Coping

 My dad was convinced he was not long for the world when Ryan met my dad back in 2001. Life was not easy for him and he struggled with it. From snippets dropped here and there, he and his older brother were the result of an affair. His parents did eventually marry, and then divorced. His mom remarried a couple times after that. His father was an alcoholic. They were poor and lived in some very rough conditions. My dad grew up using his step-dad's last name and eventually went back to his biological father's name, while his brother kept the step-dad's last name. And thus is the beginning and ending of my knowledge of his family life.

During the last 10 years or so, my dad had 3 or 4 heart attacks. He didn't say anything about them at the time they happened, and when he did decide to share- it was to Ryan with the directive to not tell me. He had COVID pretty bad at one point, to the point where he was struggling to breathe. He kept saying by this point that he didn't want to live and didn't want any life-saving measures taken to preserve his life. But I think when faced with his mortality he would always make the choice to have medical interventions. I would too, but it was just another one of those odd quirks of his to say one thing and do another. In early 2023 he had something growing on his bladder, making him unable to relieve himself. He would never definitively say if it was cancerous or not. Sometimes yes and sometimes it was something else. He had to have a catheter put in, and he had to wear it all the time. It was both comical and disgusting to see his pee bag hanging from his belt. Then he said he was going to need it for the rest of his life, and then he no longer needed it.

As his financial life imploded in November 2023, his health took the brunt of his stress. He realized he was losing his sight and so drove himself to an urgent care center (where his car stayed for weeks). They weren't sure what was causing it. He lost all vision in one eye, and his hearing was going. He was transferred to Deaconess Hospital in Spokane, and then later to a rehabilitation center. I, of course, knew nothing about any of it until late November when he was in the St. Luke's rehab. The medical staff ruled out a stroke, but a diagnosis was not found yet. When Ryan and I went to visit him, my dad confessed to "seeing dead people." I laughed it off at first because I couldn't always tell when he was trying to be funny. But no. In his blind eye, he was seeing people and objects that weren't really there. He was pretty confused about what was real and what wasn't. But kept looking at us with the "side eye" due to only using the one eye to see. He looked continually skeptical.  I don't know if he really thought he was seeing dead people or not. The doctor said his brain was likely trying to make up for the sudden lack of stimulation on the one side by filling it in with... stuff. Animals. People. Who knows. My dad also was really weak, and his legs weren't working well and were painful. The rehab staff were committed to getting him back on his feet and functioning again, but my dad was resistant. He just wanted to sleep and stop with the pestering. 

A week or so later St. Luke's called me with my dad's discharge plan and told me all of the help he was going to need. I panicked. My dad could not live with me. I know family is supposed to step in when older family members are going through health challenges. I know this. I didn't need the lecture. I promise I am not some selfish pig refusing a reasonable ask. How could I make them understand that I just couldn't? I prayed hard that I would not have to be subjected to living with him again. He needed help getting up and moving around. Using the bathroom. All of the basic functions.

His health worsened and he was sent back to another hospital- Sacred Heart this time. I got a call from the hospital that he had been admitted to the ER and wasn't looking good. His sight was almost all gone, his hearing worse, and his kidneys were a mess and they weren't sure what was going on. Instead of improving at rehab, he had gone steadily downhill.

He spent a day and a half in the ER. We drove up and spent time with him. He looked really frail. Dad was adamant that he only wanted comfort measures. Give him pain meds and let him die. The doctors were pretty sure he was treatable. They ran all kinds of tests on him, and finally, eventually got him a room that was not in the loud ER.

He eventually got a diagnosis. He had what was formerly known as Wegener's Disease, and now called Granulomatosis with polyangiitis.  It's an autoimmune disease that attacks the blood vessels and causes inflammation. All of those delicate blood vessels that go to organs will swell and cut off blood flow and can cause organ failure if not treated quickly. It checked off most of his list of symptoms. Hearing and sight loss, fever, fatigue, kidney problems, bloody nose, chest pain and shortness of breath. It didn't necessarily explain the pain in his lower legs and feet.

This was treatable. Some of the hearing and sight loss could be reversible. He could go on to live a decent life with some accommodations. Between the doctors, Ryan and I, we thought treatment was worth pursing. The doctors said my dad could hang on for a couple of years with no intervention and just be miserable. Or they could treat him. My dad gave his permission for treatment.

We visited my dad a couple more times in December. I got updates from his doctor of the week fairly often. I was on the phone quite a bit handling his other affairs. We had some interesting visits. I don't know if it was the disease or just my dad's paranoia coming out, but my dad was pretty sure there were Chinese people coming in and watching him at night. And the Russians. He said he could hear them talking in his room. He also saw cats wandering in the hospital. Since his vision only allowed him to see lights and shadows at that point... well, who knows what was going on. We made sure we told his doctor since he wasn't likely to volunteer that information. My favorite was the time he had a nose bleed that wouldn't stop so he had a tampon hanging out of his nose. They wouldn't remove it until it had been 24 hours. 

The hospital released my dad around December 30th. My dad had an iPhone by then and was learning how to get Siri to read and send text messages and make calls using his voice. My dad got a friend to take him back to his basement apartment. The hospital released him without telling me. Since I'd had a conversation with him just a couple days prior about how he kept thinking about going up to the top of the hospital and throwing himself off, I got a little upset and told them they were pretty irresponsible. They countered with they had set him up with a whole lot of medications, info for meals on wheels, his instructions printed on paper, and a follow up doctor's appointment. Having talked with my dad's friend who said he had to pretty much drag my dad up the steps up from the garage and then down to the basement, I wasn't sure this was going to work out. As he also couldn't read anymore... Those discharge papers were just not helpful.

I started getting texts from the owners of the house where my dad lived. The owners traveled a lot, so the set up where my dad fed their dog and lived in their basement worked just fine for the first couple of months. My dad didn't leave the house. He didn't take the right medication (because he couldn't read the labels....). Ryan drove up to Spokane to check on him and get his various bottles of medicine (much of it pain meds) set up in order and try to get him to remember how much and when. We didn't want my dad to stay with us and he said he was fine, so... it was going to be what it would be I guess. Eventually his mind wandered enough that it was bothering his housemates. He kept waking them up saying some mother had a left a baby in his bed and he was looking for the mom. He would fall down the stairs. He thought he could drive himself as long as he drove during the daylight hours (that would have been so bad). He wasn't really eating. He said he was seeing rats in his room. The homeowners were ADAMANT that my dad needed to get out of their house. When we resisted and said he had rights and couldn't be thrown out because they didn't like him anymore because he was still paying rent, they had their bishop call us and say that we were his family and we needed to step up and do the right thing. No one would be bothered to take him to the hospital even though he very clearly needed medical help. Well you are just going to have to wait for the weekend.

Ryan took one for the team again, drove up to Spokane again, and took my dad to the ER to be admitted. We prayed they would admit him. When Ryan arrived, my dad fully thought Ryan and I had been there for a couple of days helping him get ready to move. My dad thought there were rats, nasty insects, and drug paraphernalia all over the basement. There were not. My dad had packed some of his belongings into boxes very clearly around the rats that he saw. There were empty spaces in the boxes. Ryan waited in the ER waiting room with my dad for 6 hours. My dad told off a lady there also waiting. He said her daughter kept taking his cane. She didn't have a daughter and dad had put his own cane on the floor. My dad held whole conversations with people who were not there. Ryan would just explain to the people around them in a normal voice that this was why they were there, and he was sorry. Then in a louder voice to my dad that there was no girl hiding under the table. My dad had resisted believing Ryan, and it was tricky getting him to the hospital and to stay there waiting. My dad had a little vision and enough imagination to keep things lively. He had shouted "watch out!" while Ryan was driving on the freeway over nothing that was visible to Ryan. But still Ryan slammed on his brakes before realizing what was going on. Finally my dad was admitted and Ryan could drive the 3 hours home again.

The following weekend, Ryan and I were back in Spokane and packed up all of my dad's stuff from the basement apartment and put it in his storage unit. It's tricky to go through a fully furnished bedroom, bathroom, and a closet half filled with the owners' belongings and try to pick out the ones that belong to a person. Some things were obvious, and others less so. It was a pain. But we got him out, and that's when we brought his car to our house. We had previously -ahem- borrowed his keys and kept beeping his key fob at the urgent care center where we thought he had left the car, until we finally found it and drove it to the house he'd been living at.  If it had been a smaller urgent care center and not snowy, it would have been easy enough to pick out the compact grey Toyota Yaris with the blankets covering the seats. But it wasn't, and we were tired.

So my dad was homeless and his only residence was Sacred Heart Hospital. I worked with his case worker to find a place for him to go and that would be able to take care of his many needs. Living alone hadn't worked well. I wouldn't take him, and my sister wouldn't either. He did ask many times. But places like that are expensive and he didn't have any money. The ironic bit of this whole thing was my dad never, ever, ever wanted to use government assistance for anything. Those were socialist programs and he would not use them. But that looked to be his best option. Getting him on Medicaid/Medicare meant declaring him poor, those hospital bills kept stacking up, and those crypto-currency investments weren't becoming any more real. 

But the shaky tethers keeping our relationship functioning came apart spectacularly (see a previous post). Dad was not willing to admit to any wrong doing ever, and I washed my hands of the whole thing. Dad dug himself into this pit and he could deal with the fallout.

To convince his sister to let him live with them, he told them he needed a warmer climate to help him deal with his pain. I don't know if that was true or not. I heard through the grape vine that he had been in the hospital again after his discharge from Spokane sometime in March. He had been on a lot of pain medication. We had seen his list of medications. He had been in rehab once a few years ago for being addicted to pain medication. I think this was his coping strategy, where his dad had used alcohol. Maybe the disease had flared up again. Maybe his body had just had enough. Maybe the comfort measures in Texas had been morphine. It seems as though sometimes morphine can take a very sick and tired body and help the soul into the next world. I don't know. It was a sad end for a tough life. 

In putting all of these experiences into words, I feel like I failed somehow. I don't know what I could or should have done differently. I did try to help him. But when my help did not align with his wishes, I was of no further use to him. He had some dumb, enabling friends. His naturopathic friend who he was living with said he could fix him up better than the specialists could. Ha!

I was hoping I would feel better as I type all of this out and sort through all of the experiences. I was hoping for some clarity. Mostly I just want the anguish to go away. The feeling that I was somehow not good enough. 

It's a work in progress.

Processing Emotions

Processing big emotions is exhausting, and I am exhausted. My brain has decided that I need to relive all of the horrible memories and awful feelings in an effort to come to terms with the death of my father. It doesn't help that every time I have to deal with the physical aspects of him dying leave me less than happy either. My dad said the arrangements had been all taken care of for when he passed. LIES. He was piggy-backing off someone else's funeral plot purchases, and put a whole $100 in trust for.... I'm not sure what that would cover. Not cremation. Not a nice urn (those start at $150). Not picking up his body and refrigerating it if he had been within 50 miles. Not opening and closing the gravesite.  Not a headstone. He always said he didn't need much when he went. Hopefully he's ok with the basic $12 urn I ok'd him to be mailed in. He's going to be lucky if I don't just stick it in the yard and use it for target practice with Ryan's pellet gun. I may just settle for leaving him in the garage until arrangements are made. 

I feel so lonely. Ryan looks at me and doesn't know how to help. I don't know how to help me. The people who probably best understand are the people I don't want to talk to. They are all mixed up in that painful history, and talking to them now doesn't leave me feeling any better. Usually worse. My kids don't know what happened to their mom. I don't recognize myself. I've decided its probably better to be a mute today than the raging, crazy lady. I know we don't get everything right as parents, but I'm pretty sure my kids got a better shake than I did. They won't understand the confusing cocktail of grief/anger/sadness/bitterness/guilt/pain/self-pity/self-loathing that is swirling inside me. They barely knew my dad, and it was better that way. Ryan says he doesn't feel much except relief at my dad's passing. He said he felt more sad when the music teacher at his school building passed away from cancer than he does for my dad. That feels telling.

I turned my emotional cocktail into decluttering today. I think we got rid of probably 9 trash bags of stuff, plus a couple of boxes. Some into the garbage and some to the Goodwill. My kids aren't sure they like this version of me. I have a lot more I'd like to do, but as stated in the beginning of this post- I am beyond tired and decision making is way harder than it should be.

I'm trying to decide how I feel about my dad. Yes, I am hurt and angry and so stinking mad at him. It's probably best I don't get any say in how much pain the afterlife might bring. I want to find forgiveness. What if that was his best effort? Our theology teaches you are only accountable to what you know and what you can be held accountable for. Hence, young children don't need to be baptized because they don't understand yet. What if how he lived was the best he could do with his upbringing and brain chemistry? I am trying to make room in my heart for love and mercy and forgiveness. There is a part of me that is hoping for some fiery retribution right now, and for that I obviously need a loving Savior to help me make it past that. I am no where near good enough to return to my Heavenly Father so I need a merciful Savior. And if I need one, that same courtesy needs to be extended to everyone trying to muddle through this life.

The Scam

This morning I was lying in bed awake feeling like I have more to share. It's like I have a case of a verbal stomach flu and I won't feel better until I have gotten it all out. So much has been hidden for so long. I feel a little like this is flipping my dad off when he's no longer around to be angry at me. He hated people knowing his business and here I am sharing in a very public forum. But all of these memories and emotions are clawing at me and needing to be let out. I read back over what I've written and I go back and forth in my brain: "That wasn't so bad. There are kids out there that have it way worse than I did. Am I making a mountain out of a molehill?" To, "Gosh, what was I thinking letting him have any part of my life as an adult? I should have just cut him out and not let him continue to hurt me." Where does forgiveness, mercy, and love meet the line of keeping myself and my family safe? I clearly don't know.

I don't even know what I want to share here. I figure there is an explanation of the last year or so of his life with his health, and another with the romance scam. The two were interconnected but telling all of it all at once is makes for a convoluted story. Maybe I will start with his relationships.

My dad, for all of his unhealthy and solitary ways, didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone to take care of him, and in his way, someone to take care of. He was married once before mom. He was married to my mom for 26 years. They were sealed to each other when I was 3 months old. They tried to cram me into my white blessing dress for the sealing but it couldn't be zipped up over my baby chub. He married another lady after my mom who was a whopping 12 years older than me, and she had a couple of kids at home. They were sealed in the temple and that lasted a few years. I think I met her once. They moved to Wyoming after a couple of months living in my dad's one room basement apartment in Renton. According to my mom, this one reached out to my mom when they broke up and asked how my mom had put up with him for so long. Then the last wife lasted maybe two years? This one I think I saw twice. He said she scratched the glass stovetop in his kitchen leaving an awful long mark. He was also engaged once in between my mom and wife #3. Ryan and I took his honeymoon trip to Portland after it fell through. The bed and breakfast was non-refundable.

After all of that, you would think my dad might have felt it best not to pursue another romantic relationship. But hope springs eternal.

In August 2023 my family took a trip up to see my dad in Spokane and go to Silverwood. There was a reward good behavior (mine- visiting my dad then we could go have fun). My dad pulled Ryan and me aside to say that he had met someone very special online. She reached out to him on Twitter. She was so good and sweet and conservative, with "old world values" (meaning men give permission blah blah blah). She says she was from Greece I think, so her English wasn't great and she was self conscious about it so they really only texted. She would "ask his permission" and let him know she was going out with friends or some such nonsense. She was also a financial genius and was helping him make investments. Then he showed us a picture of Giorgia. She was everything young, hot, and sexy. Her age was unclear, but she was heavily made up, wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a midriff bearing furry sweatshirt thing. She was blonde and tan and skinny and we all could see it. I rolled my eyes at this. My dad was an average looking man in his mid 60s. There was no way this was real. But my dad insisted she would be coming to visit him the end of September or early October and could he bring her by to meet us? He had a great feeling about this one. She was his true soul mate and it was sad it had taken him this long to find her.

Whatever. It was his life.

In September 2023 my dad abruptly sold his condo in Spokane. He sold it to a realtor because he wanted the money that fast. Ryan and I dropped everything one weekend because he asked and helped him move his stuff into a storage unit. Giorgia was coming soon and they were going to travel the world. Her investment accumen in online crypto-currency had helped all of his money grow to huge amounts and now dad could afford to retire and enjoy life. He was going to live in a hotel until Giorgia came and then they would be off to maybe Florida. Somewhere warm and nice. 

October 2023 Giorgia had put off coming again. He found a bedroom in someone's basement to live in. Dad was also in need of financial help. His investments needed money up front to pay the taxes and then he could have access to his investment money. He called Ryan and asked for $300,000, telling us to take a 2nd mortgage out on our house. He had signed a "Smart Contract" so everything was on the up and up, I guess due to its great sounding name? Our money would be safe, but he needed it to access his money again. He had sunk everything into it. Money from the sale of his condo, savings, other investments, everything he'd had. He could not understand how we could just turn our backs on family in need. That's not what the Savior would do. He taught me better than that.

Sorry, no.

The amount he needed went down. $200,000. $150,000. $60,000. $30,000. Anything. How could we be so unfeeling? So uncaring? So unChristlike?

We were firm in our refusal. But oh, the anguish that came with that guilt trip. I am ever the sucker for it.

November came and Giorgia still hadn't come. Dad's health took a sharp downhill turn, and he ended up in the hospital, losing much of his vision and hearing. But more on that later.

He was frantic and upset about his money, and I think the stress of all of it took its toll on dad's health. We went and visited dad in a rehabilitation hospital. They must have taken that as my affirmation that I would take care of him, because they called and tried to set up his discharge to live with me. 

Cue the panic.

Dad needed more care due to worse health, so back to the regular hospital he went. Through it all, he was firm that Giorgia was only acting in his best interests. But strangely, through all of his health struggles, she never showed up. 

I had a list of people to email and call. Set up emergency health insurance with his work, the kind when you can no longer work but they cover you for a year anyway. Figure out what was next with HR. Follow up with the lawyer about banking issues. Fill out paperwork for Medicaid and Medicare and Disability. Take care of all of these problems that kept popping up. Move him out of his bedroom apartment. Make multiple trips to Spokane over December, January, and February to visit him.

We explained multiple times to different people associated with the hospital and all of his paperwork that he was being scammed. As we explained what was happening, there was not a single person who thought any of his "investments" sounded legit. They all had those pitying looks on their faces.

At the end of February 2024 we came to the climax. No one was lending him money. He wanted his car back. We had driven it to our house because A- he couldn't see well enough to drive anymore and B- he didn't have any place besides the hospital to live. There just wasn't a good place to store the car in Spokane. But he was going to sell his car, and get a couple of people he knew through his Karate group to go through his safe in his storage unit and get out the last of his gold and silver coins. He was going to scrape just as much money as he could together. We told the hospital staff what was going on, and they socially quarantined him. The staff found him trying to sell his coins and stuff in his hospital room. So they moved him and gave a safe word. No one could go see him without it, basically without my permission. My dad had assigned me as his medical and financial power of attorney and I was doing my best to keep him safe. He was not happy with me. He wanted those papers back.

The last straw was the phone call that he asked me to PERSONALLY deliver the last of his gathered money to Giorgia at a bank in Spokane. She was going to Spokane but not seeing him? Was anyone else confused and suspicious? My brain immediately imagined all of the various ways that could go badly. Would I be mugged, beaten and left for dead? Why did she ask for me personally and to go alone? Dad hadn't even met her in person. Surely this sounds off. I refused and told him why. It was a scam and I would not be a part of it. Everyone knew it but him. It's a romance scam and bears all the hallmarks of one. He had lost all of his money and I would not help him lose the last of his money. He has major bills to pay- months of living in a hospital. He launched into his tired tirade saying how much better he understood these things. He was going to leave the hospital, and all of my hours of work would be for nothing. I had people at the hospital helping with getting him a facility to live in that would be able to take care of his needs. So much stupid paperwork had gone into proving his financial losses and medical needs. Once he checked himself out of the hospital, it was over and they could no longer help. He was under a case worker's care as long as he was in the hospital and he clearly wasn't competent to take care of himself. But oh ho, he always knows better than everyone else. I laid into him about all of the ways he hurt me as a child and an adult and he didn't know what he was talking about. That's when the swearing started. He didn't usually swear at me, but I had him pretty worked up I guess. I was shaking pretty hard and decided it was time to be done. I hate conflict. And conflict with him is so hard for me. I told him I loved him but I was done helping him. And I hung up.

We had alerted Adult Protective Services a couple of times about my dad. We filed a police report about the scam. Ryan even called the FBI once we learned that this lady was supposed to be at a Spokane bank on a particular day. It is surprisingly difficult to alert the FBI about scams. I guess there are too many to deal with them all. All of these government agencies, and no real help.

I got my father-in-law to meet me in Spokane. I drove my dad's car to the hospital. I had strict instructions to park his car where it wouldn't get scraped or bumped in the parking garage. I was not in a compliant frame of mind and parked his little Yaris next to a Hummer. I gave my father-in-law the car keys and the estate binder with my power of attorney and he gave it to my dad, and then he drove me home.

What happened to my dad after that is fuzzy. I know from a friend of my dad's that he got ex-wife #4 to take him away from the hospital and I think he lived with another friend until possibly his sister and her husband picked him up in November and took him to Texas. I don't really know. The friend my dad was living with is a condescending jerk (they get along so well) and I really don't need to know badly enough to ask.

Anyway, this was a photo of Giorgia we found on my dad's phone. Yes we snooped right in front of him and took advantage of his blindness. This is exactly the sort of photo a "sweet, conservative" women takes, right? Ryan did the snooping. He said it was best that I did not subject my eyeballs and brain to the texts they were exchanging.

Ryan sent the imagine to his uncle. His uncle and several computer science students at San Jose State University thought they were able to track this image to a creepy looking 30-ish foreign dude with a goatee. That's likely who he was talking to romantically all this time.

One Face of Grief

 When Ryan's mom passed away a couple of years ago, I remember Ryan being sad and despondent. This is not the same as what I am experiencing. I am surprised at how angry I am feeling. I don't consider myself an especially angry person. I feel like a bad person for this response over the death of a parent. Good people don't respond like this, right? The nearest thing I can think of to explain how I feel is like losing a cavity-ridden tooth. (Just to be clear, I have never had a tooth ache, but I've had braces so... maybe something similar?) The tooth is painful. It is a relief when it is gone but it does leave a big hole. It sounds so awful to think such a thing about losing their dad.

I asked the ever-helpful internet about grief over an abusive parent. As it turns out, I am not alone in my complicated feelings. Some key points are:

Ambiguous grief over a lack of healthy memories and trauma

Mixed emotions- feeling sad but also relief. Relief can lead to feelings of guilt and confusion. (I must be a bad person for feeling this way.)

Loss of hope- there is no longer a chance of a positive relationship, leading to a sense of emptiness.

Difficulty processing memories- guess what? Memories and feelings you thought you had dealt with will resurface in all of their ugly glory and rake you over the coals.

Impact on self-esteem- abuse can deeply affect self-worth, making it difficult to separate your value from the abuse you endured.

So, yah. Apparently my feelings are normal for my situation.

My dad did die, and I was wanting the soothing sympathy of people acknowledging my loss on social media. Most people don't know my complicated relationship with my family, but losing a parent in any circumstance sucks. But it did leave me open for comments about my dad.  This one set me off:

"Great picture! Rick was so proud of his girls and grandchildren. He loved you all very much. Hold on to the memories of good times like these in the picture before that horrible disease changed him. He was a good and honest friend for over 35 years."

Good and honest? Maybe it was good you never lived with him. He has 4 ex-wives and two daughters who could paint a different picture.

He was proud of me? He said such a thing on occasion, but it his approval and love were very conditional. There were impossibly high standards to live up to, and when you fell short he would let you know with vehemence and for a long time. I was not alone in my house with this. My mom and sister were also targets for his angry outbursts. 

He needed full control over all aspects of life- financial, social, cleanliness, body weight, etc. The Budget was always a source of long fights with my mom. And yes, The Budget with capitalization is exactly the way it was said. Dad made The Budget planned out a year in advance. It was ok if he threw a wrench in The Budget, but not if mom overspent. We started out very poor. They lived off credit cards, student loans, and part time jobs until well into my childhood. As my dad went to college for an accounting degree, it makes sense that he liked to arrange the money. But it was always a method of control. When I was in 5th grade I wanted to play the flute in my elementary school band. My mom took me down to the music store to rent a flute. The sales guy pushed a lot of products along with the rental- a music stand, cleaning kit, the music book, and who knows what else but the total amounted to $100. I still remember the refrain from that evening. "A hundred bucks?! A hundred bucks!" He was furious. I remember feeling terribly guilty. I only played the one year because we moved and began homeschooling the year after.

He was a full-on conspiracy theorist. I was about 11 is when it started affecting life, or at least I became aware of it. My dad had switched jobs and we had to move to the other side of Washington state. My dad was very interested in living in one of those anti-government communes. Or acreage in the middle of no-where would work. He quit his accounting job (the one that had us move) and began to work "under the table" so he wouldn't have to pay taxes. Social security numbers were a way to enslave free people and he would not recognize them. He literally cut up the family's social security cards and sent them to someone in the government to show he could not be forced to comply. He didn't like to keep money in the bank because the government monitored those. We had a large bag of silver coins that we had to lug with us to do errands until my parents figured out a safety deposit box might be easier. But that was months. Months of lugging that heavy bag everywhere. During my teenage years if we heard helicopters fly over head, we should gather into one blob of people so "they" couldn't see how many heat signatures were in our house. As if the government thought my dad's small-time tax evasion was worth that kind of effort. And then there were the church-based conspiracies. Leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints incorporating the church to be recognized by the government on the down-low. The Lectures on Faith being removed from the Doctrine and Covenants. Prophets and church leaders not leading the people correctly. I wasn't supposed to put my name on the tithing I turned in because charitable donations should always be anonymous. There was much in the Bible to prove the current, modern church was not on the right path and we should be cautious in following their directives. I read once that conspiracy theories appeal to people who like to feel superiority to the average person. The American Psychological Association says this about a study of those who believe conspiracy theories: "The researchers also found that people with certain personality traits, such as a sense of antagonism toward others and high levels of paranoia, were more prone to believe conspiracy theories. Those who strongly believed in conspiracy theories were also more likely to be insecure, paranoid, emotionally volatile, impulsive, suspicious, withdrawn, manipulative, egocentric and eccentric." Meet my dad, folks. That sums him up very well. 

It felt like "things" were more important than people. We owned cars my mom wasn't allowed to drive when I was a teenager. We hitched a ride from our neighbor the 10 miles into town to buy groceries. We could go to church on Sunday, but going to midweek youth activities was generally a no-go. It was far too many miles to put on the car. Blankets were put down over couches, chairs, seats in the cars to keep them looking clean once we could afford to buy things new or newer-looking. My dad LOVED industrial carpet- that tight woven, rough textured stuff that wouldn't show wear and tear. And even then, throw rugs would be put down in high traffic areas. One must not scuff furniture or walls. And when I was learning to drive and backed out of a parking spot too sharply and bent the fender of the family car on a dumpster, a Geo Metro, all heck broke loose. My mom made me tell my dad. He wasn't even living with us at the time so I got the lecture over the phone over my careless and reckless behavior. Mistakes, especially costly, visible ones, were not ok. And now my mistake would be visible every time we used the car because it was too much to fix. You did not show the world your weaknesses and mistakes. Ever. 

Dad didn't like handouts. When my sister and I were being homeschooled, my mom thought it might be nice to write letters to her dad. For penmanship practice? To make up for the lack of a social life? Grandpa Jack loved technology. It was the mid 1990s and he bought a new computer every year. On my mom's suggestion, I asked what Grandpa Jack did with his cast off computers. Could we maybe have a computer he was done with, if it had no other plans? Out of the goodness of his heart (and possibly guilt for not having a better relationship with his daughter), he sent a brand spankin' new Gateway 2000 to us, with a printer. Oh boy, was dad mad. We were quite possibly the most greedy people on the planet to take advantage of an old man. I kept that computer for a long time. It went with me to college and we had it until after Emma was born. That thing taught me how to use the internet and email, and saw a lot of use with high school and college papers and I am very grateful we had it.

The church ward we attended during my teenage years thought we were in the witness protection program. We didn't socialize with people. I had strict instructions not to tell people about our lives. Not that we were homeschooled. I was to say we attended a "private school." Although it wasn't difficult to sniff the truth out since there was exactly one middle and high school in the area. Not that my dad didn't live with us very much during that time. When he worked in Spokane, he stayed there during the week and would drive home on the weekends. It was a 60 minute drive each way and that was a lot of "miles on the car." Later somehow he found a job in Massachusetts that would allow him to work "under the table" and we didn't see him for months at a time. I think he visited us once that year. I think the only reason my parents stayed together as long as they did was because my dad didn't actually live with us half of the time. No worries though, he still needed to keep his eye on things. As The Man and Head of the Family he needed to be in charge. 

If there was a part of my appearance that embarrassed me, he was quick to pick up on it and make fun of it. A favorite joke was my "parking lot" forehead with all of the headlights shining brightly. Thanks for pointing out my pimples. Was my body changing? Let's make it a joke! Taking off make-up at night was called "getting ugly." Being largely pregnant was called looking like a beached whale. Let it be known that I only gained an average amount of weight and was never what anyone could call fat. When I was pregnant with Annie and Maddie, I hit 149.5 pounds. With two babies, people. It has taken me a long time to be comfortable with my body. I know logically that I am not ugly or fat, but it is hard to tell the voice in my head to stop saying that I am.

I was an angry teenager without enough backbone to really act out. I was stuck at home with my family 24/7. Literally. It was basically Covid for us for years. I was taught to distrust people in general.  People were bad and might be spying on us. I wanted to run away. I had murderous thoughts about my sister (just to get away from her) and myself. I hated my family. Acting out in the proverbial "usual" teenage way- sex, drugs, and rock and roll- didn't appeal to me. I was so angry at all of the arbitrary rules and just so lost and without the ability to escape any of it. When I was 15 I decided I'd had enough and fought with my parents for months to be able to attend public school. I wanted to salvage some of my teen years with some normal experiences and learning. It was a prolonged, loud, and emotional battle to be able to go to school. It was the one time I really stood up for myself. My sister and I had been homeschooled because we were "too smart" and we shouldn't be indoctrinated by the government run schools. I was decently smart. I had good test scores and was sent to the grade above for reading time to challenge me in elementary school. But homeschooling, while allowing me to complete my school work faster than attending a full day of school, ultimately left me behind. The smart kids had more opportunities attending good old public school. I was put in as a junior in high school as a 15 year old. I had two years of foreign language I needed to take starting that junior year. The school counselor wasn't sure I could cut it in the Honor's English class. (I could have but wasn't put in that class as a junior. An exception was made for me and I got to take AP English my senior year. I wasn't supposed to be able to take it if I hadn't taken the Honor's classes leading up to it.) I never made it past Algebra 2, and took Chemistry as a senior. It was such a relief to be taught Algebra by a real teacher because it finally made sense. Our version of homeschooling was finding old textbooks at Goodwills and my mom assigning the book work. I had to teach myself by reading the textbooks. When I didn't understand it, I didn't feel like I could ask for help. My mom was desperately unhappy and would spend most of her days in her bedroom. I ended up just copying the answers out of the back of the book if I didn't understand and calling it good. I never participated in sports or even took a PE class and now I wish I would have. I did throw myself into high school plays, and even participated in two clubs eventually-FBLA and SADD. I finally made some friends. It took me a while. The church kids I had known already knew me as the weird, homely, unsocial homeschooled kid in the Goodwill clothes. So I made friends with other nice, Christian teens. Not life-long friends, but enough to not have to always sit alone at lunch. It was a start.

Spankings were usual punishment when I was a child. They were hard and often. They were left for my dad to perform when he got home from work. I remember being slung over his lap getting repeated spankings until I was ready to comply with whatever it was. I think I was out of bed when I wasn't supposed to be. My dad said his dad used a belt on him so I should be grateful. The spankings did taper off, but when I was a mouthy teen, I could be slapped across the face. I never really acted out but I was angry and would occasionally say so. It was generally better to keep the peace. Don't disobey. Don't contradict. Make a joke to ease the emotional strain. Comply. My sister remembers me being held up as a representation of what she should be and how she couldn't measure up. I remember her as being the squeaky wheel who got the grease. I was held to a higher standard of behavior and she got away with a lot more because she was dramatic and volatile, and could be very sweet and affectionate when it suited her. Her highs and lows were big, and I mostly wanted to fly under the radar. It was better that way. Once I told my dad he was unfair in his rules. I can't even remember what it was about. But I was not allowed to talk to him on the phone or email him until I apologized. Freezing me out and ignoring me when I didn't agree with him was a favorite method of punishment the older I got. It was "his way or the highway." There was no room for conversation or compromise.

My dad was sexist. Men were superior to women. Wives should serve and obey their husbands. (He was divorced 4 times. Weird, right?) He was racist. It was wrong to marry someone not of your race. He wasn't sure why Blacks were given temple and priesthood blessings after so long without. Clearly that had been the Lord's will. He was homophobic. He started checking when I was about 10 if I "liked" girls. When Ryan asked for my dad's blessing after he proposed, my dad's advice was, "Don't treat her too nice. She'll come to expect it." Classy.

One Christmas when Emma was probably 3 he tried to tell her the truth about Santa Claus. Because parents should get the recognition for gifts given. Um, the whole point of Santa is to give gifts without the recognition and to enjoy the magic of childhood. And if I want my child to believe in magic, it is not his place to disabuse her of the notion. In any case, Santa doesn't give big gifts at our house, but he did give fun ones. Is it any wonder that in Kindergarten I was the only child in the whole class who didn't believe in Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Leprechauns, or magic of any kind? My teacher thought it was interesting and told my parents at parent conferences. I remember standing in that line at the carpet when the teacher asked those questions. Many kids went back and forth, and several stayed in the believing line. Not me.

I had lived at home my first year of college (I was 17 after all), and then moved out my sophomore year. My freshman year was tough. I was an adult (at least I was shortly after Thanksgiving) but treated like I was still a child. I had an inflexible 10 pm curfew because my dad said so. I got a C in one of my classes my first semester and was completely, emotionally dismantled by him because of it. I sat there in the kitchen with the family all there being torn apart for my failure. I was engaged to be married when I moved home after my sophomore year and that was such a long summer. If we could have been sealed immediately after a civil wedding like you can now, I think I could have convinced Ryan to elope so I could live with him. Then the day I got married, my dad could never let anything go. I was chastised for making my mom work so hard for me. I did not ask her to iron my wedding dress in between the wedding and reception. That was all on her. Maybe there was something else I was oblivious to that day, but I really don't think I was an especially demanding bride. My dress was pretty cheap- the cheapest we could find. The reception venue free- hello church gym. My favors homemade. Bridesmaid dresses made by my grandma. Wedding cake discounted because my mom worked at that grocery store. Wedding food donated by my aunt who catered as a job. Pictures done for free by a friend. All done before Pinterest and it looks like it. 

Last winter when my dad got sick, he really wanted to come live with us. He's wanted to for years. That was a hard no. If he reached a point in his life when hospice was called in and he needed somewhere to live out his last few weeks, that was one thing. Living with him would not be healthy for me or my family long term. He would press me really hard on that point when Ryan wasn't in the hospital room after asking the both of us together. And again, on the phone. Not to Ryan. He knew his best chance of getting his way was to get me alone and guilt me into it. He would ask Ryan for things, but demand from me. Give him the candies or other food we brought him. No please. No thank you. 

My dad was secretive and paranoid. He was frugal in giving out any kind of personal information. He stayed with my sister when he had knee surgery and I had no idea any of that happened. He would tell a friend when he had a heart attack and needed a ride home from the hospital but not his kids. Maybe that's why my dad didn't want a memorial service. Too many people he knew together who could share information to get a more complete version of my dad. He would sometimes call Ryan (for "man talk") and then told Ryan not to tell me what he shared. Ryan laughed that off and would tell me anyway.

After my parents divorced, I felt like I was his one link to staying in the land of the living. According to my mom, it was not the first time he was suicidal, but it was the first time talking him out of it fell to me and not the last. I was needed. But then when he "met" someone online and wanted to get married, my opinion on the matter had no weight or interest. I didn't need to meet her. He couldn't even be bothered to bring her and her two daughters by my house to meet me when he moved them to his place in Renton from Wyoming. It was a little out of the way to come see us, but not that bad. He said they would come by, then changed his mind and didn't tell me. We had food prepared and waiting and they just didn't show up. Any slights on my part to his new wife and family were met with swift anger. I didn't send a thank you card for their Christmas gifts quickly enough. We left to go visit family the day after Christmas for a week. No one got thank you cards quickly (I'm kind of hit and miss on that anyway). But I got an angry email detailing my failings. His wife later asked for something my dad had given me as a teenager because he was feeling nostalgic about the past. I said sorry no, but I had been given photos from my childhood from my mom and was happy to share. I spent hours scanning those in and then emailed them. The only photos I included of my mom were ones of the entire family, usually in the formal family portrait setting. That was offensive that I would hurt Kelly's feelings by giving him access to photos taken to document his family over the passage of time. How could I be so rude? So I sent him the western belt and silver buckle and haven't seen it again.

The last time I ever talked to my dad, I wouldn't help him because I believed he was being scammed out of his money. He wanted me to help him sell his car and find the money/coins he had squirreled away to get his money out of the online "investments" he had made with his girlfriend whom he had met on the old Twitter. Because getting the money out of the online investments required more money. He'd wanted us to mortgage our house to get $300,000 for that investment. It's a long and complicated story. But I wouldn't help further ruin himself. He swore at me. He said he wasn't sorry he hit me growing up. I said I loved him, wouldn't help him do this, and then hung up on him. The last time I heard his voice was in the background of a voicemail. His brother-in-law called Ryan to say they had my dad. His voice in the background said, "I didn't want them to know I was here."

When I was in therapy a few years ago, my counselor had me envision taking my teenage self out of the house we lived in and put her in a safe place. Then I got to imagine blowing up the house. Action movies would be proud of what I imagined. There was a blackened crater left. Then I threw the house key away. It was therapeutic. 

A Death in the Family

 I have had a whirlwind of emotions in the last few days. December is an anxious month for me to begin with. The pressure of making sure everyone has a nice Christmas and presents feel evenly distributed to the kids, holiday traditions are kept, Christmas cards ordered and sent, an amusing newsletter written, Ryan's various elementary school activities were supported, holiday parties, etc. Add to that I faced a major fear of mine and gave a talk in church earlier this month, resulting in a week of very little sleep. I was also bitten by a random dog while I was on a walk one Saturday. I wish my body and brain were more like Ryan's and would crave sleep when I am stressed, but alas. My brain likes to obsess over things I can't control and my perceived weaknesses in the middle of the night. Then Annie hurt her back, and Maddie was having cold, painful fingers that were pale and discolored around the knuckles. I took Maddie to the doctor and she had blood drawn for a panel of tests to be done. The only thing they found was a vitamin D deficiency. But the possibility of a diagnosis of Raynaud's disease is still out there.

Sunday afternoon Ryan's brother called and asked if he and his family could spent Monday night with us on their way to up visit their dad. So instead of the relaxing first day of break we had anticipated, we had house cleaning to do. My family loves to park all kinds of junk in the guest room because it is right next to the front door and the door to the room can be closed. Out of sight, out of mind. But not conducive to impromptu overnight guests. 

Tuesday morning was Christmas Eve. Ryan took Annie and Maddie to play Ultimate Frisbee at the church with friends. I stayed with Ryan's family and played games with their kids. We were all going to head up to Royal City for a holiday meal midday. I had a call come in from a number I did not recognize while I was playing a game of Battleship and just let it go to voicemail. After the game ended, I checked my voicemail. I have transcription on my phone and could see a message that went like this, "If you would please call me back at (phone number) I need to talk to you dear. Your father passed away this morning. As the executor of the will, the trust, I need to talk to you ok hon. Please call me back. Thank you."

I don't know that I have ever met this aunt. To my knowledge my dad has/had 4 half or step sisters and one full brother. There was another brother who died in a car accident as a teenager. How everyone fits together, I have no clue. My dad never really talked about his family. His one and only full sibling Mike died in his 50s. I have a very vague memory of his dad, my grandpa when I was 4 or 5-ish, who was old and in a hospital bed and dying. I have another memory later of visiting his grave and seeing my parents sad and trying to dredge up sad feelings but having none. It's difficult to mourn someone you don't know especially as a young child. My dad's mom we would visit every couple of years in Astoria and we always stayed in her retirement community 1 bedroom apartment. We brought sleeping bags and my sister, dad, and I slept on the industrial carpet covered cement floor, and my mom got the couch. Those were our family vacations. We at least got to visit the Oregon beach for an afternoon when we visited.

I knew my Dad had moved in with his sister and her husband in Texas. The husband had called about a week and a half before to let us know. The very last thing I ever heard from my dad was in the background of that voicemail (again, phone calls from numbers we don't recognize...) saying, "I didn't want them to know I was here." Thanks, Dad. Way to stay true to character. I hadn't talked to my dad since last March. But that is a story that will come later.

Sadly, the thing that came out of my mouth when I read that voicemail was, "What? Oh crap! Crap, crap, crap!" Hopefully my in-laws are not offended by mild swearing. Who in the world leaves a voicemail to say their dad had died? How could I not have picked up that call? I called Ryan but no answer. I called Annie and the same. I called Maddie and she thankfully picked up. I said, "My dad died. I need you guys to come home." She said ok and hung up. No niceties for us. But then I was in a house full of people and the emotions were coming so I went up to my room with a kleenex box and gave vent to the tears and snot. I think Ryan made it home from the church in record time. Annie and Maddie tattled on their dad later and said he hit 40 mph in a 25 zone. 

I called this aunt back. That conversation is a bit of a blur now. Basically I was told I needed to do my duty as executor of the will and I said I needed my dad's estate binder with his will and final wishes and power of attorney. I'd had it when my dad got sick last winter but he took it back when I wasn't following his then current wishes of helping him lose all of his assets to his online romance money scam. That's a story for another time.

Eventually I called my sister. When I asked how she was doing she said she'd had a rough morning. Oh good, I thought, I won't need to be the bearer of bad tidings. When I asked what was wrong, she mentioned an extended family breakfast that didn't go as hoped for. Rats, actually I get to further ruin her morning. 

It went as well as could be expected. And I needed to go cry again.

Needless to say, we were late leaving to go to my father-in-law's. I was thankful that the food and gifts we were bringing had been all prepared the day before, even down to putting the gifts in a laundry basket for easier carrying. Looking back, it was likely a tender mercy of the Lord for those promptings the day before because I was not thinking through my mental lists and responsibilities as clearly as I otherwise would have. 

I alternated feeling between sad and numb. And a bit mad at my dad for leaving the state so close to his death. He had arrangements made and paid for that are a moot point now. (And come to find out later of the possibility that he sold those too when he was liquidating his assets for that stupid romance scam.) I also can't help with some of the usual death arrangements and rituals being so far away. 

I wasn't really hungry, which was good because the holiday meal was at 3 pm and I despise meals then. It throws off my eating schedule. You can't eat a proper meal at lunch time so you are hungry, you fill up at snack time so you aren't hungry at dinner time. But then you are hungry again at bedtime, but I can't sleep with a full stomach. My stomach is unnaturally gurgly if I have food in there when I attempt to sleep. Sleep is elusive enough as it is.

It was probably a nice family gathering. The youngest cousins were not in attendance so the noise level was the nicest it's been in a long time. I just couldn't enjoy it and wished I had stayed home. But I was expected to be there and I guess I thought I would ruin everyone else's day by not going. Ryan would have been torn about either being a good husband or ensuring the usual family traditions were observed. I didn't think he should be put in that position so I went. I'm sure my vacant staring and overall sad blah-ness didn't contribute to anyone's merry making, so I guess it's all just a wash.

I got a call from the funeral home in Texas on our drive to Royal City. I was quoted the price for cremation and sending his remains to Washington and gave the ok. I'm operating on the assumption my dad doesn't have any money left so all arrangements I get to pay for.

In the evening I called Emma and told her the news. As we were not particularly close to my dad, it wasn't the day destroying news for her that it was for me.

My father-in-law asked when I was at his house if I had told my mom yet? My dad was so private, to the point of secrecy, did I need to? Probably. So I worked up the gumption for another difficult phone call. We went through the usual phone call pleasantries, my mom told me about the food she had made for her and my grandma's Christmas Eve dinner. When I got to the "I have some sad news to share" portion of the conversation, my mom said, "Oh yah, your dad died. I saw it on Facebook. One of your aunts shared." 

Really Mom? It didn't cross your mind to A) reach out to me, or B) ask if I had been told, or C) instead of rambling about food when I called to tell you the news ASK ME HOW I WAS. Then she launched into the wrongs he'd done her. Listen, I lived with him too, and have had him in my life in the last 17 years since they divorced so I am WELL AWARE he left a wide swath of destruction in his wake. I hung up after that phone call and looked at Ryan. "Has she always been so self absorbed?" I asked.

He said yep.

My dad was a complicated man. He had his demons he fought. I know he loved me in his way. Not all of the memories are bad ones.

July 6, 1958-December 24, 2024. He was only 66 years old.

Christmas Newsletter 2024

Seasons Greetings! 

Another year is ending and here’s another newsletter pretending we are adventurous and interesting.

Here’s the scoop on what 2024 held for our family, whether you asked for it or not.

We are experiencing country living at its finest. We had unwanted squatters move into our pantry.

This required poison for both ants and rodents, as well as putting certain food containers in an extra layer

of plastic. There was substantial evidence of how well the poison worked in the ant carcasses on the

canned fruit, but so far the only evidence of rodent activity is missing poison pellets. It was a good reason

to disinfect and vacuum the pantry out more than once this year. Our large picture windows try to lure

birds to their death. We average about one bird a month that will fly into a window at break-neck speed.

Most are only knocked out for a minute or two, but we sometimes get casualties. We attempted to send a

skunk living under our shed to its eternal reward 3 times before it finally gave up the ghost. I was relatively

sure it was a zombie skunk after the second time. If it had crawled out of its grave after the 3rd try, I would

have been certain.

We had two major building projects. Our property had a slab of concrete just begging for a greenhouse

when we bought it 12 years ago and now we finally have one. We discovered a build-your-own

greenhouse kit at Costco and Ryan happily snatched one up in the early spring. After assembling the

greenhouse, Ryan brought his heating mats and various supplies out of the garage and grew many more

seedlings than we needed or used. And we gave away a bunch too. He’s got plans for a new project this

coming year. Potatoes from seeds. (Not to be confused with “seed potatoes.” This literally means tracking

down potato seeds from a WSU extension site in Prosser.) Our other building project was to build a better

chicken coop with proper windows and doors to replace the plywood structure the sheep had rubbed on

until it nearly collapsed. It was looking pretty sad. I navigated Facebook Marketplace and tracked down

used doors and windows for cheap, and Ryan bought the rest of the supplies. It turned out pretty well as

we’ve learned many, many thingsover the years with all of our various DIY projects. We don’t have to crouch down to fill feeders or

collect eggs anymore, so that’s an improvement.

Emma (21) is working in Florida, answering tech calls in customer service for a car company. She is

becoming a true Floridian, needing a coat when the weather cools down to the bitter temperatures of

60-ish degrees. Emma navigated another hurricane season, only losing power once as Hurricane Milton

blew through her area. It had calmed to a category 1 by the time it reached the east coast. 

Elizabeth (19) finished her freshman year at BYU-Idaho. She moved back home in April and got a job in a

warehouse processing asparagus and then cherries. It was monotonous and mind-numbing, but the pay

was good and she felt it was a little superior to last year’s job. She was trained to do quality control and

she liked that much better. We left her at home to work while we took our family vacation in July. She is

positively thrilled with the privileges of being an adult. We took her back to Rexburg in September to

continue pursuing her art degree. She hit the jackpot and has an apartment on a 4th floor which makes

for some heart-pumping exercise every time she leaves and comes back. It is quite the climb, but very

near the art buildings on campus.

Annie and Maddie (16) have reached the magic age where they can drive themselves to early morning

seminary! Hallelujah! Even though they are completely separate people and have their own likes and

dislikes (including their mutual dislike that I am lumping them together here), they are both taking French,

are both FFA officers (Maddie secretary and Annie treasurer), and both quit band. 4 band teachers in the

last 5 years was just not a journey they wished to continue, alas. They have whole-heartedly embraced

FFA. This year they participated in the FFA Creed recitation, Ag Science fair, livestock judging, apple

judging and potato judging, and other various activities. We have personalized blue corduroy jackets to

prove our enthusiasm. Annie had an epic case of beginner’s luck and got 4th place out of about a hundred

kids who judged/graded dairy cows at the fair, all from the knowledge she got from her dad in the 6

minutes of explanation before the field trip that day. Maddie was diagnosed with a “deranged meniscus”

this year and spent several months going to physical therapy twice a week so her leg would stop hurting. 

Ryan got to experience a dream come true this summer in seeing the chuck wagon races at the Calgary

Stampede in Canada. We based our family vacation on the fulfilling of this wish. He also kept us well

supplied with onions, zucchini, tomatoes, and peppers. And potatoes, pumpkins, carrots, beets, cabbage,

broccoli, and butternut squash, etcetera. Ryan keeps dinner time entertaining recounting his various

experiences with students as a principal of an elementary school. He is a well paid janitor on occasion,

and likes playing football and soccer with the 5th grade boys because he feels like he has amazing skills

against kids half his size. Ryan went to a Spanish dual language conference in Santa Fe with co-workers

from our school district where he discovered his palate is not refined enough to appreciate squid ink rice

(weird) and truffle french fries (gross). He was recently released from the church High Council and called

into the Elder’s Quorum presidency. No more monthly talks!

I feel like I can maybe consider myself a “real” runner now. I’ve run two 5k races that took me less than

30 minutes to complete. Ok, they are also over 29 minutes, but I’m still claiming it. I also figured out that

compression socks are amazing and do nice things for my legs and feet when I run or on my feet for a l

ong time. Who has been holding out on this information all my life? I volunteer at the Columbia River

Temple once a week, and teach the 6-8 year old kids at church. I can claim the privilege of being

summoned for jury duty this year and actually having to go in for a day. Yippee. Oh, and I’ve decided that

cats are superior to dogs because I have yet to meet a cat who responds to seeing me by getting its

teeth as close to my person as possible. 

We are grateful to have made it through 2024 in one piece. Our mechanic said it was good we replaced

the brakes in my van, Ryan’s truck, and the 24-year-old Buick (the new-to-us car we let Annie and Maddie

drive) in the month of October because he wasn’t sure how many more stops they would have been

good for. If our luck holds, Elizabeth’s Jeep will also need new brakes when she gets home again.

Fingers crossed!

We wish you all peace and love and laughter this Christmas season. We are so grateful for this time of

year, to remember and celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Merry Christmas!

With love,

The Kannely family

Sacrament Meeting Talk

 Little did I know when I accepted this speaking assignment that I would be sharing my talk day and topic with my daughter Elizabeth in Rexburg, Idaho. The Lord works in very mysterious ways, and I am grateful to have a sympathetic soul to commiserate and collaborate with.

What is Gratitude? The Merriam-Webster dictionary describes gratitude as “the state of being grateful.” And being grateful is defined as “feeling or showing an appreciation of kindness.” The Lord commands us to be thankful many times in the scriptures: As disciples of Christ, we are commanded to “thank the Lord [our] God in all things,”1 to “sing unto the Lord with thanksgiving,”2 and to “let [our] heart be full of thanks unto God.”3

Why does God command us to be grateful? Elder Dieter F Uchtdorf states: “All of His commandments are given to make blessings available to us. Commandments are opportunities to exercise our agency and to receive blessings. Our loving Heavenly Father knows that choosing to develop a spirit of gratitude will bring us true joy and great happiness.”

Mortal life is difficult. There are the everyday hardships like your car is making some awful noises and needs a trip to the mechanic, no one liked the dinner you made, you did not accomplish anything on your to-do list because life happened, sickness or injury, or you are pretty sure the author of the hymn “Love At Home” could not have had kids at home because your house sounds more like, “Whining and Fighting at Home.”

Then there are trials, as Elder Dale G Renlund put it, of the “Infuriating Unfairness” variety. He says:  “Some unfairness cannot be explained; inexplicable unfairness is infuriating. Unfairness comes from living with bodies that are imperfect, injured, or diseased. Mortal life is inherently unfair. Some people are born in affluence; others are not. Some have loving parents; others do not. Some live many years; others, few. And on and on and on. Some individuals make injurious mistakes even when they are trying to do good. Some choose not to alleviate unfairness when they could. Distressingly, some individuals use their God-given agency to hurt others when they never should.”

In our mortal experience, we are all given trials to bear. Some are temporary and others are of the more persisting variety. There are physical diseases and disabilities and struggles with mental health. There are feelings of loneliness and not fitting in. There are job and financial struggles. Feeling broken. Grief. Abuse. Addiction. Faith crisis. In a church where Celestial marriage and family is the goal, maybe your current life circumstances don’t seem to have you on that trajectory. This can be for many reasons. Divorce and broken families. Never finding a partner despite your righteous desires. Infertility. Being married but your spouse is not a member. Family members who choose to leave the church. Or whatever your unique circumstance is. We teach “Families are forever,” but what about mine? Amongst all these personal challenges, you can then turn on the news and be bombarded with all that is wrong in the world. How can we find any happiness in life?

Two psychologists, Dr. Robert A. Emmons of the University of California, Davis, and Dr. Michael E. McCullough of the University of Miami, have done much research on gratitude. In one study, they asked all participants to write a few sentences each week, focusing on particular topics. One group wrote about things they were grateful for that had occurred during the week. A second group wrote about daily irritations or things that had displeased them. After 10 weeks, those who wrote about gratitude were more optimistic and felt better about their lives. Surprisingly, they also exercised more and had fewer visits to physicians than those who focused on sources of aggravation.

In the talk, “Grateful in Any Circumstances,” Elder Uchtdorf states that instead of being grateful for things, let us try to be grateful in our circumstances. Quote, “Perhaps focusing on what we are grateful for is the wrong approach. It is difficult to develop a spirit of gratitude if our thankfulness is only proportional to the number of blessings we can count. True, it is important to frequently “count our blessings”—and anyone who has tried this knows there are many—but I don’t believe the Lord expects us to be less thankful in times of trial than in times of abundance and ease. In fact, most of the scriptural references do not speak of gratitude for things but rather suggest an overall spirit or attitude of gratitude.”  

My mother-in-law passed away unexpectedly in a car crash two years ago next month. My in-laws have been more loving, supporting, and present than my side of the family. We have lost loved ones before, but they have been with some warning and time to say goodbye. This was a crushing blow. Through the heavy burden of grief, we could find some glimpses of hope. Friends dropped by to give hugs and support. Other friends left food by our front door for us to find after one of our many trips north in the days following the accident so we didn’t have to cook. I discovered again I really do have faith in my Savior and a belief in the restitution of all things. We can be together again. There were moments of that peace that “surpasses all understanding.” I am grateful for Kim. I am grateful for her love of scrapbooking. She loved to document her children and grandchildren. Taking good photos was not her strong suit so we are all immortalized chewing, talking, and not looking at the camera half of the time. She left a bookcase full of memories and family history. After she passed, messages were received from the many people she loved and would reach out to regularly. She was a good example of that. She told me that I am loveable, even when my extended family showed the opposite. I am grateful for the years I had her in my life and her example of love and service.

Elder Uchtdorf said, “Being grateful in our circumstances is an act of faith in God. It requires that we trust God and hope for things we may not see but which are true. By being grateful, we follow the example of our beloved Savior, who said, “Not my will, but thine, be done.” True gratitude is an expression of hope and testimony. It comes from acknowledging that we do not always understand the trials of life but trusting that one day we will. In any circumstance, our sense of gratitude is nourished by the many and sacred truths we do know: that our Father has given His children the great plan of happiness; that through the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ, we can live forever with our loved ones; that in the end, we will have glorious, perfect, and immortal bodies, unburdened by sickness or disability; and that our tears of sadness and loss will be replaced with an abundance of happiness and joy.”

I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father. Elder Patrick Kearon said, “Our loving Father oversaw the Creation of this very earth for the express purpose of providing an opportunity for you and for me to have the stretching and refining experiences of mortality, the chance to use our God-given moral agency to choose Him, to learn and grow, to make mistakes, to repent, to love God and our neighbour, and to one day return home to Him. He sent His precious Beloved Son to this fallen world to live the full range of the human experience, to provide an example for the rest of His children to follow, and to atone and redeem. Christ’s great atoning gift removes every roadblock of physical and spiritual death that would separate us from our eternal home.”

I am grateful for Jesus Christ. He, who descended below all things, is our Savior and Redeemer. He will succor us in our trials and tribulations. He knows our suffering. He atoned for our sins so we can repent, be forgiven, and work to qualify for exaltation with His grace and mercy. He knows us and loves us in all of our mortal frailty. As Elder Kearon put it, “[He] is in relentless pursuit of you.” Jesus Christ can take our meager offerings, our 5 loaves and 2 fishes, and multiply our efforts into enough.

I am grateful for personal revelation. As we were reading in the Book of Ether, I found that I could relate to the Brother of Jared. He followed the Lord’s design for barges “tight like unto a dish” only to discover boats without light, fresh air, or the ability to steer. These are all major issues when you will be enclosed in a limited space with people, animals, and bees for almost a year. He had to have thought, “I thought I followed the Lord’s plan exactly. What went wrong?” which prompted further appeals to the Lord through prayer. My life has followed a similar course at times. I thought I was following what I was supposed to do only to find a roadblock or a destination I did not plan for. But as I continue to try, I can progress in my ability to “hear Him” and hopefully become a better, more Christ-like version of myself. In the case of the Brother of Jared, his roadblocks lead to better faith, growth, and eventually coming into the presence of the Lord.

I am grateful for the restored Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I am thankful for the Book of Mormon, which gives us a more complete vision of the mission and scope of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I am grateful for Joseph Smith who taught us that God wants all of His children to be saved. Not just the lucky few who were born in a time and place where Christianity is taught. He has made provisions for everyone who was ever born on this earth to be saved, and even exalted. I am thankful for temples, where we can make covenants with the Lord. We gain strength to face adversity in keeping those covenants. I am thankful for prophets. To answer my question from earlier about marriage and families in the eternities, here is a quote from President Lorenzo Snow: “There is no Latter-day Saint who dies after having lived a faithful life who will lose anything because of having failed to do certain things when opportunities were not furnished to him or her.” So to rephrase, if you live a faithful life to the best of your ability there are no blessings that are denied to you. None. Somehow, the Atonement of Jesus Christ will right the injustices, make up for the pain inherent to our mortal life, and make each of us whole again. So have faith. Don’t give up on God. Be patient with the human frailty around you. Make space to recognize the hand of Heavenly Father in your life and be thankful for all of the blessings we do have.

As we celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday and begin the Christmas season let us remember to  “...talk of Christ, … rejoice in Christ, … preach of Christ,... that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.” 2 Nephi 25:26 He is our reason for joy and thanksgiving.

I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.