I remember when I was just ten
years old riding home in the back of our old ’41 Chevy pickup, from the
cemetery after we had just buried my dad. It was 1947, two years after the war.
Daddy was barely 43 years old, leaving a wife and eight children, ranging in
age from 1 year to 18 years. He had been
lost for two days with the whole town out looking for him, and finally finding
him at the bottom of a cliff near Zion National Park, where he had been herding
his sheep. Needless to say, it had been a tragic and traumatic week; sad and sorrowful
beyond belief. Yet when we pulled into our gravel driveway, (I don’t remember
who was driving our pickup. No one in our family except Daddy was licensed to
drive. The boys were too young and neither Mama nor our older sisters had a
driver’s license) I felt the most intense peace; almost elation. Seventy-five
years later, I still remember that unexpected feeling of hope and comfort.
When I read about someone praying
and their dad is found alive, I wonder why God didn’t save our dad. Certainly,
if a dad was ever needed, it was ours. Mama only had an 8th grade
education because she was raised on an isolated ranch at Moccasin, Arizona.
They had a one-room schoolhouse for grades 1-6, all of the students were
Grandma and Grandma Heaton’s children and grandchildren. She loved learning but had to come home from
school in St. George when her sister, whom she was living with, died of appendicitis.
“Papa had us all come home,” Mama wrote in her life story. “That ended my
schooling. I was disappointed that I couldn’t finish high school. I cherished
each day of school I attended. I also missed the friends I made at Dixie.” Mama
herself at one time was deathly ill with the Mexican influenza and pneumonia. "Dr. McGregar," Mama wrote, "didn’t think I
would pull through. On one especially bad night, when the doctor checked on me,
he thought I wasn’t going to pull through. When he came the next morning, he
said, 'Well, Amy, you surely must have a mission on this earth or you wouldn’t
have been alive when I came this morning.' President Romney, who came often,
died of influenza before I was ever out of bed."
When our son was born without an
eye and other major birth defects, I thought of how, from nursery on, we had
been taught to thank Heavenly Father for our two little eyes, our nose, our
mouth, our ears, our arms, our legs. In my despair, I reasoned that if we thank
Heavenly Father for two eyes, then if someone doesn’t have two eyes, maybe we
should blame God. We thank Heavenly Father for our
nice warm beds, our homes, running water, the food we eat. If someone doesn't
have these things, is it Heavenly Father’s fault? We thank Heavenly Father for
our healthy minds and bodies, if we are mentally ill or get cancer or diabetes,
is He responsible?
Mama was appointed
temporary Orderville Post Master two years after Daddy died, just as the
insurance money was running out. In that day, it was the only office job in
town. When she had to pass the Civil Service test, she beat out the college
graduate who applied for the job also. She worked hard, raising two gardens,
milking cows, sending her kids off to college, all having temple marriages; the
boys all serving in the military, one going on a mission. And after her
children were almost all reared, she married her widower neighbor and spent the
next twelve years in wedded bliss. He died of a stroke and she died of a
malignant brain tumor but I believe she felt peace and love and blessings from
a kind heavenly father.
Remembering the
peaceful feeling that consumed me after we buried our daddy that May day in
1947, I have concluded that God offers us peace beyond all understanding but He
rarely intervenes in our daily lives otherwise. We are here to be tested but we
are not left comfortless. They say that is the job of the Holy Ghost. I don’t know. This perspective helps me; and
actually makes me happy every single day. Our neighbors made a plaque this
Christmas that said, “There is always something to be thankful for.” As I’ve
battled Metastatic Breast Cancer these past four-going-on-five years, and have had
numerous surgeries, radiation, drugs, and will have infusions until the end
because there is no cure for metastatic breast cancer, I do count my blessings
every single day. One thing that I like to think about in my simplistic mind,
is that since God has so many children to watch over that Mama and Daddy and our
two sisters who have passed on are my Guardian Angels. They help me feel
thankful, hopeful, and joyful. They calm me down and even instruct and inform me
from time to time when I lose sight of the things that matter most. To me,
that’s why families are so important.
“Peace I leave
with you,
My peace I
give unto you;
not as the
world giveth,
give I unto
you.
Let not our
heart be troubled,’
Neither let it
be afraid;
John 24:27
By the way, Eddy Is one of the blessings I count daily. I’m
sorry he didn’t get to have a normal life with a home of his own and a wife and
children like he always said he wanted when he was growing up. Every single
night when we say goodnight, he says, “I love this planet, Mom. I’m enjoying
the earth ride. Spinning is the fun part.”
As the new year approaches, he counts down and on New Year’s Day, he
exclaims: “We’re starting a new yearly orbit. I sure love it.” Every night I counter, “I’m sure enjoying this
magnificent earth ride with you.” If he didn’t bring it up, I’m not sure I’d
notice or feel the wonders of our life on this planet.
