Refuge

Several months ago, Midnight found healing and refuge in the care of then 12-year-old Hannah LeFevre.  Hannah is the youngest daughter of my friend, Melanie, and Hannah has a passion for horses (and all other animals).  She had been looking for a horse to call her own for the last couple of years, and had been quite discouraged by the lack of contenders.  I kept suggesting that Midnight would be the perfect match for Hannah's loving heart, but Melanie was concerned that since Midnight had been neglected for more than a year, he might be hard for petite Hannah to control.  I spent quite a few months trying to convince Melanie, while at the same time, trying to convince Brett that the LeFevre home was the perfect shelter for Midnight.

Finally, after I gave up on trying, Brett called Melanie, and Hannah and Melanie went out to meet Midnight in  Duvall.  It was love-at-first-sight for Hannah, who wouldn't leave without getting her mother's permission to give Midnight a try at their home.  Melanie, with great trepidation and concern that her daughter's heart might get broken by this older "war horse," (Civil War Reenactment), consented, and Brett took Midnight over to the LeFevre pasture.

When Midnight arrived, he was sick and suffering.  Every rib stuck out, he was wormy, and his hooves were in desperate need of care.  Always timid around other horses, Midnight would never do what was necessary to push his way in for food.  He'd had a year's worth of neglect and lack of feeding, and it showed.  I went to see Midnight the day he arrived at the LeFevre's and I sobbed when I saw my poor old friend in such a sorrowful state.  It was hard to imagine that he could recover.

After the first time seeing Midnight in such a forlorn state, I couldn't bear to look at him again.  I felt so responsible for what had happened to him - as if I had contributed to his desertion.  I imagined that he looked at me as if to say: "How could you let this happen to me?"  I asked myself the same question.

When it was determined that Izzy, Aslan and I would also join Midnight at the LeFevre "sanctuary," I wondered what it would be like for me to see Midnight on a daily basis.  I wondered if I would feel a constant sense of guilt.  My first night at the house, I couldn't even look up from boxes and bedding to take a look outside.  I was utterly exhausted, aching and overwhelmed.  I collapsed into bed at the end of a long and grueling day, and tried to empty my mind of everything that had just transpired.

The next day, Sunday, I was talking to Melanie and Dave in the kitchen, when Hannah called out for me to come to the front door.  Hannah is a delightful magic fairy child, and I love being in her presence.  I eagerly moved to the front to see what was on her mind.  When I arrived at the open doorway, there stood a grinning Hannah, with Midnight at her side!  I could hardly recognize him from the destitute creature I had sobbed over just a few months earlier.  Now, Midnight glowed with health as a result of the love that had been poured out on him.  I have never seen him more responsive, his coat more shiny, his hair more neatly combed, and his spirit so relaxed and . . . happy.  Yes, happy, and as I watched him greet Isabeau in their old loving way, and observed Hannah's tender care of him, I felt happy, too.  My heart welled up with the feeling, and I gave way to it.  There seemed to be a little whisper coming from Midnight to me saying: "If I can get better, so can you."

Hannah spends almost every waking moment with Midnight, and if possible, I believe she would sleep in his barn with him.  She makes him "apple sandwiches" and custom-blended grated carrots mixed with honey and oats for snacks.  She can be quite firm with him, too, and she is teaching him not only to canter, but also to jump hurdles, something he has never done before, but gladly does for Hannah.

At almost any time of the day, I can look outside and see Hannah riding Midnight bareback, with her hair streaming behind in the wind, as she runs full tilt through the course she has set up, complete with obstacles for him to maneuver around.  What makes this particular scene even more charming is to watch Hannah's little Dacshound, Jasper (Jazz) run full force behind Midnight and Hannah, circling the course as they have, as if he thought that he, too was the most magnificent and beloved steed.

Hannah is currently practicing standing while riding Midnight, and so far, this is the only condition under which I have seen her use a saddle.  Midnight obediently and willingly does anything that Hannah instructs him to do.  He knows, as I do, that Hannah has saved his life, and brought new hope to his heart.

As for Isabeau (Izzy) and Aslan, they have already been soaking in the relaxation that comes with the LeFevre household.  Anthony and TJ Leafty had moved my bed, nightstands, and dining room table to "my room" at the LeFevre's a week before our actual move.  While Izzy and Aslan had been quite upset the two weeks prior to the actual move, once they saw all of the familiar surroundings at the LeFevre's, they settled down immediately.  No transition period for them, whatsoever.  What makes life even more fascinating for them, is that our room looks out over the chicken coop, where there is constant daily activity that begins at 4:15 every morning when the rooster lets us know - quite clearly and often - that the sun is about to come up.  They are both convinced that the show is completely for their own entertainment, and they soak in every moment.

Isabeau's Perpetual Position at the Le Fevre Home

Aslan Looking Towards Midnight in His Pasture

Melanie (on the left) is an extraordinary person - Hannah (and the other LeFevre kids) come by their magical qualities quite naturally.  Melanie is a master gardener, takes care of the llamas, chickens, goats, cow and two dogs, works as a massage therapist (tremendously gifted), and gives smiles and love all around to anyone lucky enough to be in her presence.  She has made me and my little family feel very much at home here, in the largest and most beautiful room in the house.  Sharla Dance (on the right) has long been a treasured friend, and lives only a few blocks away.  I took this picture on my first Sunday here, while we walked through the garden, picked fresh berries, kale, and gathered ingredients for our daily morning "green smoothie."  Melanie and I have made an agreement to support one another in healthy eating and living, and I am being quite dedicated to exercise and good, organic food. 

This life is so "normal" and so very different than the life I have been living for the last year-and-a-half!  The windows of our room look out not only on the chickens, but also on Midnight in one direction, and the garden in the other.  It is a beautiful "bed-and-breakfast suite," and I can hardly believe my good fortune!

Hannah, sister Larisa, and Sharla's daughter, Jeanna, all check on the tender garden plants.  In the two weeks since this picture was taken, this garden area has exploded with life.

Overall, things seem to thrive at the LeFevre farmstead.  Because of this, I surprisingly haven't felt any rush to move to my new home; I am trying to live in the present, and follow Melanie's urging that I allow this to be a time of healing for me.  I believe Midnight is right in the secret he shared with me: all of us can find health and happiness at the LeFevre sanctuary.

Deliverance From Bondage

I have wanted to record the events that led to my recent deliverance, but have felt inadequate to do so.  Mere words, combined with my shortcomings, fall far short of relaying the power and wonder of it all.  However,  I realize that even though I feel inadequate to the task, it is necessary that I record the events before they are lost to the fuzzy results of an overcrowded life.

It all began on Passover, April 7, 2012.  I had made a goal for myself that I would try to begin to live my life again.  I know it sounds dramatic, yet any description of the abnormality of my existence would fall short of the reality, as compared to what my life had been three years earlier, when Brett and I had been sealed in the Manti Temple on Passover, then April 11, 2009.

Passover has been a sacred and meaningful day for me ever since I began my study of the ancient Israelite holidays.  Passover marks Israel's deliverance from the bondage of Egypt, but it's symbols point to a deeper and more dramatic deliverance - the deliverance from sin and death through the Atonement of the Lamb of God.  I have "kept" Passover for many years, and shared its beauty with hundreds of people, including seminary and institute students, members of my Stake, audiences at Education Week, and close friends and family.

As I had pondered and prayed over how I might start to "reclaim" any semblance of the Lynda that had existed before the breakup of my marriage, it seemed right and natural that I should hold a Passover dinner intended not only to share the beauty of the ritualistic event, but also to thank the wonderful people who had carried me through the last year-and-a-half.  I couldn't think of anything more "right," life-affirming or testimony-building than opening my home and my heart in this way.

When the day for the Feast arrived, Brandee Leafty came to help me prepare and to offer her love and support.  Even as the sun rose over the trees in the backyard, I felt a sense of breath coming back into my lungs.  Every thing seemed so "normal," as I unpacked the dishes from the cupboard, dishes that I hadn't touched in the year plus since Brett had left.  As I purchased and prepared food, my feelings were somewhat equivalent to having cardiac paddles placed on my chest and the electric charge turned up to produce a heart beat.  The "normal" feeling of life came as a shock, and I became shaky and teary over it.  I had been going on a robotic auto-pilot of going to work, coming home, mowing, weeding, cleaning, taking care of animals, etc. . . . all "going through the motions" in a stunned and silent state.  Now that the sun was shining, and the aroma of spices filled the air, while goblets and china were laid out on the table, I hardly knew what to do with my sense of deja vu and the slippery sensation of time performing roller-coaster loop-de-loops.

At one point, as I tried to express this shock over "normal" to Brandee, I said, "Why, it all feels so normal that I expect Brett to walk through the front door in the next five minutes." . . . and he did!  I hadn't seen Brett for months, and hadn't spoken to him for almost as long, yet within three minutes of those words, the doorbell rang, and Brett stood on the doorstep!  Talk about "normal" overwhelm!  I couldn't even react, because it all seemed so right and natural as Brett explained that he had felt compelled to come and wanted to ask me - for the first time - if I would be open to exploring the possibility of getting back together.

Brett ended up staying for Passover dinner, which all seemed so "normal" that I felt that I was in a daze as to where I actually was, and in which time zone of my life.  Because the events happened in this way, I felt certain that God was at the helm, and also certain that He couldn't possibly be bringing Brett back into my life unless it was to heal the relationship.

Several weeks passed of more roller-coaster bedazzled shock waves of reality and unreality.  I rocked between giddiness and despair as I realized that the Brett I was talking to was nothing like the man I had been married to.  I have truly never known anyone to change so completely, and I have fought that fact ever since Brett's "return" on Passover.  Because of my feelings about eternity and our sealing, I just couldn't believe that a few more times together wouldn't bring back the man I married, but, tragically, this was/is not the case.  In the end, Brett decided that he prefers his new/changed life, and that there will be no relationship between us.  More shock waves for me to deal with while still standing on ever-shifting sands, and trying to keep things together with my new career and the responsibilities of managing the home which had to be in ever-perfect condition for any prospective buyers.

At the end of one particularly rocky encounter with Brett, as I tearfully closed the door behind him, I felt a voice inside my heart say "The house will sell tomorrow."  Brett had forcefully announced for the tenth time (or more) that he had a new life and did not even view me as his "former" wife.  There was a finality to this particular pronouncement, and I had the sense that God had taken Brett's actions and declarations quite seriously.  I knew that the Lord had heard my prayers and had called Brett back at the first possible moment that he was even open to the idea, but each of these encounters, while inviting Brett to healing and to covenant, were also showing me that Brett had made a decided choice not to accept.  There was a sense of "shaking the dust off the feet" when I heard the door close, and the voice inside my heart declared "The house will sell tomorrow."  I didn't doubt it for a moment.

The next morning, in the midst of out-of-town company (Laurie, Andy, Asher and Rowan), Will and Joyce Stowe came by to see the house for the first time.  We had all gone to the zoo after wildly readying the house for their visit.  I received a call while I stood in the African Safari area of the zoo from the Stowe's agent, and I knew even as the phone was ringing that "this was it."  How could that be - after so many promising buyers that came to naught?  Because God had told me that this was the way it was going to be.  It was a testimony to me, and I hope that in some corner of his heart, it has been a testimony to Brett, too.

Will and Joyce did not make an offer that first week, but I patiently waited for it to come.  In the meantime, I received a call from the Stake executive secretary, who told me that President Tanner wanted to bring the visiting General Authority to my home!  Of all the people who are hurting and struggling, and the hundreds of souls who would love to have such a visit, I was one of two people in our Stake who was chosen for the honor.  How to respond?

How does one greet an emissary of the Lord?  I wanted to kneel, of course, when Elder Christianson pulled into the driveway with President Tanner.  I told them that I did not wish to talk in the few minutes allotted for the visit, but to listen.  As it turns out, they insisted that I talk, and President Tanner began with something of my history.  They offered to give me a blessing, which I gratefully accepted.  While I had hoped for a direct quotation regarding the state of my eternal marriage, what came instead was a blessing of love and comfort.  While his hands were placed on my head, I had the impression that the Lord was telling me that my bondage was over, and that it was time to stop mourning . . . something I have not done very well.  Within an hour, the Stowes made their second visit to the house, and presented an offer.  Of course.  Yes, there could be no doubt that the Lord's hand was in it, and there would not be any way of dismissing it as anything else.


So, my deliverance from bondage and my path to freedom has been set before me.  There is more to tell, and I will do so in the next few days/weeks. 


There is a saying that the Lord took the Israelites out of Egypt, but that He couldn't take Egypt out of the Israelites.  I struggle with the same scars upon my soul and my heart.  I know that the Lord is offering relief; there is no question in my mind about that Truth.  I know that the Atonement is real, and that Christ can erase it all.  I am working hard to surrender it all to Him, and to allow Him to clean the slate.  I want to have the suffering and pain removed, yet I do not want to lose the memory of the precious moments that have shaped me so.  Some days, I tell the Lord that I am letting go of Brett, and I mean it . . . and then there are other days that I cling to what seemed to me to be the happiest days of my life. 


I have a better understanding of Lot's wife now than I ever did before.  I am quite certain that she had left loved ones (perhaps children?) in Sodom, and she knew that that fiery rain was going to burn and destroy them.  I heard a saying recently that she turned to salt because of the deluge of her tears.  There has been a constant taste of salt on my tongue from the steady flow of tears that never seem to end.  Yes, it all sounds quite dramatic, but what does sealing, eternity, covenant, and mission mean?  Do we lightly walk away when all seems impossible?  Particularly when the one we love has chosen something so alien to covenant?


Yesterday, I reached the point that I knew that I was either going to take my life or change my life entirely.  As Dr. Phil would ask "How's that working for you?" I'd have to answer that the last year-and-a-half hasn't been working very well at all.  I recognize that even though my heart may feel one thing - devotion, loyalty and commitment - my head and my logic need to get some stability and health.  Therefore, very tentatively, because it is all new ground for me, I am embarking on a new adventure to "clean my brain" and establish new ways of thinking and being in the world.  It seems like that is the only way that I can honor God and walk the path to freedom that He has placed before me.  I will need lots of support along the way, as I have been riding a roller-coaster of sorrow and grief for far too long.


Many thanks for all of the love and support I receive from all of you, and to Virginia, for the slap-in-the-face or cold-water-in-the-face treatment she gave in her comment to my earlier blog post.  Please just know, dear Virginia, that it is hard to stay sane and clear when doing so much on my own, surrounded by ghosts and memories.

A Painful Goodbye

I signed the papers on my home today.  It's gone, no longer mine.  While I am thrilled that the new owners love the place, are raising a young family, and plan to put the land to use, I'm also mourning.  Everyone keeps telling me how happy they are for me; how I needed to "get rid of the place," and how I am going to "have a new start."  I know that they love me and that they mean well; I know that it is nearly impossible to know what to say, but all of this is making it harder and harder for me to share what I really feel.

When I think about "our place," this is what I picture:

Brett happy and sitting like an imp two stories above the floor, after installing the new chandelier.  Every time he worked on a house project, he laughed and joked, swirled me around, added a few kisses and a dance, and told me how glad he was to have the opportunity to help.  It never ceased to amaze me that Brett could be so positive about doing all of the fix-it jobs.  He was a pure delight when it came to putting up curtain rods, helping with the dishes, or mowing the lawn.  I'll never forget his response the first time he saw me on my knees cleaning a bathroom floor.  With tears in his eyes, he firmly declared that he never wanted to see me in that position again, and that he would take over all bathroom cleaning and floor washing.  And he did.  He made a contest for himself, to see if he could do a better job than I had done, and with his teasing grin, he would tell me how he was constantly improving his performance.

Brett on the ATV, having the time of his life, yet stopping by to make sure I remembered that he loved me.  Notice that devilish grin again.  Brett enjoyed the land - and the ATV - with all of his heart.  He rode like a crazy man, yet was always careful when I accompanied him, me riding on the back and holding on to him tightly (not necessarily because I was afraid).   (By the time I moved, I had learned to ride like a crazy woman too).

The ham radio in Brett's teeth was his idea for always being able to talk to each other, no matter how far apart we were (although I think we only used it once or twice).  Brett used to have a hard time when we were separate, and would swear that he would never allow us to spend a night apart.  He was positive that Adam and Eve had trouble because they had separated from one another in the Garden, and the first words out of his mouth after watching the full Lord of the Rings trilogy were: "Why didn't Arwen and Aragorn stay together?  They should have never separated."  Oh, how true those words were!

I remember my concern when we first bought the land, because Brett would need to spend hours mowing, and we would have that much less time together.  But we always found a way around those kinds of difficulties: I usually mowed the front yard while he zipped around the back and sides with the ATV/field mower, waving to me and smirking whenever he was within sight.

The boots Brett bought me for my birthday, specifically intended for my "farm girl" new life.  I never gave up wearing the skirts (that's just me), but I loved my new footwear, and wore them until they had more holes in them than roses.  The last time I wore them, Faith and I walked in the creek, and there was absolutely no protection whatsoever from the water.  That was just a week or two before I moved, and I reluctantly threw those precious boots away as I packed up my things to leave.

We loved taking pictures, journalling, and documenting our life together.  Every particle of our life together seemed to revolve around the deep love we shared.  I can honestly say that Brett made me feel that I was the center of his universe, and his constant loving gestures were a delight that brought healing balm and joy to my soul.

Brett laboring - again with joy - to put in the fence for Midnight.  It was the first order of business when we moved in . . .

Brett's Grandpa showed up as a surprise one day, garbed in his work clothes and ready to help get the fence completed.  What a wonderful experience it was to have Brett and his grandfather share such a loving endeavor!  I kept stealing peeks through the windows, even though I was supposed to be unpacking and painting.  I just couldn't help smiling every time I looked out and saw them working and laughing together.

All of that labor had had one purpose.  It was the same purpose for which we bought the house/land in the first place: to make a home for Midnight.

Midnight loved the place, and seemed to feel safe for the first time in his life.  He consumed the grass so quickly that he became quite fat within just a few weeks!  I love this picture for capturing his gentle spirit, and the beauty of the land.

This is one of my favorite pictures of Brett, taken just a few minutes after bringing Midnight home.  I think Brett looks so relaxed and truly happy.  This was a day we had spoken of for years.  Midnight's happiness and presence meant so much to us that the one name we kept coming back to for our home was "Midnight's Landing."  

There had been a very special bond between Midnight and Brett, Midnight and me, Midnight and Isabeau, and Midnight and Faith and Austin.  It never ceased to amaze me that Midnight could be so intuitively gentle.  Faith used to run up to him with her hands full of carrots, a dangerous situation for most toddlers whose little fingers can so easily get wrapped up with the carrot offerings, but Midnight would softly and slowly separate the veggies from her hands, and no hurt ever came to anyone.

We loved hosting dinners at our home, especially for family.  This was our first Thanksgiving at the house, and Brett, as usual, was right in the midst of it all.  I loved the fact that Brett was such an equal in the kitchen and in prepping, hosting and cleaning up after any event.  We had so much fun planning all of the details and carrying them out.  He was my beloved partner in everything.

Austin and Faith loved Midnight, and Brett loved taking them for rides.  Brett was as loving and gentle with the kids as any true grandparent would be, but he was ten times more fun because of his youthful energy.

I remember that when the kids stayed overnight, Faith would often be fretful in the night.  Brett always insisted that he was the one who wanted to go and get her and bring her into our bed.  He was a natural, and always calmed her down - and then riled her up in the daylight hours!

People make me feel like I'm not supposed to talk about Brett.  At worst, they tell me that he was just a pretender who used me (are these pictures congruent with that idea?).  At best, people tell me that like Job, God will reward me ten-fold.  I ask "Do you mean I am going to get Brett X 2 or X 10?"  Because I really don't think that is possible.  And I don't think it is possible to "replace" one person with another.  Brett was my soulmate and companion in every way; I've never been so compatible with another human being on so many levels.  And I have never known such joy and love.

People love me and they want me to "move on."  They tell me that I should be really excited about my new home, as if that should become the new center of my thoughts and dreams . . . but I've had new homes before.  I've designed and decorated them, and then packed them up and moved away again.  Truth be told, I can't imagine any home, or any property, coming close to measuring up to the home I've just left.  Yes, it is true that I had grave concerns before moving into it, and I felt very overwhelmed by its cost and time commitment.  I feel that the Lord was warning me about what was coming.  But I came to love that home, and particularly that land, with all of my soul, and I found real healing as I walked through the creek, and laid on my back in the pasture, watching Isabeau run and the hawks circle overhead.  It was everything that Brett and I had dreamed of . . . together.

How can a home - or any thing - fill the hole that has been left by the departure of my beloved?  I still really don't understand what happened.  Even Brett can't make it make sense to me.  I feel that "my" Brett has entirely disappeared; I've only seen tiny glimpses of him for a second here or there over the last year-and-a-half.  How can I ever find peace with that?

I've wondered quite often if "Mrs. Noah" was ever happy after the door closed on the ark.  How many of her loved ones were outside, drowning?  Yes, it had to be strengthening to know that God was aware of her and her family, and that she had been chosen to begin the human race again, but how to close the door of her heart against the loss?  I know that God is aware of me, and loves me.  But my constant prayer to Him is not for myself . . . it is for Brett.

Today, signing away our dream home felt like another divorce, another step away from all that I have held precious.  . . .  I don't feel that I am seen, heard, or understood when I try to express that fact.  "It's not healthy for you to dwell on the past; you've got to look to your future," people tell me.  What future?  Isn't my future my distant past all made up over again?  I'm not a 20 or 30-year old just discovering how life works.  I'd found a way to cope and work with things before I met Brett, and then he came into my life like a bolt of lightning.  I resisted it, but the Lord gave me the strongest direction that I ever received, before or since.  I felt that the Lord was telling me that I was meant to be happy, and that I would now have "my reward" for the way I had faced the difficulties of my life.  I would now see what true happiness was, what true love and a celestial marriage were . . . But people tell me that if it was love, I wouldn't be where I am now, and in that process, they strip away what little I have left.  They question that I could have received revelation that would tell me to marry Brett.  If I did not receive revelation then, I have never received it at all.  Simple as that.

I always felt that people did not understand Brett.  I spent a great deal of time trying to remedy that, but with little success.  Now, I feel that people also do not understand me.  It is a very lonely place for me to be.  I think most people shake their heads with pity over me, and feel that I have lost my reason.

What is reason?  What is truth?  Most people in the world disagree over the answers to those questions.  I believe that truth is the most precious commodity that exists.  Some years ago, my book club read the book "The Goose Girl," which posits that all of us are born with a word on our tongue that defines us.  It is when we discover and speak that word that we come to know our true selves and our mission.  I knew immediately that my word was "Truth."  It always has been.  Brett used to commend and love me for it.  I've only recently realized that my middle name, Veree (accent over the last e), is a derivative of the Latin verite for truth.  It seems fitting and telling that I have carried that name all along without realizing it.  I think that one of the most difficult aspects of life is that we experience it in a mostly-blind state.  I know that I am constantly aware of just how blind I am.

Now, more than ever, I wish that I could see.

Goodbye to Gryffyn

Most people never even saw him, he was that afraid of strangers.  I never knew of anything that should cause such fear in his tiny heart; after all, I had chosen him and taken him home when he was just a few weeks old.  Then he was the bravest little kitten in his litter.  They had all just come from the vet's office where they had been neutered, and they were curled up together in one large ball, their individual tails poking out like so many bits of yarn.

I had felt impelled to come and find a sibling for Aslan.  Aslan, our purebred Ragdoll, had been meowing for weeks on end, and I told the family that he was telling me that he wanted a little brother to play with.  They all laughed at me, familiar with my way of interpreting what our pets were saying.  But, somehow, I really felt quite serious about this particular interpretation, and just a few weeks before Christmas, I set off to PAWS to find Aslan a playmate.

I reached the facility on Greenlake in Seattle as soon as it opened, and as I tiptoed into the holding area, my heart skipped with anticipation.  They had just brought in a box of new kittens, and I felt certain that I would find the perfect one in their midst.

They were all sound asleep, sleeping off the anesthesia, and the trauma their young bodies had encountered.  I took a feather, and gently waved it outside the box's opening.  One tiny little black bundle of fur opened a sleepy green eye and watched me.  I kept the feather moving.  Yawning, he gingerly stood up, stretched, and tiptoed over the sleeping bodies of his litter mates.  Not a one of them moved.  He came to the opening in the box, and gently waved his paw at the feather.  As I tickled him under the chin, he became a little more earnest about his play.

I scooped him up, and looked at his nametag.  “Tumeric,” it said.  “That’s a dumb name for a cat” I thought.  “That will have to change immediately.”  In the meantime, he had started his purring engine, and it was going strong.  He nestled deep into my arms, and still purring, gave way to sleep once more.  I had no doubt that this “was the one” for both Aslan and me.

Gryffyn, as I came to call him, was the tiniest kitten I had ever seen.  When I showed his picture to a friend of mine who worked at animal shelters, she exclaimed: “He still has his nursing mouth! – He hasn’t been weaned!”  That explained why Gryfynn climbed up on my shoulder and sucked on my earlobe, I thought.  It was a rather endearing quality, although a little uncomfortable and odd.  It was a ritual for him the first few weeks he lived with us; he’d climb up, nuzzle my earlobe, and fall asleep under my chin.

Aslan was delighted with Gryffyn, and in fact, stopped the meowing now that he had gotten what he asked for.  Aslan was easily six-to-seven times larger than Gryfynn, even though he himself was only six months old.  But Gryfynn was never afraid of Aslan, and seemed to enjoy the way that Aslan would completely encircle him with his “arms” and lay on him.  If Gryfynn wanted to get away during their play, he would walk directly under the kitchen cabinets, without even crouching!

That tiny charm had its serious side, however.  Gryfynn was plagued with bladder and urinary infections all of his life.  We went from one vet to another, taking drugs and trying special diets.  It’s my guess that that too-early weaning, and far too-early neutering had caused the problem.  It is what took his life two months ago, at the much too-young age of seven.

Gryffyn, despite his fear of other people, was a constant companion to me.  A tiny black shadow, he followed me from room to room whenever I was at home.  He’d sit patiently whether I was in the kitchen or in the bathroom; it was clear that the only thing he wanted was to be near to me.  He would always wait until I was nearly asleep to jump up onto the bed and snuggle in close.  I don’t think he would move the whole night through, and I always felt his devotion coming through his still-small body and constant purring.

It was somewhat of a surprise that Gryfynn took to Brett the way he did, considering the fact that he hardly ever showed himself to others, but, in fact, he loved Brett from the beginning.  There were times that I would see Gryfynn looking at Brett with what seemed to be a silent plea for help with his constant painful bladder spasms.  Brett was tender with Gryfynn, and there was a bond between them.  I was grateful that someone else could see and know the Gryfynn that I did.

Gryffyn's happiest times were spent in our garden in Orem.  After our morning run, we had a ritual of letting “the boys” out into the garden while we sat outside and read our scriptures together.  They would always be waiting by the front door, meowing and eager for their morning romp.  Gryfynn seemed to forget his timidity and discomfort in order to stalk birds, sniff the flowers, and nibble on the grass.  We kept some fresh catnip out in the herb planter, and he and Aslan both loved helping themselves to that.  They would be quite reluctant to go back into the house, and would be extra playful if they had the opportunity to make a second visit to the garden later in the day.

After Brett left, Gryfynn really started to decline in health and spirits.  The situation was complicated by the fact that I left for full-time work, and Gryfynn seemed really bereft.  The night-time snuggles were still sweet, but there was a deep loneliness that now existed for both Gryfynn and me, and he never felt really at ease with Isabeau, who wanted to chase him all of the time . . . not a good thing for a sweet but fearful guy who never felt very well.

I took Gryffyn to the vet twice in the last 18 months, and both times were an agony for him.  He just hated travelling, hated strangers, and hated being poked at when he was in pain.  To add to the complications, the vet did not feel it was right to give Gryffy drugs, and we tried a new diet that Gryffyn just didn’t like.  There had been too many changes.  Worse still, there were constant strangers coming into the house to look at it to see if they might want to purchase it . . . and while I was not there to comfort him.

I was so busy with work and the upkeep of the house and yard that I am afraid I didn’t really realize how much Gryffy was suffering.  I would hear him moan sometimes in the middle of the night as he lay next to my shoulder, but I think I just kept hoping that he would feel better the next day.  I kept thinking that if we could all get through this hard time, if we could get to the next house, perhaps I could have a little walled-in garden again where Gryffyn could play with Aslan and all would be well.  This has been the case with my thinking for all of the animals: things will be better when I move.  But, poor Gryffy was holding on for my sake while he was completely miserable.  It became a vicious cycle of people coming in to the house, which stressed him out, which caused his bladder problems to flare up, which caused him to be more stressed and fragile for when people came to the house.  I came to realize that Gryffy was moaning most of the time that I was with him.  I spoke to the vet and he said that there was a surgery that might help, and I read everything about it that I could find on the internet.  The results were iffy, and I just wasn’t sure that it was worth putting Gryffyn through more suffering, especially as I began to think that his issues were caused by something that happened to him with that early neutering.

I still put the decision off for several weeks.  I just couldn’t bear to really think about it, and I just kept wishing that something would happen to change our circumstances.  I wondered how much of a difference it would make for Gryffyn if people weren’t coming into the house.  Could we all just hold on a little bit longer?

I knew deep inside that Gryffyn really couldn’t hold on, and I had to make the decision to end his suffering.  It’s always puzzled me how we consider ourselves inhumane if we let our animals suffer, yet consider ourselves to be inhumane if we think about ending the suffering of a human being.  I also worried that I might be choosing something for Gryffyn that I really wanted for myself at the time: release.  This caused me a lot of second thoughts, and I questioned myself over and over again.  Above all, it was just too soon to lose my little shadow and nighttime companion.

Gryffyn had been very brave for me; he was my little guardian angel.  He didn’t want to leave me, but he was in very bad shape.  I finally had to break that impasse, and in doing so, I had the feeling that Gryffyn was paving the way out for me; that somehow the change that was his death was going to bring about change for me.  It’s not the way I wanted it to be, but now as things are unfolding; I am more sure than ever that Gryffyn’s death began the movement out of the stasis and limbo we had all been stuck in.

I called a local country vet who made house calls – I wasn’t going to put Gryffy through a fearful ride to a strange place.  I also texted Brett to let him know what was going to happen.  Brett dropped everything to come, something I had not anticipated.  Gryffyn was very glad that he was there, and I am so glad that he had us both to help him through the end.

The vet did something very unusual: he wrote me a letter a few days after Gryffyn’s death.  This is what he wrote:

"Dear Lynda,

It was time for Gryffyn.  Thank you for calling me to come help end his ordeal and for letting me use sedation to allow a seamless transition to euthanasia.

The procedure was painless.  Your decision was both humane and an extension of your kindness.  It was far better to allow Gryffyn to go out on a higher note rather than await a more protracted ending.

It was also clear that you will miss his spirit around the place.

Perhaps now is the time to discover the same good grace to be as to yourself as you were to him.

I am sorry for your grief and loss.

Sincerely,
R.H. Hogan"

Gryffyn died April 3, 2012, just a few days before Passover, when I felt myself start to live again.  Passover marks a deliverance from bondage, and reminds His people that God is with them.

 

I miss my sweet Gryffyn, a tiny soul that no one else seemed to know, but who brought great comfort and love to my life.  I thank God that I had the opportunity to share my life with him, and I pray that I will have the chance to live with Gryffyn again some day.

A Beginning

I sold my home today.

I can hardly believe those words.  I have been waiting for a year and a half to be set free from the bondage that Brett left behind for me when he left our home and our marriage on December 16, 2010.  The intervening days have crawled by as I have sought to find some sort of footing, some sort of reason for living after everything that I believed in came crashing down around my ears.

Impossible.  Inconceivable.  Incomprehensible.  These words have swum around in my thoughts, chasing each other, and seeking for some sort of explanation.  Eighteen months later, no real answer has presented itself, no theory has made any sense.

Today, I don't want to figure out what happened to Brett.  I still really can't talk about that.  The same words keep coming out, repeating and repeating in an endless chorus of pain.

Today, I want to record what God has done for me.  I want to bear witness to the fact that He has always been with me, every step of the way, even when I thought that He had deserted me too.

Two years ago, I had a sudden mini vision/impression.  Revelation has often come to me that way: fast-moving pictures and words written on my heart.  I saw myself falling down a deep, dark pit.  The fall felt endless, and I was terrified.  Just as I reached the bottom, I felt the Savior wrap His arms around me, and I could feel His breathing against my back.  He whispered in my ear: "We are going to be in here for a long time . . . but I will be here with you."  I remember being surprised that Christ had been waiting at the bottom of the pit, instead of looking down from the top, ready to pull me out.  And I wondered how long "a long time" was going to be.

At that time, there were a number of concerns going on with Brett.  I was frightened, but because of the depth of our relationship, and because of the promises I felt were associated with our marriage/sealing, I felt certain that somehow, everything was going to be ok.  But, it wasn't.

"A long time."  Since that little vision - since Brett left - I had a priesthood blessing from David Boak, a great man with a wonderful wife (one of my dearest friends) in my ward.  In the blessing, David corrected my interpretation of the pit as actually being a well.  That seemed fitting, considering all of the symbology associated with wells in the scriptures.  One of my favorite stories is of the woman at the well (more about her story another time).  It touched my heart to remember that the Savior waited at the well for the woman that day, and now He was going to wait with me in the well.  I knew that He was there, but I have to admit that I often felt overwhelmed by the darkness, and couldn't feel the comfort of His arms about me.

I can't count the number of nights I've cried out to God: "I just need to feel you hold me!"  . . . And I couldn't feel Him.  But, there were other times that I would choke those words out, and He would send me a dream of comfort.

The Lord has been my Master Physician, administering my prescriptions in measured doses.  I have to admit that there were many times that I felt I would surely die as I encountered some new realization, and I reeled with despair as I drank from my own bitter cup.  "This has to be the last dose," I would think, "It's got to be over."  But, there was more to come.  There is great comfort in knowing that the Savior has indeed, drained the dregs of all bitter cups, and that as terrible as mine has been, it has still been diluted because of His love and sacrifice.  He has been my only constant in the midst of sleepless nights of grief and worry.  I have often reflected upon His sacrifice, and cried out for the healing balm of the Atonement.

My home teacher, Steve Ward, David Boak (mentioned above), Zac Cherry (Brett's Dad), and others, have gently tried to teach me a sense of independence.  I think that this method is quite in harmony with what the Lord was trying to teach me, too.  Brett had taught me to lean on him, and I had become quite used to it.  But, when he left, I was suddenly overwhelmed with so much all at once: I was afraid of the coyotes that howled every night, I was afraid that I couldn't get a job, I was afraid that I would get a job, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to pay the bills, I was afraid that someone would break in (someone did), I was afraid that I couldn't keep the yard up, I was afraid to buy a car, and I was afraid to be alone.

Steve and David didn't respond to my emotion when they came over to help.  I was afraid of the field mower, and I was also afraid of the ATV.  So many hills and ruts, and marshy land to get stuck in!  Instead of just "doing" all of the mowing for me, Steve and David taught me how to start the ATV and the mower, how to hook them up, and then said "You can do it!"  I felt pretty frustrated by it all, because I was pretty sure that not only could I not do it, but I didn't want to do it!  Here I was a 57 year-old woman - wasn't this supposed to be man's work? - and wasn't this the biggest symbol of having been deserted?  I'd bought the land for Brett - he was the one who had been so eager to work it!  On the other hand, I couldn't bear to take advantage of anyone else, and I was quite aware that both of these men (and other helpers) were incredibly busy with their own families and responsibilities.  I got on that darn ATV, gritted my teeth against the blisters that formed quickly on my hands from gripping and controlling the many turns, and mowed the yard!  Wow! What a feeling of accomplishment! (Later, I injured my wrist severely when the rope caught and wouldn't pull all the way out - and I turned the mower over to Zac and others.  More to come on that.)

Another example of Steve's methodology was when we had a big snowstorm, and my house was without power for four days.  I'd parked my car at the top of the road when I had heard the storm was coming, because the driveway is pretty steep, and I had been unable to get it up the ice the year before.  I didn't have the luxury this year of staying home; I needed to get to work.  Steve came and spent more than an hour digging the car out, but told me that he wasn't going to drive me to dry land, he was going to follow me out.  Many of the country roads around us were closed, and trees were laying on power lines.  Our roads were the last to be cleared, and many cars and trucks littered the ditches on both sides.  I was pretty worried about taking my new not-paid-for car out on those kind of roads, but I also knew I had an obligation to my employer, and I needed to get paid.  So, once again, I gripped the steering wheel with the same determination with which I had gripped the ATV, and I started out, praying the whole way.  Steve calmly followed behind me, and when we hit dry ground, told me what a great job I had done.  I can honestly say that after that experience, I don't think I will ever be afraid to drive in the snow/ice again.  

Those experiences have been the template for the many days and hours spent mowing, carrying, lifting, fixing and taking care of this place.  I've learned that I am much stronger than I thought I was! And I have come to love and cherish this land as I have labored and wept over it.  

I've only let myself start to live again within the last eight weeks.  It began by having a Passover dinner at the house.  I hadn't cooked or had anyone over since Brett left (I'm going to have to call that SBL going forward - takes up much less space and sounds less dramatic).  As my friend Brandee (a constant lifesaver) helped me get ready for the event, I felt a deep shock to my system over how "normal" everything felt - pulling dishes out, chopping herbs, and expecting friends.  I hadn't felt "normal" in so long!

That was my first day back into the land of the living, and it seems like the clock started moving with it.  I've been in limbo for so long, locked in mourning and grief.  I haven't known how to really express myself.  I haven't known how life could look for me.

One of the most healing influences has been this beautiful place.  In the last eight weeks, I have spent nearly every moment that I could out walking the land, standing in the creek, praying under the tree, and smiling as I watch Isabeau run. I could sense that release was coming; my bondage was coming to an end.

I intend to devote a great deal more here to the individuals who helped me through all of this, and to share many of the lessons learned.  Today's entry is just a beginning to embracing my new life.  I feel that God has opened a door and said "It's time to stop mourning now."  I want to accept that invitation.  I'm venturing out into the land of the living.