February 2017 was an emotional month, mostly for me.
It started off with our church congregation boundaries being reorganized. This happens when our congregation reaches 600 members or so. Three congregations were reorganized into four. With the new reorganizing all leaders are released and new ones called. I knew this reorganizing was going to be needed as we live in a newly developing area and families were moving in about 3-4 a month. But what I wasn't prepared for was how I would feel when I was no longer the Relief Society president over the women in our ward.
Sunday, February 5th, I attended church having been told it was the day the new boundaries would be announced. I walked into our sacrament meeting the Relief Society President and left not being the President. I wasn't surprised or sad--at first.
But the next day, emptiness enveloped me and occupied my thoughts frequently. I knew about a ward member's health condition. Gerry Dodge was going to be scheduled very soon for surgery. I contacted, Sandi, his wife, to get an update. Friday, the intensive heart bypass and valve replacement surgery was scheduled. I hung up the phone and paced the floor. Who did I call to have help available to Sandi should she need it? Normally, it would be the Relief Society president. But we didn't have a Relief Society president. Should I call the one day old Bishop and lay this in his already burdened lap as he began to call new leaders for the various ward organizations? I didn't want to burden him further. I paced some more. I said a silent prayer and the thought came to just send a text to him and his two counselors with the basic details of the surgery. I shot off the text and felt relief when they responded with deep felt gratitude for the information.
As the week went on, the emptiness remained and I yearned to feel closure. I pleaded silently for help in letting go and moving on.
But the emptiness wouldn't leave. One night I finally broke down in tears to Mike expressing my sadness and yearning to move forward. It helped some, but in the morning I found myself in my closet on my knees asking for help. After the emotion was all spent I got up and walked into the kitchen. I received a phone call from the Bishop's secretary asking if Mike and I could meet with him that night.
That night, I was asked if I would serve as the Relief Society president over our newly formed congregation. Peace replaced the emptiness. The next 24 hours, I pondered who I could ask the Bishop to consider as my counselors. I felt at peace about calling all the same women to serve who had served with me previously.
Through the weekend I checked with Sandi on Gerry's progress. The surgery was longer than they expected. He had a rough few days but then was doing better. Tuesday, Valentine's Day, we had our
traditional red velvet pancakes as a family. I did heart shaped hairdos on the girls and began to do my daily household chores after the kids left for school.
Mid morning, I received a phone call from Sandi's daughter letting me know Gerry's heart had stopped. They were putting him on life support, were waiting for the last daughter to arrive from out of town and the were going to say goodbye.
I fell in a heap on the floor, crying. No, no, he had been doing better! They had just moved here from Texas right before Thanksgiving and did not know too many people in our neighborhood yet. Fortunately, all of Sandi's family lives here in Utah and I knew she wouldn't be entirely alone, but I didn't want Sandi to feel that her neighbors did not care about her. I dropped Emily off at school and jetted to the hospital. My mom agreed to come and meet the kids after school until I got home since Mike was working.
I sat with Sandi and her family in the heart intensive care waiting room while they waited to hear about Gerry's condition. They were given a small glimmer of hope that maybe Gerry was still alive. A few times doctors and nurses came out to give small updates. But mostly we all sat. I got to know Sandi's sweet, wonderful family in the six hours I sat with them. Such dear, dear people! As dinner time approached, I needed to leave. As I drove on the freeway, the tears fell in sorrow for Sandi and what seemed like the inevitable especially on Valentine's day. Mike called me to see how I was doing and I poured my heart out to him. "Hey, where are you right now?"
Me, "I'm at 90th South, why?"
"Why don't you get off at the next exit and meet me at my station?"
Feeling Mike's arms around me after the emotional day sounded wonderful so I got off and in a few minutes I pulled up to Station_______ to see my uniform clad husband grilling steaks on the grill. He wrapped his arms around me as I got out of the van, kissed me and I held on to him and his aftershave smell. He took me by the hand and led me into the bay (where the fire engine is kept). A long table with mismatching tableware and chairs were set up. Mike turned to me, kissed me and said, "Happy Valentine's Day." My heart couldn't hold anymore emotion and I started crying all over again. He pulled me into his lap and I held him. Tears fell for Sandi and her loss. Tears fell in gratitude that I had my husband to hold. Tears fell in realization it hadn't been too far in the past that my husband had had his own heart health issues, but we had been blessed to still have our husband and father in our life, but Sandi and her children did not. When the tears no longer fell, I sat in my own chair and Mike dished me up a simple, yet delicious meal. For a short, sweet fifteen minutes we enjoyed eating and talking about the day. I knew I really needed to get home and relieve my mom, so I lingered for one more hug, one more kiss and my voice muffled in his shirt as I said, "I love you, Miggy. How I love you."
The next week entailed helping organize an after funeral family luncheon. Our church congregation poured in with food to the Dodge's. Sandi was mostly a stranger to them, but they buoyed her and showed love and compassion.
As I have reflected back on these events I am humbled and grateful to have been a part of all of it. Sandi was so strong through all of it. She opened her heart to me and allowed me to serve her, and became a dear friend over night. I am grateful for many many tender mercies that I witnessed: that just a few short months after moving here where she would be surrounded by her sisters and brother, her husband passed from this life; that she didn't have to go through this hearth wrenching experience with a new Relief Society president, although, with Sandi's openness, she would have made a friend out of her just as she did me. I got to witness such Christ-like love from our ward members as they reached out to Sandi, a stranger, and took her in. People are just so good!
Mostly, I am grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ. With that comes the knowledge that Gerry's spirit lives on and is waiting for his companion to join him when it is her time. I am grateful for the knowledge of the Resurrection, that some day we will all get to be resurrected, whole, and be together with our loved ones forever. While this knowledge certainly doesn't remove the sadness we feel in this earthly life, it does remove some of the sting of death. And I am grateful for my calling as the Relief Society president. Because of this opportunity, I have been a witness to people's goodness, to their strength, to their love and their inner greatness. While I have been asked to serve, it is I who is blessed.
