Scrapes Become Scars

(Context: my wonderful mother passed away in early November 2014 from cancer. The diagnosis a year previously had been shocking, but her decline was not. That has been one of many sources of great emotion over the last year. This entry will be about coping with the loss of her, but it could very well be applied to the setbacks we face in life, whether self-inflicted or otherwise.)

Life is such a crazy thing. The range of emotions I have felt in the last year or so would take days to explain completely, and the emotions I've felt in the last few days alone have had me up and down.

Fortunately enough, I started going through old journal entries this afternoon and I found one that was really encouraging.

Last March I had just finished reading a silly book called Allegiant. There were a lot of things I didn't like about the book, but if there was anything redeeming at all about the hundreds of pages I read it was the core message delivered at the very end:

"We can be mended."

On one of the very last pages of the book, Tobias utters this statement as he faces the reality of his life. He has to do hard things he doesn't want to do. His heart aches for loss he feels (it's a young adult dystopian trilogy, so naturally there's some tragedy, right?). 

In all of his nonreligious logic, he finds himself capable of recognizing that cuts, both emotional and physical, will heal over and become scars. They serve as reminders of the things we've lived and learned. They can be used to give us courage to move forward.

I had been so emotionless as I read about what had happened to Tobias and the people he loved. I thought the plot was senseless. But he uttered that absolute truth and it struck my heart. The simplicity of the words with their huge implications were so powerful to me. I cried my face off that night, and that one sentence helped me focus the course of my life and what I prioritized as I prepared for the imminent death of my mom.

Now, in hindsight, after making those words my mantra, the one thing I would proclaim from the rooftops, the one thing I would offer as comfort or solace to a person in grief is an absolute testimony that we can indeed be mended. I can be mended as a young man that misses his mother everyday. I can be mended as a thick-skulled guy that makes mistakes all the time that set me back. I felt that then as I tried my best to be as strong as I could be. My own efforts were never enough, but I knew there was heavenly help as I tried to keep cool and make the most of the time I was given. 

And what I found most encouraging wasn't actually the help I could get, it was that my mom, whose body was failing then, could be mended. The hard part was accepting that the timetable wasn't as I had expected.

This was one of the last photos we took together. (July 2014)

I knew that there were no more miracles to wait for regarding mom's health. It was so clear that there would be no inexplicable recovery. But my understanding of God's great plan and Christ's perfect Atonement meant (and still mean) that she does not have to hurt or struggle ever again. As I wrote last March in my journal, "I absolutely love to think of her as a vibrant, carefree and perfected person... All will be well!" I've felt that confirmation since then, and I yearn for the day that we are reunited and she is the witty, joyous person she once was.

My own pre-Mom's-death wounds and anxieties were tended to as best as possible before she passed away. The prognosis was bad, so I actively chose to shore myself up as much as I could. I felt divine comfort and peace in the principles of the Atonement. They are now the things I cling to, in the very best possible way, as I move forward and try to make the most out of this life that I've been given. I feel no bitterness about the fact that my friends all have their mothers by their sides and I don't have mine. I feel no resentment towards God or anyone else that she could not be saved. Instead, I feel at peace knowing that "there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ." (Mosiah 16:7-8) That sting is the hurt she experienced in struggle, but also the emotional sting I feel in the aftermath of her passing.

The gaping cut that is my mother's death hasn't become a scar just yet. That would make it only a memory of a hardship, and I'm not quite there yet. It will take more time than that for a wound so large to be bound and healed completely. But I take courage in the healing effects of the Atonement and feel those as I do everything I can to be close to the Spirit. I know I'm where I need to be, doing the things I should be doing.

One day this experience will become a scar, and I will be mended wholly from this gash. That scar will remind me how anxious I am to see my mom again in a perfect state and keep me on the right path to qualify for such an experience.

Gentle Healer, by Greg Olsen, is my favorite depiction of the Savior.