Brandon

Sometimes I find myself using Siri (a helpful app on an iphone) to help me in easy tasks. I use Siri to 'voice' text messages, GPS purposes, and for calling quite often. The other day I found myself asking Siri to call Bryan. Siri responded by saying, "Which number for Brandon would you like me to call?" Hearing Brandon's name brought a surge of emotion to the surface. I cried as I thought how I would never call Brandon again. It is in these moments when missing Brandon is difficult. I remember having moments like these after Eric passed away too.

A few days after this experience, I reflected on "accidentally" calling Brandon, and I wondered if I could still hear his voice if I did call him. With that thought, I purposefully dialed Brandon's number hoping to hear his voice on the other end of the phone call. When a voice did respond, it wasn't Brandon's, but rather a recording of a number being disconnected.

Life keeps moving. Each day is one day further from the day I lost my little brother in this life. Somehow I still want time to freeze, so portions of Brandon's memory can remain. I wanted to hear his voice on the other end of the line. When I didn't hear his voice, reality caused a bit of pain. And although my heart still longs for the impossible, I know in my heart that his memory will live forever.

Service

Kindness Matters!

Sometimes knowing what to say when someone else is grieving is a difficult task. I have felt the discomfort of others as they have tried to communicate their sorrow on my behalf. I remember when Eric died coming to the realization that although people meant well--they didn't always tactfully express their love. I think--to some degree--we (everyone) hope that through something we say, we can build a grieving soul. I have learned that it's not what people say, but it's what people do that make a difference. 

 I have a dear friend who has made it a point to check on me on a daily basis. She has spent several hours listening to my broken heart. She has heard me reminisce through many memories. Somehow she has been in tune with the spirit enough to know when I would need something more than a listening ear. In these moments, she would show up on my doorstep ready to take me to lunch. I remember one particularly hard day, I knelt by my bed and cried for a friend to show me God's love. Within the hour, this friend called me, and talked me through my morning chores. I am not even sure if we discussed my sadness that day, but I felt that she was an answer to that prayer and many more to come. My healing has been greatly increased by her loving kindness. I am humbled by her example. As I have watched her love unceasingly, I have desired to be more like her. When I have noticed others struggling, I have often thought about what my friend would do, and then I have done what she has demonstrated by her example. I hope to someday be as Christ-like as her.

Basking in other's Christ-like attributes has been a theme for my family. For Easter, we were visited by an unknown Easter Bunny. Treats were delivered along with messages of love and hope. The beautiful messages reached my children’s grieving hearts. This act of kindness touched my children and lifted them. We reminisced how in years past we have had the opportunity to be an “Easter Bunny” for a struggling family, or for a unsuspecting friend. We talked about how it felt to be the recipient. We talked about the love we felt. And we rejoiced in the kindness of others. I hope to see more with spiritual eyes, so I can show kindness the way this family showed our family. I hope to emulate the Christ-like love of lifting those who struggle.

President Eyring said that, "You can and must be an important part of His giving comfort to those who need comfort" (Eyring, The Comforter, April 2015 General Conference). This has happened for us, and we have been lifted. Through the love and generosity of others, I have gained a greater perspective of the importance of Christ-like service. I have learned from others examples just how to love like the Savior would have us to do. I have gleaned great spiritual strength and wisdom. Just like the people of Alma had their burdens lightened, we have felt a load lifted from our shoulders through the kindness of others. 

We have been blessed with meals, bags and boxes of sunshine, kind notes, concerned phone calls, a surprise Easter egg hunt, and many more thoughtful and kind expressions. My children are touched as people continue to carry us during this trial, and I think they have begun to understand what it means to "bear one another's burdens", "to mourn with those that mourn", and "to comfort those who stand in need of comfort". They have experienced firsthand what kind deeds can do for grieving hearts.

I am truly grateful for each and every expression of love we have received. Each one has taught me in my journey of becoming. I want to be the kind of person that emulates each and every person who reached out to me. I thank you. I am truly grateful.

Aunt Kathleen, We Love You!

March 23, 2015

IN MEMORY OF BRANDON

I think I have been avoiding this post for quite some time. The pictures have sat vacant without words for weeks. I've thought about what I could possibly say to illustrate my thoughts and feelings as I struggle with the passing of my little brother. 

To begin, I am grateful for my Savior, Jesus Christ. Because He died, I will see my brother again. Truly, there isn't a better gift in all the world. I don't think it is possible to express enough gratitude to my Savior for this gift.

The journey of healing will continue to take time...even now--two months later. We will continue to have tender days, and tender moments; however, through it all our Savior will be by our side. He--only He--can understand our sorrow, and because He understands--He carries us. 

And despite our struggles, there is also great joy! God is real. He loves me. He loves you. All things that are hard can be overcome through our Savior, Jesus Christ. My heart rejoices as I think of my God. My heart looks to Him, and I feel Him carrying me.

The Day of the Funeral:

The day of the funeral arrived, and it was a cold blustery day. The weather seemed to match our feelings as rain pelted the car on our way to the church. Immediately upon arriving I saw my in-law's, and we embraced in a much needed hug--they had traveled from Rupert to support our family on this sacred day. After embracing for a moment, I joined my siblings by Brandon's casket as we greeted a few more guests. A few times I stole glances at my kids as they waited with the rest of the family for the casket to be closed. My heart ached as I watched my middle child sob. Several relatives tried to offer comfort, but really to no avail. Her little body shook with emotion, and I had to look away. I knew that somehow I had to keep myself held together. I was speaking at Brandon's funeral, and I knew that in order to deliver a tribute worthy of my little brother, I needed to be able to hold my composure. I prayed for solace, I prayed for the Lord's peace, and I prayed for my mom.

As the viewing came to an end, we--the family--were all given a chance to offer one last good-bye to Brandon's mortal tabernacle. I ruffled his hair; I cried by his side, and then I stepped away allowing my siblings their moment. My brother-in-law, Kendall, then offered the family prayer; after which the procession began. I was humbled as I entered the chapel. There were so many people to offer respect to my little brother and his life. The people stretched from the chapel to the stage.

Roxanne and Layne spoke of Brandon prior to my speaking. During their talks, I often wondered why I hadn't gone first. My tears gently rolled down my cheeks as I listened and laughed at their memories. The real kicker came when Hailey played the piano for a musical number. As I listened the tears flowed, and I wondered about my ability to speak. As the piano finished, some unknown force helped me to the podium and allowed me the strength to speak of Brandon's heroism in this life. Throughout my talk, I could hear the quiet crying of those in attendance. However, it wasn't until I spoke of the Lord calling Brandon home through my Father's Priesthood blessing that my dad sobbed in anguish, and in that moment--it was difficult to hold my composure. I stopped and cried with my father for a moment. My sister moved to sit by my parents. Hugs were offered. Hands were extended. And I continued to speak.

When I finished my thoughts, I quietly left the stand to sit with my family. We hugged as Brandon's funeral came to a close. All of the thoughts and feelings expressed epitomized the genuine person that Brandon had become. Everyone who attended his serviced felt uplifted and carried. Many people expressed the desire to become better. Several people messaged my parents about the uplifting spirit felt at Brandon's funeral. One comment on Facebook read, "You guys gave Brandon such a beautiful tribute and made everyone want to be better after leaving his funeral. I hope it helped your parents pain to see all four of you and the people you have become." 

For me, the funeral was a chapter I wasn't ready to close. As we pulled up the grave, I wanted to freeze time--not because I wanted to live in the moment, but because I didn't want to say good-bye to Brandon's mortal tabernacle. Despite this internal battle, I also felt great joy and peace. My niece said it perfectly when she said, "Because of Him, death has no sting." The knowledge of the gospel lifted our hearts for the day. We knew that we would see him again.

Throughout the day, my siblings and I posted tributes to our brother's memory. Roxanne wrote on her post, "And then there were four." This phrase hung in all of our minds. Somehow each of us were determined to love our remaining siblings a bit more, to hold on to the family we had left, to be more of what our Savior would want us to be.

I wish with all my heart that the Lord's plan for my family was different. However, I can choose to move forward with faith, or I can choose to wallow in my self-pity. I can choose to learn from my sorrow, or I can choose to hide my face from my pain. I have the choice to grow from each and every trial. I get that choice. It was given to me as a gift when I came to this earth. I choose to live. I choose to learn. I choose to grow.

I have been told on numerous occasions that I shouldn't be sad at my brother's passing. After all, if we believe, then why should we cry? Dealing with grief doesn't demonstrate a lack of faith. I look to my parents, and I gain most of my strength from them. The passing of a second son has again found them grieving, but their faith still remains intact. They believe with all their hearts. They testify of Christ's Atonement. They choose to live each day with faith, and although this faith eases the burden of losing another son--they still feel the pain of missing him here on earth. Russell M. Nelson said, "The only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life" (Russell M. Nelson, Doors of Death, April 1992). I love this statement. When we love someone with all of our hearts, it is only natural to also grieve when they pass onto their next journey. Russell M. Nelson also said, "We can't fully appreciate joyful reunions later without tearful separations now" (Russell M. Nelson, Doors of Death, April 1992).

After the Funeral:

After the family dinner, Bryan, Sheri, Michelle, Dave and I went to clean out Brandon's apartment. Slowly we sorted his clothes, and belongings into bins, so that they may be transported to my mom's house. Many things brought back memories, and we had moments of laughter along with moments of tears. Bryan picked up an old can filled with gun powder. When Brandon was 12, he lit that can on fire and suffered severe burns on his face and hands. I still remember him running to the shower and standing in cold water as he tried to cool the burn. We laughed at his ingeniousness. I picked up his scriptures and marveled as I flipped through the pages. Page after page had markings and thoughts in Brandon's writing. I felt as if he were standing by my side. Bin after bin was filled with memories, and carried out the door of his apartment. My mind found itself in auto-pilot as I sorted and carried.

When we arrived at my parent's home, we sorted and divided. Brandon's things were distributed among the family as mementos and keepsakes. My husband happened to be the same size as Brandon, so he was given a great deal of Brandon's clothing. Every time I see my husband in Brandon's new suit, I think of Brandon. I wondered if this reminder would be difficult for me; however, I am finding it a blessing rather than a hindrance. More than anything I would rather see my little brother in his clothes, but seeing Bryan in Brandon's clothes serves as a reminder to me to cherish the people in my life.

Each and every day is a blessing. Our time here on earth is not meant to last forever. We must cherish each moment with the people we love, and live each day to the fullest, because we never know which day will be our last.

Uncle Brandon had this tractor for Jake, and Grandma gave it to Jake on the day of the funeral.

Hailey played "Catelyn's Smile" at the funeral. Ever since--this song brings me solace, and I beg her to play it for me.

Jacob was a Paul Bearer

Testimony and Struggles

Amber bore her testimony in Fast and Testimony Meeting on Sunday. It went something like this:

My Uncle Brandon just died. I've been struggling with fears of death--fears that I'm going to die. I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers. I know that He can help me with my fears of death. I know that families are forever, and that I will see my Uncle Brandon again.

As she spoke, her little frame shook as she held in her emotion. She had to pause a few times to control her tears. It was a simple, yet powerful testimony. The tears ran down my cheeks as she spoke.

Last week Amber asked me if I was worried for her. As she paused and waited for my reply, I contemplated the best answer. I told her that I wasn't. I told her that I knew that she was struggling, but that that was going to be okay. I told her that I had no doubt that through the Savior she would get through this trial--that she would make it.

We all will get through. God loves us. He is there. He will succor us.

I was reading a conference talk called "Choose to Believe" by L. Whitney Clayton, and I was struck by something he said. He said:

"Belief and testimony and faith are not passive principles. They do not just happen to us. Belief is something we choose—we hope for it, we work for it, and we sacrifice for it. We will not accidentally come to believe in the Savior and His gospel any more than we will accidentally pray or pay tithing. We actively choose to believe, just like we choose to keep other commandments" (L. Whitney Clayton, "Choose to Believe, April 2015 General Conference). 

Overcoming this trial is going to continue to take a lot of hard work. We are going to have to continue to choose to seek the Savior, and find peace through Him. It's not going to go away just because we want to be okay again. This whole process is building my testimony and the testimonies of my kids. It's going to take hard work. It's up to us to continue on the path.