A New Normal

I almost went to the cemetery today. It's Christmas, it's cold, and I miss them. I don't know why, but I thought going to the cemetery would be... I don't know, therapeutic? Give me some closure? I haven't been there since well before I got married. Maybe staring at the headstones would make me feel better? Make me feel close to them? Make me feel like I'm with them? I left school. I got in the car, waited for the cars to pass, moving slowly so as to not slide on the slush. It was sunny today, so some of the snow was beginning to melt. Cars were going slightly slower. I followed them. I had to go around the block because of the way the car was parked, so the drive was taking longer than anticipated. I was alone. I drove mindlessly, barely listening to the Christmas music that blared  "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year." My mind wasn't really on Christmas. Just family. As I drove, my thinking relying more on my emotions, thinking about ho

My Great Grandpa "Grape" is 99 years old. He has lived almost an entire century. And wow, a century is a long, long time. My Grandpa Grape is someone that I love and respect. I remember being really little, and my family going over to Grandpa Grape's and Nonny's house. I remember having sleepovers there when I just wanted Nonny-Grandpa-Jensen time. The thing about Nonny and Grandpa Grape is, they always made you feel like you were the favorite grandchild. (I'm pretty sure every single one of us feel like we are the favorite.) Whenever I went over, Nonny made sure that she had a can of Dinty Moore stew for me to have for lunch, because she knew it was my favorite. That, and Minute Maid fruit punch. They had squirrels that lived in the trees of their yard, and they would take me out, peanuts in my little hands, and Grandpa would pick me up to place the peanuts along the gate for the squirrels to get later. Then, Grandpa Grape would take me out to have Grandpa Grap

I still vividly remember the night that I found out. I can tell you where I was, what I was doing, what I was wearing. (New apartment, on the living room couch, old EFY T-shirt and pink cotton pants. I had just finished saying a prayer.) I vividly remember the looks on my "mission parents'" faces. When I think about President's tight hug, I remember how crushing it felt, him not wanting to let me go, not wanting to be the one to tell me that my parents and brothers were gone. I remember it took him a little while to say it, and how it crushed him, and his wife. I remember my companion and the Hermanas were also in the living room sitting on the floor in their pajamas, shocked, speechless, not knowing if they should say anything. I remember that the only light in the room was the bright light coming from the open kitchen. I remember saying, "Give me a minute," and running into my room, falling on my knees at my bed, crying, saying "Why, God? What di

It's been a while. Hello again. Sometimes, I just need to write. I want to write, because I think words are beautiful. I want to write, because I want to create. I want to write, because maybe, just maybe, my thoughts can be powerful one day. But, what happens when words fail me? Because, sometimes that happen. Sometimes, feelings are just so powerful, so passionate, so painful, so wonderful, it becomes impossible to describe. Feelings are quite something. They sneak up on you. I still think about Mom, Dad, Keegs and Liam everyday, but now, it's not always as painful. They don't control my thoughts. Their memories are there, and they are beautiful. I can say things like, "Oh, Keegan and Liam would LOVE the new Wellness Center," and I won't burst into tears. I am growing up. I am moving along everyday, and it is beautiful. I have a wonderful husband, and wonderful family and friends, and life is beautiful. And then, sometimes, all I have to do is some

I was on my dad's shoulders. It was a cold night on Christmas Eve, back when Santa Claus was still real. We had just finished at Grandma's house. (For as long as I can remember, every Christmas Eve, Santa came to Grandma's and left us something. It was there that we would also give our gifts to each other within the extended family. I always loved Christmas Eve.) I was admiring some present I got, when Daddy said, "Jensen! Look at the sky! Do you see him?" I looked up, trying to see. There it was... a flashing red light! Surely, that could only mean one thing... "RUDOLF!" My dad chuckled, "Yes, you're right! It's Rudolf! That means we have to hurry so that you can go to bed! We don't want to be late for when Santa comes!" I remember telling Ian to hurry up, and telling Mom and Dad to hurry to get us home! (Keegan and Liam didn't exist yet.) As soon as I got home, I got into my new Christmas pajamas, brushed my teeth, made

In about a week, it will have been a year since I should have returned from my mission. Which means it's been about 18 months since the accident. Mind blown... *** How am I doing?  Fine, I guess. Good.  Excellent. Grand. Isn't that what I am supposed to say?  *** Nobody likes a "Debbie Downer." But what about a "Rebecca Realist?" Where is that fine line?  *** How am I doing? Fine, I guess. Today is hard. Good! So tired. So so tired... Excellent! Struggling, but it's just a phase. It will pass. Grand! It has to. Right? *** Fact: it's time to move on. I know. I know that. And I have. For the most part. But there are still triggers. Stupid blasted triggers. They like to hide and shoot at me from out of nowhere. Pretty normal though. It's not even new anymore. But, they still surprise me. Like this morning when I was triggered simply because of a phone call. Or  it may be boredom, n

We stood at the top of the tower, overlooking the magnificent field that was once a battleground. There was a peaceful and even spiritual feeling for me as we pointed out different locations that momentous occasions happened in the history of America. The last time we were in Gettysburg, we were both fourteen years old. My mind pondered a lot about the history facts that we had relearned, thinking about the young men, both the Confederates as well as the Unions, who sacrificed their lives for what they all believed was right for America. (I realized that it would be like my husband, my brother, my cousin who is now serving a mission, his younger brother, and my cousin's fiance all going out to war, against our own states! They were ridiculously young!) A few minutes passed, and we decided it was time to head off and see what else Gettysburg had in store for us. As I was about to turn around and go down the stairs, I saw a hawk fly by. Then, another. I allowed myself to watch th

She got in the car, and I started to drive. It was time for another girls’ night at Pizza Pie Café, our favorite. We talked about boys, our crushes, our frustrations. Somehow, the conversation led to the wedding topic. What will we have at our weddings? What is the most important thing? I answered without hesitation. “The most important thing to me is to have a Daddy/Daughter dance. You know, my dad and I are really close, so to me, I feel that would be like our last moment with him as my authority figure, before he hands me off to whoever my husband is. Everything else doesn't really matter. Just a dance with my husband, and a dance with my dad.” *** The walls were white, and surrounded the gym. The doors held pictures of our younger selves, both together and separately, from the years before. The chandelier hung in the center of the tent, and the cake was beneath it. The music filled my ears as I stood, welcoming the line of guests who so graciously came on our behalf.

Life is a glass, and there is water in that glass. We have all heard that phrase before. Sometimes, the glass is half empty, sometimes it's half full, but nevertheless, it's all the same. It's a glass cup, and there is water, waiting to be consumed. I've always been fascinated by people. We really are quite incredible. Being an English major, I've kind of started thinking in terms of stories. All of us have a story. We all want a Happy Ever After. I'm getting married in 9 days. It's crazy when I think about it! I was that girl on the mission that thought that I would never get married. It wasn't my thing. Ya, it's a nice thought, but things are too scary things in the world, and I just don't want to deal with the drama. It's too much. I was very wrong. I'm getting married to an amazing guy, one who has been there for me for years, and especially this year. There are days that I'm shocked that he still wants me around, that he st

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times... High school. That's a whole new world in it of itself. A new bizarre world where everything that you do or don't do may be a pivotal choice in your life. Boys like girls, girls like boys. Dating becomes a new adventure. Friends can make or break you. If you're like me, you were also exposed to many things that may have traumatized your young teenage mind. I was a sophomore in high school when I had my first "official" boyfriend.  I was head over heels "in like" with him, and I felt that he felt the same way.  We couldn't actually go on dates, but we saw each other in school everyday. He held my hand. He kissed me in the parking lot. (It was awful, by the way.) We started "dating" on November 7, 2007. It was great, I thought. Then, he sent me a text message on December 5, 2007 to tell me he didn't want to date me anymore. (I sure did know how to pick them.) We didn't even l

A year ago today, this blog was created. I am sure that many of you are aware of how it came to be. I felt inspired to do it after my Mom, Dad, and two youngest brothers, Keegan and Liam, passed away, due to carbon monoxide poisoning that filled our house, because of a faulty water heater. I had thought that it might be something good for me. Maybe it would help me with my grief. It would be therapeutic for me. An escape from the world that I felt swarmed by. This would be the pathway to a world where I could go into the innermost parts of my mind and heart, and really discern what I believe to be true. It would help me to discern what I was really feeling. But I never dreamed that this blog would receive the attention and the reaction that it did. I didn't think that you, my reader, would read it and learn from it. I didn't think that because of you, my reader, I would continue to write for as long as I did. I've never been a Blogger. I didn't know how it worked

If I could go back in time, and see myself in different phases of my life, would I? And if I did, which parts of my life would I visit? Would I change anything?  Would I say anything? If I could go back and tell Younger Me anything, what would it be?  I been thinking about that a lot the last couple of days. If I could go back, maybe I'd go to newborn baby me. I'd want to see myself, connected to tubes and machines. I'd want to see my lifeless body. I want to really know what it was like.  I would want to approach 25 year old Dad, as he is worried, crying, praying and begging Heavenly Father to allow me to live. I'd want to say, "Daddy, it's me. I'm 23 now, and I'm alive. You taught me well. You taught me how a man should be. You taught me to be strong. Don't worry, Daddy. I'm gonna be ok." I would approach 23 year old Mom, exhausted in the hospital bed, uncertain and afraid and traumatized of what had just happened. I&

The whistle was piercing as one of the boys accidentally pushed over other teammate in order to get the ball. Another foul shot. Of course, the crowd was not happy. Some fathers were standing and waving their arms, irritated and screaming down to the referee. Mothers were frustrated at the call, commenting to their friends or husbands. Highland against Madison high, and Madison was catching up. But I wasn't focused on the game. No. Nor did I really care about the calls that the refs made. I was focused on the Highland basketball team.  Those boys were growing up so fast. I recognized most of them. I recognized them because they have been in my home as elementary school boys, playing with Keegan.  Keegan was not playing basketball. He was not out there hustling. Heck, he wasn't even sitting on the bench, frustrated, planning on how he could be a better teammate and player. That was a gift of his. Even if he wasn't the best, he worked harder than anyone else

One of my favorite children stories growing up was the book by Max Lucado, "You are Special." (For anyone who doesn't know this story, I suggest you read it. This is a spoiler alert. So, if you would prefer to go read this story first, do it!) The synopsis of the story is this: There is a little wooden town with a bunch of little wooden people called Wimmicks. No Wimmick were the same, and they each had their own box of stickers. The stickers were either gold stars, or grey dots. Everyday, these Wimmicks would give out these stickers and stick them to each other. If a Wimmick was tall, beautiful, a good singer, an athlete, a performer, smart, or anything deemed as positive and/or desirable, that Wimmick would receive gold stars. On the other hand, those who may be small, too round, have scratched up wood, if they tripped, or if they made mistakes, would receive grey dots. No one wanted the grey dots. The main character of the story is a Wimmick named Punchinello.