Five More Minutes

With so much left to say I prayed, "Lord I ain't finished

Just give us five more minutes"

Time rolls by, the clock don't stop

I wish I had a few more drops

Of the good stuff, the good times

Oh, but they just keep on flying

Right on by like it ain't nothing

Wish I had me a pause button

Moments like those Lord knows I'd hit it

Yeah, sometimes this ol' life will leave you wishing

That you had five more minutes

Oh five more minutes

Imagine you've just been ripped apart by loss, you're sitting at a concert listening to one of your favorite singers, and these words are rippling through the auditorium. How do you not cry? Honestly, when we went to see Scotty McCreery, I wasn't expecting to be so mesmerized by his emotion. As soon as he began singing the chorus, all the rawness just came back. Of course, everything is still raw. It's been less than two months so how could it be anything but raw?
When Christian died, I wasn't finished. I wasn't finished with my time with him. We had plans to see each other at Christmas. I had just switched around my grad plan so I could attend his high school graduation. I just wasn't done.
There are no truer words than what Scotty sang that night.
I wish there was a pause button. If there was, and I had known, I would have hit it when Christian and Mom came to visit just three weeks before we lost him. I would have begged them to stay for a few more minutes, but I was under the impression I would see them in just three short months. Such wasn't the case.
I know that it's better for us to look ahead than to look back and wallow in our regrets, but in the past is where my fondest memories are of Christian. I want to stay there. Being so young, I feel that if I allow myself to move along as time does, then Christian will get further and further away. I look at the calendar and realize it's already been over a month and a half since his death and I don't want the clock to keep ticking because that means Christian will be in the past.
I can't fathom him simply being a memory of my early adulthood.
It isn't fair.
Big sisters aren't supposed to spend decades upon decades wishing they could have had the opportunity to watch their little brother grow up, go to college, get married, and have kids. That shouldn't be a wishful thought. That should be a reality; but unfortunately, it isn't for me.
The truth is, I will never get those things.
I will never see Christian graduate.
I will never see Christian get married.
I will never see Christian become a dad.
I will never see Christian become infinitely more than who he came into this world being.

At least not here.

It is so hard for me to look ahead.
Of course I'm going to be spending a lot of my time looking into the past, because that's where Christian is...but he's also ahead.
No matter the speed of the ticking clock, Christian will never get further away.
Although this is my fear of moving forward in months and years, he will not be left behind.
The more I age, and the closer I get to the veil, the closer I get to Christian.
So no matter where I am in life, I am always close to him.
Always.

Yes, this life truly leaves me wishing that I had five more minutes with Christian, but in all honesty, having five extra minutes is nothing in comparison to all the time I will get with him when we are reunited in the next life.
As much as I don't want to move forward in time, I don't want to hit the pause button. Not now.
As the clock ticks, life flees, but eternity beckons.
I want eternity with my family.
I so look forward to seeing Christian as the boy he was before depression overcame him.
I cannot wait to hug my brother and see how much growth he was able to attain just by being in the spirit world and having been welcomed by a very loving, Heavenly Father--to see that He is real, and that He loves him.

I'm in no way saying that I'm okay, or that I'm happy because of my knowledge that families are eternal, but the gospel gives me hope in the midst of my despair, and a little bit of light which will eventually outshine the darkness.
Grief still hangs on my back, gripping me tighter and tighter with every moment that passes.
I'm starting to understand Lehi's vision of the tree of life.
I'm barely holding to the rod, but the point is: I'm holding on.
There have been so many times that I have just wanted to scream "I give up!" and let go, but I haven't.
Although difficult through my grief, I can envision Christian up ahead calling my name, telling me to keep holding on. Every so often, I catch little glimpses of brightness eternity gives off. It gives me hope.
I can do this.
I don't want to do it, but I can do it.

I love my brother, but more importantly, I know God loves my brother.
I know that he is near me.
I know that he is rooting for me from the other side of the veil.
I know that he is just as eager as I am to be reunited at the end of this mortal life.
As time goes on, he and I will get closer to that happy day, and I can truly say, "All is well."
But until then, I just have to hold on and let the clock keep ticking.

Read more

His Hand

It's been a rather trying month since Christian left. I have experienced emotions that range from all areas of the spectrum from anger to joy, from doubt to hope. There have most certainly been ups and downs--unfortunately, I've spent the majority of my grief burrowed in a hole of sadness; however, peace is slowly helping me to resurface.
I mentioned in my first post after tragedy struck again this summer that I haven't been entirely sure how to feel towards God. I've put the blame on Him. I've neglected to speak to Him at times--actually, "neglected" seems to be inefficient in explaining precisely what I had been purposefully doing, which was "ignoring" Him. I didn't want to speak to God for quite some time. I still have my days.
Yesterday, my childhood friend, Maddy, and I took a day trip to Afton, Wyoming to go to the first temple open house we'd been to since last decade. As we rode in the wagon, wrapped in our blankets as we braced the fierce Wyoming wind, our tour guide told us a stained glass portrait of the Savior knocking at the door would be the very first thing we'd spot as we would walk into the temple. She was right...it was gorgeous and thought-provoking.
I pondered the strength of my testimony over the course of the past five years. For the longest time, I didn't quite believe in God's existence...especially as a loving Heavenly Father because my life seemed to be in shambles because of choices I had made. If He loved me, how could He allow me to be in such a dark place? I couldn't possibly understand. So I chose to throw His existence by the wayside and do my own thing.
When life seemed to be getting harder, I realized it might be better for me to understand the nature of God more fully--if He existed, then what could it hurt? Maybe He could help. I wasn't sure, but I gave it a shot. I picked up my copy of The Book of Mormon and read, then I prayed. I felt His arms wrapped around me, and that's when my faith began to surface.
Over the years since that evening, my testimony has flourished. I was so set in my convictions that I knew a year and a half before my nineteenth birthday that I would serve a mission. Because of my determination, nothing got in the way, and on February 5, 2014 I set out to preach the gospel.
Nothing stood in between the Lord and me between the time I first received a witness of His reality to the time I left on my mission. Absolutely nothing. We were perfect.
But then the headaches started. I struggled for about six months with severe, chronic migraines. I knew at seven months that I wasn't going to finish my mission, but my pride got in the way and I held on until I reached thirteen months.
I wasn't angry at God during this time, but I was confused. I thought I was so great. I had a handle on the missionary thing and I felt like I was fulfilling my purpose. Why did I have to go home?
Not a month after my return last year, I received a phone call from my mom letting me know the high school called to inform her Christian wasn't there. I walked into his room to find his bag lying on the floor beside his bed, but he was gone. Frantic, I left the house, shoeless, to go to the first place I thought I could find him. Not there. It was awful. I didn't know what was going on, and I didn't know what had happened to my little brother.
It was about two hours (or so it seemed) after that phone call that my mom found Christian walking down the main street in our neighborhood and learned he had been contemplating suicide all day long, but he didn't go through with it. Immediately after walking in the door, Christian went with Mom into her bedroom and he called the suicide hotline.
We were worried sick about him. I remember pulling his mattress into the living room, turning on Psych, and having a campout to ensure he'd be safe with us there.
The next day, Christian spent most of his time laying on his bed. As the protective big sister that I was, I wanted to check on him. I quietly knocked on his door, and he grumbled at me. That usually meant I could come in.
I sat on his bed, and he looked at me for a brief moment. I told him how much I loved him. Then the tears began to trickle down my face.
"Christian," I whispered.
No answer. His eyes met mine.
"Please don't leave me."
Again, no answer.
Through my silent sobs, I told him how torn, broken, and hurt I would be if he ever went through with it. I told him again how much I loved him and how much I needed him to stay with me.
That week, Christian met with a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with depression.
Even during this time, I wasn't angry with God. In fact, I turned to Him much more than I did before. I felt confident that I had His trust, and Christian had His protection.
So I wondered why I came home from my mission five months earlier than anticipated.
This is why.
I came home, not only to marry Corey, but to have five months of uninterrupted time at home, under the same roof, with my brother.
I also wondered--racked my brain, even--why it took us six months after our wedding to find jobs.
Corey and I weren't able to find jobs so I could go home twice this year, for two weeks at a time, so I could be with my brother.
God's hand is in everything. His hand was in my suffering on my mission so that I could be there for Christian. His hand was in our inability to find jobs so we could have more time. His hand was even in my sister's and her husband's decision to move to Utah so Christian and Mom would have a reason to take a road trip--for us to have a shot at our shenanigans one last time.
The Lord knew. He knew what our family needed so we could have more time, more experiences, with Christian.
It still bothers me that He didn't intervene when Christian made his final plans, but I know that the Lord was still with Him. It wasn't a part of His plan, but He has a plan that will ensure the entrance of my little brother into His kingdom one day.
While I still struggle to understand what God's intentions were, as I looked at the picture of the Savior knocking at the door, I recognized my need to accept Him and let His atonement work in my life as I grieve.
Although I am upset in His allowance for Christian's death to transpire, I find gratitude in knowing His hand truly was in all aspects of my life over the past few years.
Had I not seen that piece of art in the temple yesterday, I don't know if I would have ever recognized just how much time the Lord gave Christian and me before he left.
He truly is always there.
Always.
He will never leave because of His infinite love for all of us.
I know He allows Christian to be near me at times, even though I cannot see him.
His hand is still working in my life, even though I've ignored His constant knock at my door.
I love my Savior, and I love my Heavenly Father.
I think I'm beginning to let Him back in, little by little, as I recognize the mighty miracles He's wrought in my life that has allotted me more time with my brother.
He truly is good and I love Him.

Read more