Josh and Sam

This year we got our Christmas tree at the same place we did last year. I love it! It is up on a mountain/hill, and you can see the valley from the top. I was a little nervous that they were not going to be open because I could not find any information on them on the internet. Josh asked me what I wanted to do, and I said let's just go and see. So, we drove to Dallas and just as we got close there was a big sign for Bigfoot Christmas trees! I was excited! They were open! We kept driving and then found the little dirt road entrance and started driving up. I am a lot nerdy and a little embarrassed, but as we were driving up I got so excited and happy that we were getting a tree I started crying! I know big dork, but getting a tree is one of my favorite things about Christmas! I especially love getting them at places like Bigfoot. You get to cut it down yourself, and they shake and bale it for you! This year we hung out a little bit,enjoyed yummy hot chocolate, candy canes, sat by the fire listening to Christmas music, and got to watch other families get their trees! I loved it! Josh's camera is not that great, and mine broke so our pictures are a little foggy, but at least we have some! We took a tape measure this year because last year our tree was shorter than it could have been, and I wanted to get the biggest tree we could this year!

Here it is!

Red and white this year! Most of the ornaments and lights we got from my grandma. Thanks grandma! Merry Christmas everyone and have fun getting your tree!

There are a few curse words in this paper so please don't be offended! It was the only way to really capture my grandma. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!

I Remember You

    January had come hard, cold, and wet. Oregon has always been known for it’s rainstorms, but on this specific week the rain had pounded steady everyday. The flooding water had spilled over from the road into people’s yards. It destroyed gardens and drowned driveways.
    My grandma was in town because my parents had flown with my brother to Utah to see him into the Missionary Training Center. It was Wednesday and I had no school and no work. My boyfriend, Josh, was coming over to make my grandma and I breakfast. I woke early to find the day creeping in my window. Laying a hand on my pink walls slowly bringing my room to a soft glow. It wasn’t bright because there was no sun, simply winter luminosity. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I find joy in early mornings when you don’t have anywhere to go, no responsibilities, and nothing pressing to do.   I knew my grandma was awake because even though she smoked outside the back door, the cold breeze brought a slight hint of tobacco across the tip of the air. It was an odd smell that brought sweet childhood memories, but at that same instant the realization of an educated mind, “smoking causes cancer.”
    I heard a knock on the door and both dogs went crazy with a barking frenzy. Back in the house now, grandma yelled at them. “Shut the Hell up!” As she slammed the back door. Hell being a “Grandma word“, only to be used by her. It was only Josh, so I waited for him to come find me. He came down the hall calling my name. When he got to my room he kindly informed me it was time to get up. “No it’s not!” I teased back. Shoving the blankets over my head. He went to the foot of my bed and tried to find my feet. “You have to get up! It’s breakfast time.” He said with a huge grin on his face. “And I’ve got something special in mind.” “Special” meaning he had no idea and he wanted me to come help him.
    On any other day my sisters would have the stereo in the bathroom cranked all the way up. The loud music would push a hot messes of pop music and steam throughout the house. Both would be scrambling around getting everything ready for their day. That morning was different. Alex had late start so she was in bed, and Jordan was at the computer playing a game. It was almost peaceful. A loud ring Cut into the calmness of the morning.
“I got it!” Screamed Jordan. Her footsteps echoed down the hall as she ran to get the phone. A few seconds later I heard her say: “Grandma it’s for you” This time much quieter. “Y‘ello” Somewhat cheery. Then: “What?” This single word said any other way would seem totally harmless. The “what” that escaped my grandma’s mouth was different. It held in the space of our house. Like cold chains it froze me. I sat up and listened with every part of me hoping the next words would sound different. Like the cold air brought the aroma of tobacco, the echo of her shaking voice rode on the silence. “What frank?” The same tone. I pulled myself from my bed to go to her. Hesitating with each step, yet determined, I started to walk out. Josh took my hand. The warmth of his hand gave me strength but I told him to wait in my room for me. Before I left my room my mind held a simple image of grandma happy and smiling. I said a small prayer to myself and looked up to see her.
“What are you saying?” She asked, her freckled face has wrinkled into a cold gaze. She was holding the phone tightly with both hands.
“What… what?” Asking again as Her petite hands started to shake.
I could hear my footsteps echo down the hall just as Jordan’s did as I make my way towards her. My grandma barely able to speak anymore said something else to the person on the phone and then just stood there with the gray phone quivering in her hands. Hesitantly I asked her what was wrong.
“Jimmy’s dead” She said almost as if she was asking a question.
“Uncle Jimmy?” I thought out loud.
“He killed Himself.” She said, in pure disbelief answering the question I couldn’t even ask. Spiders crawled over my shoulders and shuddered down my arms. My stomach sank and I started to choke. I took her frail body in my arms and held her. My grandmas voice had woken up Alex and she had come down the hall right behind me. She too wrapped her arms around us. Grandma looked at me and in her eyes I saw truly saw her. Defeated by what she had just been told made her look delicate and childlike. She wasn’t a rude old lady that swore and flipped people off. She wasn’t that person that was always telling me I am too nice, as she told another dirty joke. She was a mother who had just lost a son. She was someone, who was broken, who needed me.


    White roses in glass vases shimmered on top of the piano. I closed my eyes letting the shimmer slide down my cheek. I took a deep breath opened my eyes and looked around. The church we were in was much like one my parents and siblings went to every Sunday. The only true difference was the blue colors of the upholstery and walls. Even with the lights bright and fluorescent, it felt dark. Alex was speaking from the tall wooden podium in front. Her face was optimistic with faith and conviction . The words she spoke left me with a feeling of peace and wonder admits the waves of sadness radiating around me. I remember a quote she read by *Gordon B. Hinckley. It came from the program of his wife’s funeral. “It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don’t worry. I say that to myself every morning. It will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. He will not forsake us. If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him, if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers.“ After Alex finished my Dad stood. He was smiling and wearing my Uncle Jimmy’s black leather jacket, clean white shirt, shiny dress shoes, and a tie. He thanked her for her words, then made the announcement that the pulpit would be open for anyone who would like to get up and say something in honor of Jimmy. Looking down for a moment he placed his arms on the stand then asked Joseph, Jimmy’s only son, if he could come up to the front. Joseph shyly got up and walked towards him. My dad asked Joseph if he knew who the leather jacket belonged too. Joseph didn’t talk he just shook his head no. He then took the jacket off and placed it over Joseph’s shoulders and told him that it belonged to his father and Jimmy would want him to have it. He hugged Joseph and they both walked down the steps together and sat down.
    Uncle Shane got up and started to make his way to the front. His bright red hair stood out against the blues of the chapel. He was wearing a simple collard shirt, dark blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. Once he was front and center he began to speak. An expression of guilt shook from him and crashed into the bare walls of the chapel. He finished with a deep hint of blame “ I should have been there,” He said, “ We should have been able to see this coming and stop it.” I watched him as he slowly returned to his spot. Surprised and almost angry at what he had just said I looked at my grandma to see her reaction. She was sitting in the front row between Jordan and my cousin, so short that her small feet almost dangled barely touching the ground. Her face was soft and had puffy round spots around her eyes. The affect of my uncle’s words seemed as if they had crushed her deep into the cushion she was sitting on. She was oblivious to how fragile she appeared, and when she noticed me staring she winked. I smiled, and gave a weak smile back. I looked down and saw my hands, the same fair skin of my grandma’s, begin to tremble against the soft fabric of my skirt. My heart came alive against the walls of my chest. I was moved by a spirit giving me courage. I stood up slowly, yet with determination, and made my way to the front of the chapel. With each fierce step I took choruses of my own voice hummed through my head. The individual voices illuminated something different yet all conveying identical messages. I stepped in front of the podium looked down and saw the microphone, cold and metallic, then I looked up to the moving sea of faces. Most of the people that were there I didn’t know. All at once my voices stopped leaving me in silence. I took hold of the podium to steady myself, looked down at my family and started to speak. “We are here because we loved Uncle Jimmy. He has moved on to a better place now, we can’t blame ourselves for what has happened. No one could have known this was coming. The only thing we can do now is love the people we have here today with all of our hearts. Put petty things a side and be here for each other as friends and family. We can’t change what has happened, but we can change what will happen from now on. Tell the people that are dear to you how much you truly care about them and how important they are to you. Remember Uncle Jimmy for all the good things we know about him. And in his memory we have to remember to love each other, because there will come a time when it is too late.” After I had finished I gradually took my place next to my family.



    The wooden church walls reflect the gold lights from the fixtures above throughout the chapel. The sun reaches between the white curtains that cover the glass doors casting hints of spring across the carpet. Families sit together in the cozy rows of soft pews. There are a few parents busy with toddlers that cheerfully yet earnestly try to make small masterpieces of cheerios and crayons. Other adults are watching and listening intently to the speaker. He is an older man with gray hair peeking out of his nose and off his chin. The warmness of the lights reflect of his thick glasses. His voice is velvety as he shares a story of personal enlightenment. Except for the occasional allusion of different perfumes the air is clean and fresh. My two sisters sit with each other in front of me writing small letters back and forth, every once and a while pausing to listen to the presenter. I look at my dad to see if he is listening. Looking at him I realize that his once dark brown hair is peppered with light gray hairs. The skin around his eyes is cradled with soft lines. I notice him take something out of his scriptures. Instantly I recognize the soft pencil marks on the pale paper. It is the letter that Jimmy left. He slowly unfolds it and begins to read. I have never read the letter completely, for me it is too hard. Bravely I steal a glance and look down to read the last part of his letter. “I am just a person that can’t still the things forever twisting in my heart, mind, and soul. I have decided to sleep. Be happy for me! I am scared but I know this is my path. P.S. I love you.” The Skid Row lyrics from his slide show plays softly in the back of my head. “Remember yesterday walking hand in hand. Love letters in the sand, I remember you. Through the sleepless nights, and every endless day. I’d wanna hear you say I remember you.” There is a picture of him I remember from the funeral that stays in my mind. He is walking down a long path with his back to the camera. Tattoos cover his tan skin and strong muscles. Wind has picked up his long dirt blond hair and fanned it out of either side of his neck. The sky is bright and blue in front of him. Both of his arms extended to each side with open hands reaching out. My dad gentle refolds the letter and slowly slides it back into his scripture case. As the organ begins to play the introduction for the closing hymn he stays at rest staring at the parted curtains and golden sunlight reaching in from outside.

*From the funeral program for Marjorie Pay Hinckley, April 10, 2004; see also “Latter-day Counsel,” Ensign, Oct. 2000, 73.