World In Motion

One of life's greatest injustices is that the world doesn't stop when you've been dealt a life altering blow. When I was 19, my dad almost died in a horse riding accident. What began as an inconvenient evening in the Lethbridge hospital quickly went downhill into a race to save his life. He was airlifted to the Foothills Hospital in Calgary where he underwent his second surgery of the night. We were told on more than one occasion to say our goodbyes to him. Under a moonlit sky and dim, fluorescent hallways, it felt like time had stopped. But then the sun rose in the morning to another beautiful summer day, and I remember feeling angry with the world as I looked out a window and heard someone laughing. Didn't they realize my life was on hold, that my family was collectively holding our breath until we knew my Dad would be okay? How could life possibly go on?

And so it was for me the next day. The morning after. Jon had school and left early that morning, but our kids had the day off. I could hear them having a happy morning as I laid in bed, incapacitated from the fall out of last night. Was it real? Had my husband really refused to tell me he loved me? I'm sure I probably laid there crying until the injustice of a world still in motion forced me to get up. Kids needed to be fed, dressed; I had plans to help my mom with something that day and she had agreed to babysit. My pain must have been painted across my face, because the first thing my mom said when she saw me was, "What's wrong?" And so I broke down all over again.

I was whisked into my parent's bedroom where I shared with them what happened the night before. At this point my tears were no longer about how hurt my feelings were. As a mother, your subconscious reflexively goes to your children, whether you want it to or not. And as an adult, your experiences in life forecast the future in if/then statements. The tears today were new, they were different. They were the result of this line of thinking:

IF your husband doesn't love you, THEN you are headed towards divorce. Divorce will hurt your children more than anything they have ever experienced yet in their precious little lives.

And I wept. I would do anything to protect my children from the kind of pain a divorce would cause them. I would relive the horror of the night before everyday for the rest of my life if it meant I could protect my kids from a broken home. I shared this with my parents through my tears. They hugged me, they consoled me; my dad gave me a blessing. They encouraged me to talk to Jon, to look into marriage counselling. This wasn't the end, this was the beginning of digging my heels in and fighting for my marriage. I could do it. And if, heaven forbid, I couldn't fix my marriage, they would be right there to help me.

Somehow I managed to put one foot in front of the other, I walked out of that room and hopped back onto the world in motion. I accomplished all that was required of me for that day. And the day after that. The next day was February 1, 2023. My parents were leaving for Arizona tomorrow for two weeks. That evening we received an email sharing the devastating news that a beloved member of our ward and good family friend had passed away suddenly. 

I hate to admit this, but Bernie Orr's passing proved to be a welcome distraction. It is easier to "mourn with those that mourn" over a tangible, terrible loss, than it is to navigate the abstract complexities of a marriage in crisis. I love Bernie, I consider him a good friend, and as selfish as I may sound admitting his passing helped me, I know he loved me and would have been happy to know that even in death he had helped out a friend. If there was any service I could conjure up for Bernie and his family, I did. I put flowers on his doorstep, a giant heart on his door. I took a dessert and card to his family. Made sure a family member of mine that Bernie adored would be in attendance at his funeral. Attended his funeral. There were concrete actions I could do and see results. But when it came to repairing a marriage, what could be done there? Where did one begin?