, yeah okay.  My own mental health suffered and I questioned how much more I could take.

Weeks, turned into months and I was barely hanging on. No one gets how hurt I am or the trauma and fear I was fighting, no one gets how hard this is. Advice felt like judgement. All my avenues of relief felt closed. I prayed every night but wondered if I would every be heard or feel his love again. Life was chaos. Peace was gone. I was suffering in a way I had never experienced before.

I was going through the motions, barely. The only prayer I could still pray was: Please send me peace, clarity and healing...but that was out of duty, not desire.

At my lowest point, I went to a funeral. Friends had lost a dear family member,suddenly.

{ I promised God after my mom's funeral, where almost no one attended. I would always mourn with those who mourn and go to funerals. Something I still find sacred.}

I sat and listened as wonderful things were shared about this dearly loved family member. Over and over they talked about her Christlike nature, it was evident in every aspect of her life....

I need to be way more Christlike, I thought. Wait, I thought I was....But Christ FORGAVE. He forgave those who had hurt him most.

Oh....

As I sat there an degree of understanding came about being truly Christlike. I had spent months trying to get others to understand what I was going through. But that wasn't possible because the only one who could understand, already did.

Robin you need to forgive and ask for forgiveness.

Instantly a name came into my mind, I knew what I needed to do. I was afraid I'd chicken out so I was determined to reach out as soon as I got home.

I sent an email. Apologizing. Soon after I received a kind and understanding response. A burden I had carried for months lifted instantly.

The next day in sacrament meeting a speaker shared their conversion story and I felt new compassion and understanding for this person and my burden became even lighter.

That afternoon I was set apart in a new calling. In that blessing a I was promised "Peace, clarity and healing" as I served. It was something I had told no one. God had heard me. I needed to be willing to listen.

I'm still building back my spiritual strength as I keep working on forgiveness. But I have had a strong feeling that I'm going to be ok. That Grant and I are going to be ok.

Our struggles with illness will not be taken away. But I don't need to keep fighting forgiveness.

God Heals.... Eventually

God heals all wounds. I believe this, truly I do.  But during the healing process even with that belief, that statement can burn and bite and dig. Especially when someone says it who has no idea of the length and depth of your suffering....

This may seem a bit jumbled and awkward but that's my life lately. So stay with me...

Kelli and I finally talked 10 days after Christmas, each apologizing excessively for being a terrible sister and not calling sooner...neither of us the least bit offended. Holidays are hard, and we just get it.

Kelli said: I just try my best not to think about our parents at Christmas. It's just easier that way.

I instantly understood. Certain things are not forgotten,

My mind flooded with memories.

I was in my Christmas pajamas, but it was after Christmas. I came down the hallway with its yellow shag carpet on the way to my bedroom, the last door on the left. Mom came out of the bathroom across the hall, wearing her purple mu mu with giant white flowers on it ... my eight year old self went to give her a hug before bed. My feet caught on the shag carpet and I fell into her as I tried to wrap my arms around her. In an instant I was flying backwards down the hallway. Landing hard a several feet away. I had no idea what happened.

Don't you ever put your face in my {chest} again!!! Are you a pervert?! {At eight, I had know idea what she meant}
Mom was very ill, well mom's don't shove their kids down the hallway. But the trauma was still trauma

Kelli never flew down a hallway, but her experiences were just as painful and traumatic as mine. Together we survived the impossible.

 Not once has Kelli not honored my truth and I, her truth. Yes we experienced the same events differently and were traumatized differently by them. She has never told me well that didn't happen that way... she listens, we listen.

We have always just given each other space and safety to share our stories. We just understand. I think its just one of our compensating blessings.


The last few years have brought new trauma for me and it has NOTHING to do with Grant or his illness.

Deeply personal events that have that brought anguish and suffering. Events I wondered if I would survive. Events where I walked away physically and emotionally harmed....

I know what crossed boundaries are and abuse is. Dress it up with whatever vocabulary you want,  irregardless its a behavior that is never ok.

I'm in a place where I've asked so many whys these last few years. Whys only God can answer. I've been through so much in life, why do I still  feel so wounded and unheard ??

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I do know that god can and will heal all wounds, EVENTUALLY.  Here or in heaven we are healed. Wounds need to be addressed and dressed to heal. We can't just say well don't be offended. Wounds need the Physician, not our opinions Those in the process of healing are the ones holding the the time card. Healing takes time, there is no express lane. When we say  "god heals all wounds" and things like unto it to others we see struggling. We deeply harm them.


Still healing.
Always healing.

.

My Tithe

I feel the need to share something. Not in an effort to take a side or to judge anyone who feels or has experienced differently,  but simply share my experience...

Tithing.

My first memory of the principle of tithing was as a 9 year old. I'm guessing it was tithing settlement and mom brought us with her into the bishops office. My feet didn't touch the floor as we sat in orange upholstered chairs. We lived in a very affluent area in southern California and my Dad had left just weeks before. I remember the bishop asking in a kind way, if my mom paid tithing and mom saying no, I can't. I have to support my girls. The bishop told her if she paid her tithing and was short that the church would help her...

This enraged my mom: I am not a beggar! And I will not be treated like a poor person!! My mom yelled at our bishop. Stood up, grabbed our hands and  stormed out of that office. That was my first and last experience with tithing as a child. It remained a painful topic for my mom....

When Grant and I married, neither of us had ever had first hand experience paying tithing. It was nothing more than a math equation to us. We struggled to pay it, for years and years. We'd pay for a while, months at a time even, but something always came up and we'd stop. It went on like that for ten years...during that time the church helped us at times and our bishops encouraged us to keep trying to pay our tithing. Trying and trying and trying....

Our ward in Raymond was very kind to us. Those 5 years were traumatic for us. We had Alex (4 under 4),  Grant broke his back in a work accident, We had Dallyn (5 under 6), Grant became addicted to pain killers, Mental health episodes led to hospitalizations and scary diagnosis's. Raymond was where we learned about the church welfare program first hand. Our bishop made sure we did not go without. I remember one night while Grant was in the hospital our bishop showing up on our doorstep and asked for every bill we had... I can't make Grant better, but I can help you here. 

{side story: One time my mom found out  (she saw the groceries in our van) we had gone to the Bishop's store house (think large scale food bank)  in Lethbridge to feed our family after Grant had broken his back in a work accident. My mom lost it at me. Accused me of shaming our family name and embarrassing her because she knew people who worked there....Mom never fully understood tithing or the church welfare program}

In 2003 we moved back to the Island, a fresh start for us in every conceivable way. The only goal we made as a couple when we moved was to pay our tithing. I'm not sure why we both felt so strongly about it at the time but we did pay our tithing. Okay it still took a few years to be full tithing payers but we got there...

A few months after we moved back to the Island my Mom was dying. My sister and I rushed to her bed side in Lethbridge. This wasn't the first rush but unknowingly was our last. Mom wanted to meet with her bishop, which surprised us some. Among a few requests she wanted to pay tithing on her pension check for that month. I still remember her shaky handwriting on that check and her handing it to her bishop....Mom died just a few days after we had gone home. Tithing was a painful thing for her, but I will always admire the courage of that last tithing check.

Over the last 15 years our understanding of tithing and church welfare has grown from a math equation to a principle of faith that we continue to be so blessed by.

As a RS president I had the sacred privilege to administer the welfare program with our bishop. Some of my most sacred experiences ever,  came when I was invited into  homes to talk about needs and then be able to meet those needs. It was never a principle of money but of love, our Savior's love.

I make no judgement on any one who feels differently. The ability to choose and feel for ourselves is such a gift.

 I'm grateful for tithing.