Signs From Heaven

Some moments feel ordinary while they are happening, only later revealing how sacred they truly were. I thought my baptism would simply be an outward expression of my faith. I did not expect it to be another sign from my mother.

My baptism was not an impulsive decision. It was something my heart had been moving toward for nearly two years.

My faith and beliefs are deeply personal, and the path that led me here has been anything but straightforward. It has been tumultuous at times, peculiar at others, but through it all I have finally found peace. Simply put, I have found peace in Jesus.

I have found peace in His resurrection and in the deep certainty that there is life beyond this one.

I do not consider myself religious in the traditional sense. I do not believe a relationship with God is confined to one church, denomination, or prescribed path. I struggle with dogma, self-righteousness, and the idea that any one person holds all the answers.

What I do believe is that every individual can develop a relationship with the divine if they sincerely seek it. And I believe THAT relationship can and will transform a life.

For nearly two years I wrestled with whether I should be baptized in Utah or Phoenix, simply because of all the religious tension that has been in our extended family for over 30 years. I worried about how it might affect my children, daughters-in-law, and grandsons. In the end, Phoenix felt peaceful and uncomplicated, simply an experience I wanted to keep between myself and the inward relationship I had gained with Christ.

The morning of my baptism felt like any other rushed Sunday morning. At the last minute, I asked my husband to grab my mother’s Bible from the nightstand and put it in my backpack.

I have several of my mother’s Bibles. For some reason, I wanted one with me during this trip to Phoenix while helping care for my husband's 94-year-old mother. I chose a small mahogany Bible with gold-embossed leaves on the cover. I had never read this particular Bible, but without question my mother had read it cover to cover, just as she did all of her Bibles.

My mother had a relationship with scripture that I deeply admired. The Bible grounded her. It guided her decisions and seemed to make her softer, humbler, and more peaceful with each passing year.

Because the Bible had become so important to her, the one thing I wanted after she died was the Bible she had been reading. One day, she opened it and wrote my name on the bookmark.

On January 31, 2024, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. She calmly decided against treatment and passed away on April 3, only a little over two months later.

The final months we shared became priceless. We talked for hours and came to know each other more deeply. We tried to be honest about almost everything, though some painful truths remained untouched because certain wounds felt too deep and too late to fully reopen.

The final days of my mother’s life felt surreal, as though the veil between heaven and earth had grown thin. Days before she died, she called out for her sister Barbara, who had passed years earlier. As Mom drifted in and out of consciousness, I read Psalms aloud to her from her Bible. I opened to Psalm 100 and, after reading it, tucked the Bible beneath her arm where it remained until she passed away.

Later, when designing her headstone, a line from Psalm 100 felt perfect:

“His steadfast love endures forever.”

I believe that is the message my mother would want us to remember.

Before she died, I asked her several times to send me a sign from heaven if she could. I never remember her answering me directly, but I knew she heard me.

Because the Bible had become so important to her, the one thing I wanted after she died was the Bible she died with under her arm and I read Psalms 100. Before she died, she opened it and wrote my name on the bookmark that had all the books of the Old and New Testament on it. I used that bookmark for months and then lost it. I have been so sick about losing it and hoping one day I would find it.

The third sign came the day of my baptism.

That morning, Kevin grabbed Mom’s Bible and tossed it into my backpack before we left for church. Somehow we mixed up the baptism time and arrived thirty minutes early. Sitting quietly in the back seat, I pulled out Mom’s Bible to read and settle my mind before the service.

When I opened it, I saw the same type of bookmark she had written my name on years earlier.

And it was resting at Psalm 100.

I wept.

That bookmark resting at Psalm 100 felt like another whisper from my mother reminding me:

His Steadfast Love Endures Forever.

A Talk With My Brother

"If I were able to have a talk with you today Dave, this is what I would say..."

My journal got an earful today during this visit with you as I poured out everything—an emotional dump like I’ve never shared with anyone before. But I figured, you probably already know, so why not just say it all? Have a real, raw, no-holds-barred conversation with you. I knew you’d understand. We were raised in the same home, share the same blood—and most importantly, I’ve asked you to be my Guardian Angel for something that’s not just big... it’s monumental.

It’s something from my past. A part of me that turns itself inside out and slips into darkness from time to time and I want to be done with it.

I’m trying—really trying—to squeeze that darkness out and replace it with light.

I’m not claiming I’ll stop being bipolar. What I’m talking about goes deeper than a diagnosis. It’s a feeling I’ve carried as long as I can remember—one of being dark, dirty, and scared. But little by little, I’m beginning to let it go. As I understand it more, its grip on me weakens. Healing isn’t quick, but it’s happening.

And that’s what I’m asking from you today, Dave—help me walk through it. Help me through the process.

The reminiscing today has been glorious. I wrote down a bunch of memories—maybe someday your kids will read them. Like the time we went water skiing in the canal, using the motorcycle as a boat. Or when Dad beat the hell out of you for streaking. Yep, those were the streaking days—and even though you were harmless, nobody saw it that way! You “streaked” in a jock strap, in our own yard, over the calf pens with one of the Milkers. None of that mattered to Dad. I tattled on you the next day, and I’ve regretted it ever since. You paid dearly for that shenanigan, and I’m sorry I sold you out.

Remember hide-and-seek on the motorcycles, using every nook and cranny the farm had to offer? Or playing Monopoly in the camper on rainy days—even if the camper was in the driveway? I don’t have a childhood without you, my dear brother.

Eventually, all of us kids got married and started having kids of our own. We’d gather at Mom and Dad’s every Sunday for roast and brownies. All of our kids, now the troublemakers, would make there way to the hay barn to make forts and play with matches. (That hay barn did eventually burn to the ground, lit by one of the kids, luckily not yours or mine.)

As families, with Mom & Dad always there, we went to parades, water parks, and fireworks. We had picnics, went sledding, golfing, and you even talked some of us into going fishing.

But enough reminiscing.

Dave, your death was a turning point in our family’s life. There was life before you died, and life after. I don’t know what life would’ve been like had you lived, but I know one thing for sure: I sure would’ve liked to find out. But I won’t complain our family has been blessed beyond measure.

Thanks for your help along the way, I've felt you hangin' around a time or two. You've sure been gone a long time.

The Value of a Moment

It's Memorial Day 2017, three years ago over Memorial weekend was the last weekend our family was together on the farm we grew up on. Nearly everyone was there and we had a wonderful over night camp out filled with games and a camp fire. There was a lot of laughter, joking, smack talk and a few tears as well. My dad died just a few days later.

Today is one of those days i wish i could sit down and have a long talk with him.

A lot has changed since then. 

I have gained a grandson, Collin. 

 and a daughter-in-law, Jennyfer.

Life goes on..it changes.

And we learn to live with the changes, be happy now, let go and trust that God will always take care. 

I believe He will.

Ignorance hurts

I'm angry too!! Those who don't get this are either in denial or thus far in life have not been touched by mental illness. I have. It hurts. Ignorance hurts.

Read this!

If we would have understood maybe my brother Dave would have enjoyed fishing with his son, watched his babies earn trophies, and laid his grandchildren on his belly.

Dave always patient for the biggest fish. Richard his son follows in his footsteps.

Jr. Prom and touting his basketball trophies.

Amanda lying on her Dad. Amanda now has 2 boys.

Remembering Roxee

Why do we bond with some things, some creatures, some people? How does this happen? Is it in the serving, the trusting, the unconditional love? Is there bonds so great that there is firm assurance that one would never hurt the other?

Tandin & Roxee's bond

When T.J. and I picked up Roxee she had been neglected and abused. She was 18 months old and very sick. She had little to no trust. She stayed hidden in the closet most of the time. Then came Dozer, bounding in at 10 weeks old, the two of them were the same size... for about a week. I suppose dogs have a language of their own and even though Dozer grew the first year outweighing her by 7 times, they rolled and wrestled often. Roxee's entire head would be lightly clenched in Dozer's mouth after the incessant nipping he took on the face from her. Ahhh, Bonding at its best. 

"Roxee, where you goin' now?"

Rarely did i ever see Roxee anywhere without Dozer close behind watching over her. I believe he always knew the trouble she could get in with her persnickety personality, and she certainly wasn't big enough to get herself out of trouble. He loved being her #1 man on patrol.

 We diapered her.

And we pet her when she begged.

We laughed at how she waited for summers to come.

And I bonded with her.

One year ago on May 21, T.J.'s home caught on fire and we lost two of our family members, Roxee and Dozer. They bonded with us... and they helped us bond together as a family. 

Our TwoYeawhoo's will be forever missed and never forgotten...

...I was wishing i had the little sausage dog breathing in my face tonight...

Cancer & Friendships

I have been spending some time this last week at the hospital with a dear friend whose husband has cancer. She was my dance teacher when I was a teenager and our families have been intertwining ever since. Her husband and my father have been trekking to Idaho for holistic treatments and it has improved the quality of both of their lives, and the bonus, a beautiful friendship between Dad and Jerry was formed.

We have had tender, straightforward and poignant talks of death amongst several of us, both at my visits to the hospital and my conversations with my own family as I brought back reports of Jerry and the families circumstances. Each day brought about new emotions of either progress or setbacks, as only this type of life altering situation does.

I copied this quote Dixie had tucked in her purse in my favorite little book "Stillness Speaks"...

"I am not afraid of tomorrow for I have seen yesterday and I love today."

 ---William Allen White

This past six months and past week has taught me immense, HUGE life lessons...I do not fear death...in any respect...I mourn the idea, the very fact that I know, but can fully embrace the fact that my father, my brother who already passed away tragically nearly 18 years ago, and all whom i love WiLL die. I have shamefully begged to die many times in my life; whether that be because of my mood disorder or my situations, it does not matter. I am over that now because what I know NOW is that I TRUST; I fear no more. This life is meant to live until we die. There is a time for everything, a time to suffer, a time to mourn, a time to learn, a time to teach and this life is meant to be happy, but happiness is a choice.

The question remains in the bravery of choosing happiness over being a victim.

This Road Less Traveled

We cannot or should not ever quantify or compare grief. This journey our family is on at this time is a road less traveled. Losing a loved one is painful. Watching a loved one suffer is agonizing. My beautiful father whom i have adored and learned many great life lessons from is surgically having a line inserted into his chest today to begin chemo treatments for his esophageal cancer next week. He was diagnosed last November and has been treating it holistically and doing so well. Unfortunately as of late he has been unable to get much food down including liquids which the scope he had earlier this week revealed the tumor has progressed.

Given two options, a feeding tube to the stomach for nutrition or chemo to possibly shrink the tumor, was the choices given. Dad's a pragmatic man said, "Well, let's go for the chemo." I'm sure he is hoping to be able to sink his teeth into a big cheeseburger soon. He has followed a strict diet, not a speck of white flour or sugar since his cancer diagnosis, and he has enjoyed blended vegetable shakes by the dozens. Rondy my mom#2 has taken the best of care and in many respects he is in better health today than he was four months ago. Yet cancer is one of those invasions that destroy good cells. These malignant cells are blocking off the passage way for food and sometimes even liquids for my dad.

None of us invite death. Losing my brother Dave so instantly was tragic and our family has never been the same. Yet death is the one sure thing we all can count on, so coping skills and moving on and up is part of our life's journey. Reading the book "Life Lessons" was a great help to me.




I recommend it whether you have lost a loved one or not.

I have no doubt that each of you will one day be on a road you never expected to be on...you are and can be stronger than you think. Reach out. Believe in the Power of Love and that God does have each of us in His care...Always...

Dudes have Emo Too

Gary, and his 3 children that he raised as a single parent.

A very special man, a brother-in-law to me passed away suddenly last Thursday evening. Gary had a way with words and in fact had published two books. His first was titled, “Used Man.”  He was a great example of… “Like me as I am, and if you don’t, I don’t give a rats ass.” Wow, I love you Gary!

After writing “Thoughts in a box” I started to think about the difficulty culture has put upon men in expressing their emotions. Our society has pigeonholed and labeled our boys from inside the womb. Their toughness has been expected, and the labeling has stifled the idea that men don’t have, can’t have, or display emotion. What? Why? How can that be possible? Men are spiritual/emotional/human beings every bit as much as a woman! The last time I checked on the emo of the men in my life, when they were being REAL, these were the most beautiful, endearing, wonderful, and attractive times I have spent with them. Emo does not always come out so easily; again, we have conditioned one another that this is not the way it is “supposed to be.” Well, times change, we don’t have to act tough to be tough.  The most rigid and defensive individuals are usually the most insecure (thanks Dr. D. for helping me to see this)!

So here is the challenge, how do men in our culture feel safe and masculine and still know that emotion is not just acceptable but a beautiful thing to show? I don’t really expect them to write down their epiphanies on pretty paper and put them in a decorative box!

Like any cultural change it takes time, knowledge and understanding and I think we are moving in that direction in some ways and in others we may be moving far from it. Which way is your family moving in?

Dad on his last homeopathic treatment for the day.

As I have watched the change and growth in my boys over the years from the teens and now into their 20’s and T.J. is now 30, I see great strides of improvement. I attribute much of this due to the challenges that we have gone through and triumphed over together. I am seeing an outpouring of uninhibited love and expressed emotion with Kelly and his brother’s as they say farewell to their first sibling to pass away. And I have seen a delightful positive outpouring of expression to and from my father in our family as cancer has invaded his body. Panic began to overtake all of our thoughts when we first received the news of my dad's cancer. We felt an  an urgency of celebrating life and love… yet lest we forget, we do not and cannot ever know when our very special Dudes can be called home…

Death-A Life Changing Landscape

Today my brother would have turned 50.






He has been gone now for 16 years. He died in a tragic car accident of which we still seem to have many questions that linger in our minds. We miss him, yet laughter has replaced many of the tears, for HE was bigger than life.
His personality and our memories with him are talked about with fun and regularity as we continually try to fill the hole that is always present.

The landscape of our lives changed forever, it looked and felt barren for a long time. It is now filling in with grass, trees, wildflowers (the grandchildren), and ever still some weeds, for this is life.

Dave was special. He was loud yet tender. He was competitive, yet appreciated it when he knew someone got the best of him. He could care less what you thought about him, but he cared very much about everyONE. He worked hard, so he could play harder. He loved his family, and he idolized his children. He was 6’4” and averaged 230 pounds and loved wearing matching Mickey Mouse t-shirts with his wife and kids! (so funny)

None of us got the chance to say goodbye. Dave was ripped out of our lives one day. Our family was already in crisis. This compounded it. Dave was my only brother. I have one older sister. Speaking for my sister and me, losing Dave was like losing a piece of ourselves, a reflection of ourselves. Relationships with siblings’ help one another know who they are and how they fit into the fabric of life. To lose my brother was losing someone with whom I could share the experiences of growing old with. I am missing that.

For those going through the death of a close loved one for the first time it is a real wild fire. How long it burns no one knows. Grief is such an individual process. To quantify or compare grief is not only insensitive it is ridiculous.

What I have learned is that we don’t ‘get over’ the deepest pains of life, nor should we. We go through them and they refine, deepen and humble us as spiritual beings. We recognize our own immortality and hopefully become more loving and charitable towards ourselves and others. We learn to have hope and enjoy the small, simple moments…the ones that happen in between the big vast landscape of life.

Dedicated to my brother Dave for all the simple moments that he taught me how to laugh and live life to the fullest…I have been a slow learner.

Dreaming Daffodils

For some reason I have been privileged to dream of my deceased loved ones quite often. This becomes a great comfort to me for I can then remember details of their faces and also their voices. Most of the time I am having fun with them. Sometimes I feel as though I receive a message. Sometimes simple. Sometimes profound.

Last week I spoke to my Sister-in-Law (married to my brother who died 14 yrs ago). I told her I had dreamed of Dave (my brother) twice earlier that week. She told me that when you dream, you are with them in their realm. I like that thought; I'm going to keep it.

Last night I got to exchange a hug in a dream with one very special young 15 year old girl who was taken before her time. I put flowers on her grave that day, I believe some of them were daffodils. I just found out daffodils symbolize friendship. She is my very special friend.

I look forward to when I can hold my brother and her again and talk face to face. For now there are so many here that I love and cherish. Life is as it should be.

1 Yellow Sun & My 3 Sons

I need the sun. It nourishes me. Fact is it nourishes, well, everything and everybody. I have been laying in the sun a lot lately. Just yesterday I spent the day at a pool with good friends in Logan. They recently have had a close death in their family. I have experienced this as well, however mine was 14 years ago. Some people would say, 14 years, get over it! They obviously have not had a child or sibling die.

A child is an extension of you, a sibling is a reflection of you. Life goes on, absolutely, and you go through your grief, not around it. And you go through your 'whole' life with the 'hole' that they once filled. You miss them and you find happiness still.

My sons have become the brightness (the yellow) in my life. They are all basically gone from our home, my youngest has not officially moved out, but he is constantly on the move. He will be off to college in just a few weeks.

And so it goes, we enjoy the sun, or sons, or loved ones. When they are here or when they are not, but if we are quiet enough especially when the sun is beating down on us we can feel their love, warmth and their presence. Where ever they may be.

If you are wondering... the beautiful young girl is who I was referring to. We all lost this beauty last spring in a skiing accident. She skied every weekend with her family, which was the passion of her life. Our family enjoyed this activity with theirs on many occasions.