To My Children, on Mother's Day

Dear Kids,

I will be giving a talk this Sunday on Mother's Day. Since it is a day set aside for honoring our mothers I will be talking about my mother that day...but I wanted to take some time to talk to you today about your mother. A lot of these things you know but, perhaps, they haven't sunk in to the degree that they should and so I wanted to give you all just a few examples of just how special your mother is.

When I set out to seriously find a wife, one of the criteria I had was that I was determined to find someone who would be a good mother. I didn't know it at the time but, when it came to this particular quality in a mate, I hit the jackpot. Your mother is, quite simply and without reservation, the most selfless mother I have ever known. From the moment you kids arrived on this earth, I have watched her fall completely and hopelessly head over heels in love with each of you. Just about every waking thought she has and every plan she makes is with one or all of you in mind. I know that it might seem burdensome or annoying at times to have someone have so many opinions about your life but, trust me when I say, someday you will miss it.

I know this from first hand experience because, when I became an adult, and for quite a few years before, I was annoyed by my own parents sticking their noses into my business and looked forward to the day that it would end. Although I didn't know it when I was wishing it, the day that they would stop sticking their nose into my business would be the day that they died...and now I sit here and look at pictures of my parents...pictures that show them when they were younger that I am now and I wish I could talk to them and get some much needed advice and wisdom.

There are four of you children, although only three of you are living. We would have loved to have a great many more children for each of you has brought joy and happiness to our lives but, even though your mom was born to be a mother, her body simply would not cooperate. Each pregnancy brought new and ever-increasing challenges.

John-Ross, when you were born, you came into this world a squalling, multi-colored mass of goo. To be quite honest, it was a little disgusting...and yet, as my gaze shifted from you to your mom, it was obvious that she was looking at the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. You were still kicking up quite a fuss when they placed you in her arms....then she softly spoke your name and you immediately became quiet. I knew then and there that, while I would love you to the heights and breadths of my soul, those heights and breadths were  dwarfed by your mother's and that she would love you forever with a love that I simply do not think it possible for a man to achieve. It was, at the same time, one of the saddest and most beautiful moments in my life. Beautiful because of the pure love I witnessed and sad because I knew I could never hope to achieve the intensity of that emotion in this life.

When you were a toddler, you came down with pneumonia. We had to take you to the hospital and your condition was serious enough that they needed to keep you there for a few days. The doctors terrified you and you refused to stay still. You kept pulling the IV's from your arm and the doctors tried in vain until the only solution that seemed viable was to tie your arms and you into your bed so that you could not move. Your mother simply would not allow that and said that she would stay up and hold you. I was on a deadline at work and had to leave. Your mother stayed up with you and held you, going without sleep for three days and two nights until you were well again.

On your third Halloween, it was during the last great recession we had and I took the only job I could find, sales. It wasn't a very good sales job but one of the benefits was that I got paid the instant I made a sale. Your mom sent me out the day of Halloween with one quest. I was to make a sale so that I could get paid and we could buy you a store-bought Halloween costume. I failed. I called your mom at the end of the day and confessed my failure. I could hear the disappointment in her voice, not in condemnation of me but in sadness for you. She told me to come home that supper would soon be ready and she would think of something. That ride home was one of the longest in my life. All I could think of was what a failure I was that I couldn't even afford to buy my son a Halloween costume

When I drove into the driveway, the front door flew open and your mom, smiling from ear to ear, practically dragged me from the car and into the house. She had taken one of your grandmother's hair extensions (I think they call it a 'fall') It was salt and pepper gray to match her hair. Anyway, she had taken the extension and had twisted it into two long braids and tied it to your head with a red bandana. Then she took some eye liner and drew on a stubble beard and placed a ukulele in your hand. You were the cutest little Willie Nelson anyone had ever seen. Later that night, you won first prize at The Ward Halloween Party. I often think about that night and wonder if she realizes how grateful I was to have a wife who could so easily make up for my shortcomings. I also wonder if you realize how special your mother is.

Daniel, when you were born, your mom and I were living in San Francisco, far away from any extended family. Yours was the third pregnancy. We lost a son between you and your brother. We named him Gavin and every August 1st, your mom makes sure that we remember him. Each pregnancy seemed to take a greater toll on your mother's health and, when you were born, she had to stay in the hospital for quite a few weeks afterwards.

We didn't know what autism was and so, when you constantly cried and refused to be comforted, your mom blamed herself and constantly berated herself for her inability to comfort you. When milestones such as walking and talking came and went, it became evident that you would need much more care than other children. Your mom spend days and weeks on the phone searching for a doctor who could even give us a diagnosis....some place to start so we would know what to call it and how to start helping you. She kept volumes of records in milk crates....enough to fill up a small library. At any given moment, she could go to the proper milk crate and get the proper folder which held whatever record she needed at the time.

Finally we found someone to diagnose you. You have autism and your mother set out being an expert on that particular disease. Such was her determination that your doctors have used her as a consultation resource. The last doctor wrote a note to anyone looking in your file, "Give this woman whatever she wants for her son, she knows more about this stuff than you do"

When the school you were attending refused to give you the services you needed, your mom became an expert in that particular area of the law. There was a point in our lives when your mom and I sat on one side of a table with the other side being filled with twelve other people, school administrators and lawyers. They were there to tell us why they would not, could not, and did not have to, give your mom the services that she was requesting (demanding) that they give to you. Every objection from the other side of the table was met with a response from your mom, who could quote them the law, chapter and verse. At the end of three hours, the head lawyer threw up his hands and said, "We have to give her what she wants" I hadn't the heart to tell him that, if he had only asked me, I could have told him exactly how this was all going to turn out and would have saved us all three hours of our lives that we weren't going to get back.

You also had a special Halloween costume. You loved The Ghostbusters and determined that you wanted to go as The Staypuft Marshmallow Man. They didn't make one of those in the stores and so your mother sewed one from scratch, making the pattern herself..it was perfect. People came up to us and asked where we had bought it.

Sarah, when Daniel was born, the doctors warned us that the next pregnancy would kill your mother. We were both saddened because we both wanted many children but, for years, we heeded the doctors' advice to make sure your mother would not get pregnant. Many times, I would sit at the dinner table and look around at my family and realize that somebody was missing...somebody was not there who belonged at our table. I never told your mom about those promptings because I never wanted to place pressure on her. I knew already that, if I even mentioned having another child, she would risk her life to do so.

Then one day she came to me and told me she wanted another baby. I reminded her of what the doctors had said and she said, "I know. But I have a husband that holds The Priesthood. If you give me a blessing, I know we can do this". I wanted to bless her that she would have an uneventful pregnancy and deliver a healthy baby. However, all that I was allowed to promise was, "you'll live".

By the time you were born, two months early, your mom had been in the hospital for months. After the most grueling delivery of all, I arrived at home to tell your brothers that they had a sister. The phone was ringing. When I picked it up, it was your mother's doctor telling me that, if I wanted to say goodbye to your mom, I needed to hurry.

I raced back to the hospital and watched, terrified as they pumped transfusion after transfusion into your mother in an effort to stop the bleeding. Nurses would scurry in and out of the room. Every once in a while, one would catch my eye, set their mouth to a pencil-thin straight line and give me a grim shake of their head as if to say, "I'm sorry, we're doing the best that we can, but she is just not going to pull through"

Later on, while I sat in my wrecked car and fought off dying, I came to realize how difficult a task it is to hang on to your life when you really should be passing on. It requires a concentration that taxes every fiber of your body and soul. It is so tiring and so tempting to just let go and float away. It is a struggle that I had to endure for about an hour and I could not imagine being able to endure it much longer. Your mom struggled like that for two days. Her incentive was that she had three children to raise.

We often hear of how selfless a person has to be to die for someone else. Very few of us know just how much more difficult and selfless it is to fight off death so that you can live for someone else.

There are so many more instances but I wanted to give you kids these examples so that, perhaps this Mother's Day, your hugs will linger just a bit longer and your kiss on her cheek will be just a bit sweeter...and your hopes for a happy day for her will be just a bit more heartfelt

Love,

Dad