Reflections on California

I've started and stopped a bunch of blogs this past weekend. I found myself struggling between bouts of joy, happiness, laughter, memories, to times of despair, frustration, and downright ugly. I think going "home" brings back such a mixture of emotions. I tried desperately to live in the happy, but it was tough, particularly given my main focus of this trip...our headstone.

I will mention that part only briefly. I am very pleased with how it is turning out. It is amazing how, even though I had planned and analyzed and planned some more for it, when it gets right down to "really" doing it, it isn't near as simple a process as one might think. I just have to decide on another font at this point. There is definite reason why a headstone is to be a spouse's decision--there is much to consider. I sure have learned a lot about headstones. Crazy.

I found myself near explosive mode at the end of my trip, on my flight from SLC home to Omaha. I had an empty seat next to me which was nice since that doesn't happen all that frequently on flights anymore. However, I sat across from two guys who were loud and consuming a great deal of alcohol. I had to sit next to someone who was drunk on the flight from SLC to FAT too, so this was the final straw. When the one guy got his first beer, I turned on Adam's (my) mp3 player and listened to a song that...well, took me to another place in time. Sometimes I just have to live in a fantasy world for a bit. Sometimes these songs help, other times they hurt as though someone were actually stabbing me with daggers. For 4 minutes I could block out obnoxious drinking men. But by drink #3, I seriously thought I was going to beat him. Do you ever have moments where you picture things like a movie sequence, like they could actually happen the way you picture them in your head? I was a little scared with my thoughts. Somehow I held it together. I really don't have any patience for alcohol. No tolerance. No thoughts of "Oh, they just don't know any better." I can find no justification for any of it. None of this "Oh, I just need a drink to take the edge of life off" mentality. I think it is all idiotic, stupid, irresponsible, but mostly just ridiculous. There is no such thing as responsible drinking in my book. It irks me to the core that people think they can drink even one drink and perform normally in society. It's bunk.

So those were my main really bad parts of the weekend.

I visited my ward that I grew up in, saw all the same old (literally and figuratively) faces and felt as ease with them. I sat and had Sunday School in the room I was baptized in. I sat and had sacrament meeting in the room where I gave my first talks as a 12 year old, where I sang many musical numbers, played the piano, learned how to play the organ, where I literally grew up. I sat and saw 'our' temple, where I wore the first wedding dress in that building, on the land before that structure was built that I used to play, where I had dates, where I had primary activities. I drove the streets where I used to drive daily, I saw all my old homes (except one) where I grew up, I saw Fresno State and the flood of memories that place brought to my mind. I saw our first apartment, where I came as a newlywed, where we brought Justin home from the hospital, where Adam and I began our lives as real adults together. All of this was a mix of good and bad.

I saw those who I needed to see. I gained strength from friends who knew on some level what I've gone through, as they have suffered too with similar trials. I saw family in whom I trust and need their watchful eyes in my background to buoy me up when I feel like my strength is gone over the next many years.

I attended my cousin's marriage in the Los Angeles LDS temple. That was wonderful, yet very difficult to sit through. It was a moment in which I wished I had Adam physically sitting beside me as he should've been. I realized that he was not at my side for any of my girl cousin's weddings, which he should've been. That was a tough realization.

I drove by Magic Mountain, the place where we first held hands, a place where I started to fall in love with him. It was a trip that I still remember. So much of that day I remember. It was almost exactly 12 years ago. I had forgotten the route to drive south to LA--forgotten that Six Flags was right next to the interstate. Ugh. It literally hurt my heart.

And I visited Adam's grave, many times. I worried about visiting his grave, worried that I would feel Adam closer there than I feel him elsewhere. I worried that I would regret burying him in Clovis. And I felt a definte confirmation that I placed him in the right cemetery and specifically, in the right spot. I sat at that spot and contemplated the day that I will be reunited with my sweetheart in that spot, that I too will be buried there and will be with him. I knew it was right, I felt a peace. Yet. I also felt confirmation that Adam will continue to be with me when and where I need him to be. I feel him in my home. At church. When I need him. The link I have with him will not be broken and I felt this and realized, once again, the significance of marriage, and specifically, of the sealing power found only in temples of God. Someday our boys will marry, and the most important decision they make will be that they are sealed in the house of the Lord to their spouses. At that time, they will be linked to their wives and their focus and purpose of life will shift. My job, in essence, will be done, my job to step aside and watch them grow with their wives will be the most important focus. I'm grateful for the confirmation of this knowledge that I receive.

In summary, I am glad I went to California. It was a much needed break from diapers, kids, and most of all, from the worries of my life. I'm grateful for the supportive family and friends who made this possible. It is interesting how little trips are just what I need to clear my head, give me a chance to focus on my grief, and on my future. Ahh. Yes. That is a huge sigh. Of relief. And of hope for the future.