We Already Know

At Madi’s burial, a woman came up to me, hugged me, and told me what an inspiration I had been to her. Throughout this trial, people have often said things to me like, “I don’t know how you are doing this,” or “I would never be handle such a tragedy.” I smile, say thank you, and feel proud for a second, but inside I know the truth: we are all stronger than we think we are. I know it when I talk to friends who have also lost children. They, too, have continued on, living life, taking care of other children, and staying strong in their faith. I have watched so many friends handle difficult challenges with such grace. I know that the woman who hugged me is also the kind of person that can handle hard things, and she would soon know it as well. The next day, two of her grandsons were killed in a boating accident on Lake Lanier. In the face of this horrible tragedy, I had no doubt that she and her entire family would be an inspiration to many.

Our families have been friends since I was little, and I grew up with her daughters, one of whom is the mother of the children who died. I got a call from a mutual friend informing me of the accident and asking if I would be willing to talk to Tara, the boys’ mom. Tara has three boys; her two youngest died, and the oldest was unharmed. I was in the car about 10 minutes from home and said I would be happy to call her. For those 10 minutes I thought about what I could say to her. How had I become the expert? Madi had passed away 8 months before. It felt like yesterday, but sometimes it felt like years. What had I learned? What had people said to me that helped the most? What brings me the most peace? When I got her on the phone, the first thing she said to me was, “Tell me what to do.” I had so many questions while Madi was sick and after she passed, and the answer that kept coming to my mind during that time was, “You already know the answer.” It was true. I had already been taught the things I needed to know to deal with what was happening to me. So to Tara I responded, “You already know what to do.”

When you learn things you become smart, when you apply them to your life and use them for the basis of your actions, you become wise. Tara and I had gone to church together enough times for me to know what she believes. I reminded her of some of those things and helped her see how they apply to her situation. For example, we both believe that family is an eternal principle and that our families will be together forever. We both believe that this life is but a small moment in time compared to eternity; and even though we want to spend all our time here with our loved ones, our journeys are all, inevitably, unique in length of time. If you put these beliefs together, it’s like our kids are away at camp. We miss them, but we will see them soon. The doing is still hard. Sometimes I feel like a child waiting for Christmas, who hasn’t quite conquered the concept of time. How much longer? How many times do I have to go to sleep and wake up before we can open presents? Back then it seemed like years passed from when the first present went under the tree to when we could open them on Christmas morning. As an adult, the time that passes between Black Friday and Christmas Eve seems a step faster than Usaine Bolt’s 100-meter dash. There is so much to do and so little time. I think this is how God must feel. He wants us to be able to open our presents right away and be reunited with our loved ones, but there is so much He wants to do for us while we’re here. There is so much for us to learn and so much He wants us to become before we go. In the wake of so much pain, these are the thoughts that bring me peace.

Two days after talking on the phone, I drove up to Atlanta to visit Tara. Another opportunity came to think about things we have learned. Griffin’s body had not been found, and it was causing so much pain, anguish and unrest. While not trying to take anything away from wanting to recover the body, keeping up the hope that they would find him, and continuing to pray for Griffin to be found, we reflected on the fact that we believe everyone will be resurrected regardless of where their bodies lie. I hope that Tara felt a little peace from this knowledge during the agonizing two-week search for Griffin’s body; thankfully, he was found and laid to rest next to his brother.

No matter how busy you make yourself, there still remains much time for reflection. A friend asked me recently how often I think of Madi. I wasn’t sure and said it was probably once or twice a day. Since then I tried to keep track to find out what the answer to that question really was. As it turns out, it’s more like once or twice an hour. I found that I could drive myself crazy if I gave into the pain each time she crossed my mind. I keep the pain at bay by focusing on things I know: God lives, He loves me, and He has a plan for me.

In the months since Jake and Griffin passed away, Tara and her family have been amazing, just like I knew they would be. We are all so much stronger than we know. She has so many wonderful ideas of how to honor their memories, some of which I have stolen. She has been an inspiration to so many people in her family, community, and church. She has amazed and inspired her friends and total strangers. One day someone will come to her and say, “Tell me what to do.” And she will help them. (That person just might be me.)

It makes me so sad to think of all the pain that we all have to go through, but I know that all these will give us experience and growth and help us be more like our Father in Heaven. I am happy that my friends think I may have something to offer them. I lean on my friends so much, especially those who have lost children, so returning the favor is something I hope to do. One of my hopes for this blog is to share things they may help others deal with whatever their challenges may be. Everyone is different, especially when it comes to how we grieve. So the last piece of advice I gave Tara was to heed any advice that brings you peace and disregard the rest. Hopefully I gave her at least one thing to hold on to.  My hope for all of us is that we learn and grow and share and repeat. Madi’s short life here taught me so much. Hopefully that short, sweet life can be Madi’s blessing to many.

Team Prince

Madi's Burial Service

June 17^th, 2012

When Madi passed away, Jay and I struggled with what to do with her body. Before Madi ever got sick, Jay had made his wishes known to me that he wanted to be cremated. He had read how our bodies are hermetically sealed in coffins and placed in the ground where our bodies are unable to decompose into the dirt. Our bodies then decay into a gelatinous mush. He does not want to be “a primordial mush,” which sounds reasonable. I have no strong feelings either way. Doctrinally, I know that all bodies will be resurrected regardless of burial procedure. It is very expensive to keep a body, transport a body, buy a plot, dig a hole, and bury a body. If we bought a plot where would it be? As much as we love living here, Columbus doesn’t feel like home quite as much as Atlanta does, so we thought we might lay her to rest next to Amber, Jay’s sister who passed away some years before. With all these uncertainties hanging over us, we decided it would just be so much easier to have her cremated.

After she was cremated, we were not sure what to do with her cremanes. I looked at several urns, but I never felt comfortable with displaying her in my house. We mulled over it for weeks. I was really embarrassed one day when Tori’s mom, Penny, called me to ask where Madi was because Tori wanted to go visit her. “In my closet,” I sheepishly responded. I knew I needed to figure something out.

We thought of scattering her ashes in a place she really loved. Jay suggested we go to Disney World and throw the ashes on Cinderella…”she is ‘Cinder’ella after all.”  I am so thankful for all of Jay’s brilliant ideas. (Can you feel the sarcasm?) Honestly, I laughed really hard at this suggestion, and it’s a relief to find a place to laugh here and there. After some thought, we found the perfect place: the Secret Garden. As a bit of background, Jay’s parents have transformed their backyard into a beautiful garden with waterfalls flowing into koi-filled (sometimes) ponds, countless varieties of flowers, bushes and trees, garden gnomes, and precious statues. We have dubbed it the Secret Garden. When each of my babies was crying, Becky, Jay’s mom, would take them for a walk in the Secret Garden to sooth them. As they got older, they loved to explore back there. Madi, in particular, loved the Secret Garden. When we would get to grandma’s house she would go straight to the backyard and ask to feed the fish. She would also spend time searching for newly added gnomes and statues. There have been two wedding receptions in the Secret Garden where Madi was the flower girl. She was in her element as she pranced around the garden in her fabulous dresses. We knew it would be the perfect resting place for her.

 

  

The one problem with having Madi in the garden was that she would not be close to us. We have some friends who lost their nine-month-old baby to cancer two months before Madi died. They, too, had their son cremated but chose to keep him in a decorative urn in their bedroom to have him closer to them than at a grave site. I understand this sentiment, and I was torn. Jay and I decided to get special pieces of jewelry that hold a small portion of her ashes that we could wear on our person to keep her close to us. Once we found the jewelry, we were ready to lay her ashes to rest.

The perfect time presented itself. Jay’s parents have been asked to serve as Mission President to run the missionary program in the Dominican Republic for the next three years. Since they will not be able to come home during that time, we decided to get together for a family reunion/farewell. Our families are spread out throughout the United States so this seemed the best chance to have some family there. I regret that my family was unable to attend but know that each of them had a made a sizeable sacrifice to attend Madi’s memorial in November.

So June 17^th, 2012 turned out to be a celebration of the circle of life for the Douglas family. We started off the day with a church service that began with the baby blessing of my nephew, Grant. Next, Jolanta gave her homecoming speech as she had just arrived home from her mission of 18 months in Salt Lake City and John and Becky gave farewell speeches as they were about to leave on theirs. After church we held a burial service for Madi.

The service itself was very sweet. As we all stood in the garden together, I began by saying how thankful we are for the support of family and friends. I spoke of how we loved to hear Madi’s name and would always welcome stories of her. Trey spoke next about what our family does to help us remember Madi. He showed a scrapbook he had made and a running list of memories we keep. He told a few of his favorite stories from the list. He was darling. Next we invited people to come to the grave site, say their last goodbye to Madi, and place a purple flower on top. Jay, Trey, and I started, followed by the rest of those in attendance. When everyone had said their goodbyes, I asked them to join me in singing “I Know that My Redeemer Lives.” I chose this song because it testifies over and over that the Savior lives, and if He lives, she lives. Also, in the third verse when it says, “He lives, my mansions to prepare,” I like to think He is building my mansion in heaven and Madi is decorating it. As we sang, Becky accompanied us on her violin. It sounded heavenly. After the song, Jay dedicated the grave with a very beautiful prayer.

It was a very emotional time for our family, but we feel so much peace after completing her burial. I know many of you would like to have been there to share this with us, so we took video of the service. (Thank you, Celeste.) Dave Winters also took some beautiful pictures during the service. I had lots of technical difficulties bringing this video to you (hence the three month delay), but I have managed to split it up into 4 parts to make it work. The total video is just under 30 minutes. Thank you to all those that were there and to those that were there in spirit. Your love has been felt throughout this process.

Madi’s Burial Part 1

Madi’s Burial Part 2

Madi’s Burial Part 3

Madi’s Burial Part 4

Becoming Butterflies

Madi, like most kids, loves Eric Carle books. Her favorite is “The Very Quiet Cricket.” A close second is “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” Many of you are familiar with the story of this caterpillar. He is born, eats a ton of food, forms a cocoon, and then becomes a beautiful butterfly. When Madi and I read the part where he eats so much he gets a tummy ache, sometimes we would joke that he must have eaten some of her decadron. Madi could identify with that very hungry caterpillar. Madi’s teachers gave her an Eric Carle butterfly nightlight that comforted her through some sleepless nights.

The butterfly is such an amazing creature. To start out as a long, thin, wormlike creature and then experience a metamorphosis to gain colorful wings and the ability to fly is such a foreign experience to us as humans. What a change in perspective from inching along the ground to soaring around the treetops!

The butterfly is a common symbol used by foundations that have helped us through our journey. Trey is enrolled in Camp Cocoon for this summer. Here is what they have to say about their camp:

Each day of our lives reminds us that change is continuous and unavoidable. Camp Cocoon helps give young people the tools emotionally and spiritually to deal with devastating changes and helps participants to develop from: a feeling of loss to a celebration of life, from confusion to understanding, from tears of trauma to tears of joy from happy memories, and from cocoons to butterflies!

Many of you will remember the program that Madi and I did with Beads of Courage. Madi received a glass bead corresponding to whatever difficult thing she had to do, e.g. needle sticks, surgery, chemo, radiation, to place on a necklace. When Madi’s journey was done, she had amassed enough beads to fill three very long necklaces. It is an awesome sight to behold what she had to endure represented by these beads. When she passed, I asked my friends where the “died” bead was. I felt there should be a bead corresponding to death and proposed that it should be a diamond for the mom. (I realized how irreverent this was, but sometimes irreverence helps me assimilate heavenly things with earthly things.) Interestingly enough there is a “died” bead, Beads of Courage more sensitively calls it the grief bead, and it is a beautiful, glass, hand-painted butterfly. It is perfect.

The Brain Tumor Foundation for Kids also uses the butterfly as a symbol. Their Butterfly Fund is a program that provides financial assistance to needy families of children and young adults with brain and spinal cord tumors. Jay really liked this organization based in Atlanta, and started volunteering with them. We decided to start an annual Tumor Trooper Run/Walk in Columbus to represent the many families struggling with brain tumors there, including Madi and Tori, and to raise money for the Butterfly Fund. The run was very successful, meaning I took home a second place medal for my age group… okay, the bigger success was that we raised a ton of money. We are so thankful to our friends and family who donated time, money, sweat, and those Chick-Fil-A chicken biscuits!



Trey with Ms. Leigh's beautiful daughters



The famous Miss Tori

Amy, my good friend, took first for the girls; Kirstin, who flew in from Texas to support me, took first place in the Masters division; and I took second place in my age group. Check out the hardware!

Butterflies now hold a special place in my heart. I love the myriad of meaning that can be drawn from using the butterfly has a symbol. I think the most meaningful analogy of the butterfly’s metamorphosis would be life of the Savior. He lived on earth, died and was placed in a tomb, then emerged as a resurrected, glorified being. I know that this is what our Heavenly Father wants for us. He wants us to take all of our life’s experiences, good and bad, that we gain as we inch along the earth, use them to build a chrysalis so that, through the atonement, we too can emerge as beautiful, resurrected, perfected, glorified beings and soar among the heavens.

How is Trey?

Many of you have asked, “How is Trey?” I will give you the recap of what we have done to help Trey cope with the loss of his sister.

My philosophy on parenting is that my responsibility is not to shelter my kids from the world, but to assist them in coping with it. Madi passed away around 3:00 AM. Before the ambulance came we woke Trey up and told him that Madi had died. We asked him if he would like to say goodbye. He asked, “How can I say goodbye if she is dead?” I explained that her spirit has left her body and lives on, so she can hear us. We took him in to see her body. We explained that her body would no longer be with us on Earth and that her spirit has gone to heaven. We all stood by the bed and told her we loved her and goodbye. Trey asked to go back to bed.

The next morning Trey got up and got ready for school. School seemed like the best place for him. He needed to have closure with Madi, but did not need to be consumed with the details all day long. He needed the normalcy of a day at school. Before he left for school and before the ambulance took Madi’s body away, we all went in to say one last I love you and goodbye to Madi. I walked Trey in to his class to notify his teacher of what had happened and asked her to watch him and let me know if he needed anything. He had a great day at school.

A few days later we had the viewing. I had gone earlier and Trey came with someone else. Without my knowledge someone sent Trey over to see his sister in the casket. Someone let me know that Trey was standing at the casket alone, almost frozen. I bee-lined it over to him to help him through a difficult experience. I asked him if he thought Madi would approve of the job I did getting her body ready. “I curled her hair and put on a tiara. I painted her fingernails purple. Can you see the bling I added to her thumb nails? You know she would love that. I made sure that she had a ring, and a bracelet, and a necklace, and earrings, and she is wearing her favorite dress.” He nodded that Madi would’ve approved. “I think she’s beautiful,” I said. Trey responded, “So do I.” I asked if he was done. He said yes, and we walked away.

At the end of the night I explained to Trey, who had seen Madi three times since her death, that we would no longer see her after tonight. As a family we said a prayer around her casket and said our last goodbyes. Trey asked if he could be the one to close the casket. I agreed. As we left the room, Trey broke down in tears. I sat down to comfort him. I said things like, Madi is much happier now that she isn’t so sick anymore, and her spirit lives on in heaven even though we can’t see her. But the thing that finally brought him peace was when I said, “Even though we can’t see her body anymore, we can go home and look at lots of pictures and videos to remember Madi.” He dried his eyes and said let’s go.

I think remembering Madi is the thing that has helped him cope the most. We do lots of things to help Madi live on in our memories. We keep a running list of things that remind us of Madi. Whenever anyone thinks of something we add it to the list. Trey will come up with things we don’t even know about. “Oh Mom, add ‘Capture’ to the list.” “What’s that?” I ask. “It’s a game Madi and I used to play.”

We did a good job of staying very busy through the holidays, but January seemed to be hard for everyone. One night Jay and Trey were playing xbox. Jay was headed out for a guys’ night out, so as he left, he told Trey to play for five more minutes and then go to bed. Please tell me I’m not the only one who sees the ridiculousness of the situation. Five-year-olds have no concept of time. He could have at least said two more guys or levels or whatever. On top of it, Jay doesn’t bother to tell me. I thought Jay put Trey to bed and then left. Imagine my surprise when a fully-clothed Trey comes into my room at 10:30 to tell me something. My eyes got huge. “What are you doing?” Trey explained to me what had transpired and then asked, “Am I in trouble?” I responded,“No, but your dad is big time.” I assured him he was not in trouble but that he needed to go straight to bed. He left and a few minutes later I hear wailing upstairs. The kind of crying where your sure someone lost a finger. I jump out of bed and ask what’s wrong. Through tears, a very loud, “I miss Madi.”

Part of me knows that he is just exhausted, but part of me knows we need to deal with the emotions however they get expressed. So I let him crawl into bed with me and asked what happened to make him think of her. He said that whenever he or Madi couldn’t sleep, they would sneak into each others bed. I said, “Oh I remember that! Do you remember how mad I used to get? I used to yell and say everyone get back in your own beds. Remember how she used to come in your room when you were trying to sleep and turn on your light and start playing with your toys? You used to say, ‘Moooom, Madi’s in my room again.’ You guys were such stinkers.” Then I gave him tickle torture, which resolves most issues in our house. I let him fall asleep with me that night.

The next morning he was exhausted. He cried for Madi right into his cereal. Jay and I discussed letting him stay home from school. I felt like letting him stay home from school might teach him that saying you miss Madi would get you special privileges. Then it would be hard to tell which future emotions were genuine. I told Trey he needed to go to school even though he was tired and sad. “We all miss Madi but we still have to go to work and school. But when you get home we can look at pictures of Madi and take a nap.”

We haven’t had any breakdowns since this one. Trey and I work on Madi related issues about once a week. We have some workbooks and literature that we use as our guide. We write in a journal, answer questions about cancer, draw pictures about different emotions we are having, and talk about Madi. When Trey can’t sleep at night, we invite him to go into Madi’s room and pick one of her favorite stuffed animals off her bed to sleep with. A few small gifts from friends have gone a long way to comfort both Madi and Trey.

As February approached so did Madi’s birthday. We anticipated it being a hard day so we did what we could to make it a special, happy day of celebrating Madi. Trey had begged to go back to Universal’s Islands of Adventure ever since we went with the Make-a-Wish foundation. We decided to go for her birthday. We had so much fun. We decided that we should all get henna tattoos in honor of her birthday. Trey got a chain around his arm, I got a tiara, and Jay got a purple cancer ribbon. When we got back to our resort, there were flowers waiting in our room from our friends in Atlanta. We got a few other birthday presents from friends as well. It amazes me that every time I come upon something that I think is going to be too much to bear, there are wonderful people there to carry me through. I love you all so much.

Another comfort to our family was a camp we attended in March. Camp Stars is an organization that provides a weekend family camp for those who have lost loved ones. On the first night we had to introduce ourselves and tell about the loved one we had lost. Trey begged to be the one to talk for our family. He got the mic, introduced himself and said, “My sister, Madi, died of a brain tumor. She was beautiful and we love her.” It was very sweet. There were tons of activities like, fishing, paddle boats, rock climbing, archery, arts and crafts, etc. We split up into age groups and were able to talk with others about our loss. We brought tons of pictures of Trey and Madi together and for one of the crafts we made a scrapbook of the two of them. We had a candle lighting ceremony at the end with a slide show and we got to say a few words about Madi. It was a very special weekend for our family. We are thankful for the donations from the family (we were able to meet them at the end during the ceremony) that made it all possible.

In April, Trey got spoiled by his grandparents in New York. Ever since we got back, he constantly says, “I heart NY.” At the end of that wonderful spring break came Easter which we spent at my brother’s house. Easter was hard for me but I don’t think Trey noticed. It should be an easy time because remembering the resurrection is what gives us hope and brings the peace of knowing we will see Madi again. I think it was just very emotional because never in my life has Easter meant so much to me.

It is amazing how much having kids teaches you. You think that you are going to teach them how to get through this life and end up learning so much from them. Madi has already taught me more in the last year than I could have taught her in a lifetime. By helping Trey through this process, I am learning even more. Trey has been on a kick of asking crazy “would you rather A or B”-type questions. He turned to me and asked, “Would you rather see Jesus or Madi?” I responded, “Trey, I would rather see Jesus, because then I would know that I would see Madi.”

Everybody deals with trials. They are all different, but we all have them. Life is not about avoiding trials; it’s about what you do after they happen to you. When you think about past events, you make a choice. What will your events motivate you to do? I hope to teach Trey to choose to be motivated to do good. That is how we allow Madi to continually bless our lives. I’m optimistic after the ride to school this morning. Trey said, “I want to write a book, so that after I die people will remember me, just like Dr. Seuss.” That’s my boy!

Painful Blessings

I’ve wanted to write, but life has been quite painful. At first the tears would not come, now I can’t keep them away. It feels like a sports injury (sorry for this analogy, but I’m an athlete at heart). I’m reminded of a time I was shooting a three in a basketball game (too many years ago), and the defender boxed me out by undercutting me. I came down and turned my ankle. In the adrenaline of a close game, I played on. After the game my foot swelled up and by the next morning I couldn’t even walk. It wasn’t broken and later on in the day I started walking on it. By that night’s game, with enough tape, I was able to play through the pain. When the game was close I felt nothing, but when I was resting on the bench, it was pretty painful. My life feels like I’m playing through an injury.

The pain of Madi’s death first set in when the whirlwind of the funeral, the cruise, and the holidays all came to an end. It was New Year’s Eve and I was taking down Christmas decorations (someone once told me that it is bad luck to have your tree up after the New Year). It all seemed over. Really over. Taking down those Christmas decorations felt like an ending I was desperate to avoid. The thought of a New Year was worse. The problem is I love New Year’s Eve/Day. It is my favorite holiday. I love making goals, starting fresh, new motivation, fancy dresses, parties, staying up late, late night breakfast, and college football all day. Some how, this year, starting fresh seemed like the worse thing in the world. Moving into a New Year where Madi didn’t exist is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I managed to take down most of the decorations. There were two things I couldn’t bear to take down. One was the nativity set in the living room. It would stay up three more weeks. Thinking of the Savior had given me so much strength that I did not want to lose such a beautiful reminder of His love and sacrifice that makes seeing Madi again possible. The other decoration was Madi’s Angel Tree. It is still up.

For those who don’t know, Madi’s Angel Tree was given to me at the funeral by her preschool, Wynnton Methodist. Many families from the school and from all over have sent me angels to put on the tree to remind me of the love and support they have for our family during this time. The angels are as priceless as the friendships that they symbolize. Some are homemade angels by Madi’s friends, some are things that remind us of Madi (Belle, a girl in a purple dress, a bottle of nail polish, and Cindy Lou Who), Some are so exquisite that Derek (my 18 month old) is bound to lose a hand if he gets any closer, some are filled with so much meaning they bring me to tears, and all are filled with the love and support that sustained me through last year and continues to sustain me now.

There is one particular angel story that I must share. I received a box in the mail from the mother of one of my best friends growing up. In the box were five antique-looking angels. I thought how interesting they were. Then I read the note and realized that interesting will never be used to describe them. They are the five angels that have hung on her tree for some 30 years to represent each of her five children. I am honored that she would entrust them to me.

As you can see, the idea of taking down this tree seemed an impossible task. I still need that tree. In fact, I think I need it now more than ever. I had planned on putting the tree up every year on November 8^th, to honor Madi, and leaving it up through Christmas, but I couldn’t take it down. In desperation I called my super OCD friend. We all have one of these friends. Her house is amazing, beautifully decorated and always immaculate. The Christmas decorations are up a few days before Thanksgiving and come down the day after Christmas without fail. Her shocking advice was to leave the tree up. I said, “You would never do that.” And she responded that she would if she had something that beautiful.

Needless to say, the tree is still up and the lights come on every night at 6:30. I often wonder what the neighbors think, the ones that don’t know the meaning of the tree. Why did they take down their house lights and reindeer but leave their tree up? They should at least turn off the timer so no one knows they still have their tree up. There is one thing that gives me comfort when I think of these people. There is a little boy, William, who lives down the street. He was in Madi’s preschool class for two years. His mom told me that every time they pass my house at night William says, “There’s Madi’s Christmas Tree!”



William giving Madi purple flowers when he found out she was sick.



While the tree helps, the pain is still there, and we are learning to live with it. Since I live with it daily, I have thought a lot about my pain, mostly about the purpose of my pain. Why is this so painful? Feeling pain is a very important part of our physical survival. There is actually a serious medical condition called congenital analgesia (after countless episodes of ER, Grey’s Anatomy, and House, I’m practically a doctor), where the patient cannot feel pain. They often suffer from eye infections, because they can’t tell when something is hurting their eye, or damage to their mouth from unknowingly biting their tongue or lip. They often have bone fractures but aren’t aware, and if they have any internal problems they seek no medical attention because they are not alerted by the pain.

My pain has followed a similar path as physical pain does. Often in serious injuries, the body goes into shock and no pain is felt until later. My friend was on a first date with a guy when they were involved in an attempted car jacking. He was driving away when he was shot in the side. He calmly told her he was shot, asked her to call his brother, and drove himself to the hospital, where the pain set in with a vengeance. When Madi first passed away I was very much at peace. I felt very calm and peaceful when I thought of her. I could not cry. I worried that I was not being honest with myself and that I would crash soon, but that did not happen. I truly felt at peace. A friend, who recently lost her mother, warned me that a difficult time lay ahead. She said that two months after her mother passed, the people went away, the tasks were all done, and the pain set in. I’m thankful for her wisdom that helped me prepare myself for this time.

The pain has definitely set in, but my pain does not feel physical but rather seems spiritual in nature.  There is nothing wrong with my body, but Madi’s separation from me hurts me to my soul. So is there a purpose to spiritual pain that is as important as our physical pain is to our survival? I have a friend who lost her two year old boy suddenly in an accident. She recalls feeling the same peace at first. She reasoned that the Holy Ghost must step in and help you cope with such unbearable pain. She described it as being enveloped with bubble wrap. She said that eventually the feeling went away and her pain set in similar to mine. She felt that such a strong presence from the Holy Ghost all the time was not sustainable. I wondered why? I am continually drawn to the thought that there must be something to learn from this pain; it must have a purpose.

So I start with trying to find answers to what causes my pain and what would fix it. It seems that my separation from Madi is causing it and being with her again would fix it. So maybe the pain is turning our focus to an afterlife, filling us with hope of an afterlife with our loved ones. Living with this pain all the time is a constant reminder of something more to live for. Having someone we have loved on the other side pulls us like a magnet toward that life that extends beyond this one. It moves us to seek answers to questions. Is there life after death? Does everyone go to the same place? Does what I’m doing now determine the place I will go? When we have a loved one there, we are motivated to learn more giving this life new meaning and purpose.

I am grateful for the answers I have learned through religion. In fact, about 60% of the world, billions of people, have answers to these questions. Christianity and Islam, the top world religions, believe in a resurrection and a heaven where we are reunited with our loved ones. They each detail a process to get there. If so many of us believe in these things, why is there so much pain and grief associated with death and loss? I know that my own beliefs have brought much needed peace; and yet, the pain, while mitigated, is still palpable.

So I have been wondering if there is more to be learned from the pain, more growth to be had. Recently, a new idea has offered a possible answer that also coincides with a previous religious question of mine. My personal understanding is that we lived with our Heavenly Father before we came to earth, and we can return to Him through Christ our Savior. If we cannot return to Him then we will experience a separation from Him which we will consider “hell.” We will be in a Heaven, far better than this Earth, but the hell we will experience will be that we can no longer be in the presence of our Heavenly Father.

I have been trying to understand the concept of being separated from our Heavenly Father. Because we don’t remember Him, we have to rely on our spiritual senses to relearn the nature of our relationship with Him. I have struggled with the fact that I have felt more distraught over being separated from a boyfriend than from my Father in Heaven. I have tried to nurture and strengthen the relationship with my Father in Heaven so that I have a desire and a motivation to return to Him.

I believe that dealing with Madi’s death has helped teach me more about what that separation could feel like. Maybe that is why we feel such bonds between family members and such pain at their passing. The pain we feel might be teaching us what Heaven might be like without being reunited with our Father in Heaven. I am happy here on Earth, and I have so many blessings to be thankful for, including two other beautiful children. But I am always saddened when I think of Madi (which is several times a day) and the void left by her death. Being without her really is hell; even with all the good in my life, this is not how I would like life to remain for eternity.

We all must deal with death, either of a loved one or our own death. Our Heavenly Father loves each of us very much and desires for each of us to return to Him. It would be very painful for Him to lose just one of us. He wants us to learn how to return to Him and all our loved ones. It should be our most important endeavor. It will bring us the most happiness. Isn't that really what we all want? Happiness?!

Jessica

 

Jessica and Madi had a very special connection. When Jessica came on our Disney trip with us, they made fast friends. We all had a great time. By the time Jessica came back to visit just a few months later, Madi’s health had seriously declined. Madi could no longer articulate her words, she couldn’t walk, and sleeping was little more than an illusive dream. Jessica gave her all her medicines, helped her sleep at night, and miraculously understood everything she said. When Madi would wake up in the night, Jessica would rub her back and gently help her back to sleep. Jessica was amazing, and I think that a special and unique bond was formed through this service.

 

When Jessica got the call that Madi had passed away, it was very hard for her. She wrote a letter to Madi and has allowed me to share it here. Jessica also worked very hard on a dance solo that she dedicated to Madi.

Click here to see Jessica's dance solo.

Regarding her solo she wrote:

"Angie and Jay, I can't even explain in words the feeling I get when I do that dance for Madi. It feels like she is right there with me. The purple hair piece is my little piece of her I have to remind me why I love this routine so much. I dance for her now and she gives me strength. I couldn't have done it without her (especially with some injuries). Every time I perform that the pain goes away. She was incredible, and I only hope to continue to inspire others through her incredible story. Thanks for all of the compliments!! That dance doesn't even do it justice compared to everything she went through. But it is my way of coping with it all, and it's my way of connecting with her still."

I love you, Jess.

The Letter:

November 8, 2011 8:45 am 

Dear Madi, 

You passed away this morning at about 3a.m. You were a fighter. One thing I've learned through all of this is that we all have a purpose while we're here on earth. You definitely fulfilled your purpose here. You are now with Heavenly Father who missed you so much. He loves you without end and I know he loves me too. Death ends a life Madi, not a relationship. I know I will see you again. You have taught me so much about life and living for a purpose. I promise I will live a righteous life so I will be able to live with you again. My life is going to be different now. I will love more, dance harder, serve others, and live my life to the fullest because you taught me how precious life is. We can't take any of it for granted. I am so grateful for the time I got to spend with you. You are my little angel. I know that you aren't in pain anymore. I really think that is what brings peace to my heart. The cancer was too strong for your fragile body. But everything's okay now. After drill this morning I had a text from my dad saying, "Call me." I knew something was wrong so I called him immediately. He told me what happened and that you had passed away peacefully in your sleep. I had my team around me, comforting me. I couldn't go to school so I went home. Driving home I could literally feel your arms around me. I love you Madi. These passed few days have been pretty stormy and windy here. But, today everything feels calm. As I look out the window, there is so much peace in the way everything stands still. It is a beautiful morning. I can feel you sweet little spirit. 

The night before you passed I texted your mom and said, "Give her a kiss for me". My mom and dad had just told me that the doctors were going to take you off your medication and you would not have much time left. It was hard to hear but I knew deep down that this would be for the better. What makes your passing so comforting is knowing your aren't in pain anymore. You are in the loving arms of our Heavenly Father and you are completely at peace. Knowing that makes me at peace too. You're story has touched and inspired many lives. I will never forget the memories we made together. You will forever be apart of my life even though you are physically no longer here. Thank you for being such an example to me Madi. I know that when I pray and ask my Heavenly Father for blessings that it will be you who he sends down to help me. You are my guardian angel. 

I love you with all of my heart Madi.

Your cousin, 

Jessica