Mom was courageous. I never her saw her falter in the face of danger or difficulty. She showed us by example how to face into the wind of adversity and soar above life’s challenges.
I remember one time our family went camping. I was probably only four or five years old. We were going up into the Uinta mountains, over miles of dirt roads. We had car trouble on the way up, but Dad was able to get it fixed. Then, when we got in the mountains, it turned out that the road was washed out. Rather than go back, we carefully crept alongside the washout. I remember looking out the side window of our car hundreds of feet down the mountainside as we slid past the obstacles. Many would have turned back. But Mom and Dad continued, and we enjoyed a wonderful holiday in the mountains.
Later, the summer I turned six, Mom decided to take the five of us kids to spend the summer with her parents in New Jersey. My oldest brother Rob was eleven, and my younger brothers were two and three, and were unbelievably rambunctious. Mom got harnesses with leashes attached in order to keep track of them, and then she took us in tow on the railroad – a great adventure.
I remember my excitement of going to the Union Pacific Depot in Salt Lake. I remember finding our seats. I remember how fun it was to have the train move away, and how much I enjoyed the origami book mom bought to keep us occupied. Then I remember how uncomfortable it was when the air conditioner quit in our train car, and we suffered in hundred-degree weather. But Mom remained cheerful in the face of adversity. I remember being stuck in Chicago for a while as we waited for a train we had missed because of construction delays. I remember how nice it was to get to Grandpa’s house, and I remember that Mom told Dad when the summer was over that if he wanted to see the kids again, he’d better drive out there, because she wasn’t taking the train back home.
I saw Mom’s courage as she watched her father grow senile as he lived with us. At first, he was just physically frail. But eventually, his mental capabilities waned. I remember the day she took his tools away from him, because he was a danger to hurt himself and the house. It broke her heart to hear him complain about her being mean to him. But it needed to be done, and she did it without flinching.
When Mom was 69, my family was living in Kanazawa Japan. Mom and Dad got on an airplane and flew to Osaka. Then, while speaking not a word of Japanese, they got on a train and rode for two and a half hours to Kanazawa, trusting that everything would work out well. And it did.
Never was mom more courageous than in her battle with Alzheimer’s. She must have been terrified when she was first diagnosed. She had seen her mother-in-law and her father succumb to senility before they died. She had seen firsthand what it was like to lose your memory, to forget familiar faces, and to fall prey to paranoia. And when she was diagnosed, she knew that all of these outcomes potentially lay ahead.
I don’t know how she dealt with her fears privately. I’m sure she struggled many times. I’m sure she had moments where she wept with fear, and prayed for deliverance from this silent enemy. But in public, she was a marvelous example of courage. She never asked for pity. She regularly smiled. When she was frustrated with her inability to remember a word, she graciously accepted her shortcomings and accepted help with magnanimity and grace.
I was blessed to see my Mom on the last day that she was really conscious. I’d been on a business trip to Washington, D.C. I came to her home unannounced, because I hadn’t been sure I could get there. When I got there, I went to her room. My sister Erica announced that I was there. Mom opened her eyes, saw me, and smiled. She reached out and hugged me, then gave me a kiss. As I hugged and kissed her, I felt her love. She could no longer form words, but she certainly told me she loved me. It was a fitting capstone to her life.
Courage lies not in never knowing fear. That is more of stupidity, for certainly life has fearsome things. Courage lies in facing fear, and moving ahead in spite of the danger. Courage recognizes what cannot be changed, and faces into it, making the best of a difficult situation. Courage does what can be done, and maintains a positive attitude in spite of the arrayed enemies. Courage presses forward, even when the odds are insurmountable.
There are heroic stories written of courage in the face of battle, or of rescues in the face of imminent physical danger. There are fewer heroic stories written about facing personal struggles in quiet moments. Nobody has chronicled Mom’s courage. But no epic has had nearly the effect on me of Mom’s quiet example. Through her private actions, she has inspired me to be more courageous both in public and private. I hope that someday I may be as courageous as my Mom.
My Mom – my profile in courage – my hero.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
My Guide Patrol Leader—My Mom
When I was 11 years old, I was a member of the Guide Patrol (what is now called the 11-year-old scout patrol now in LDS scouting). Every Wednesday after school we would walk up the steep hill from the school to the church next door and learn how to become a scout (and a man) in Guide Patrol.
i was fortunate to have my Mom as my Guide Patrol Leader. Not because she was my mom, but because she was probably the world's best Guide Patrol Leader. Scouting for Mom wasn't show and tell. It was learn and do. I don't know if they had Wood Badge in those days. I do know she never went to Wood Badge. But she could have taught it.
We learned the Scout Law. I can still remember reciting it with her. I don't remember reciting it in the classroom—I remember reciting it in a car coming back from an outdoor cooking experience. "A scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, Reverent." That's from memory. And I learned what the Scout Law meant by watching Mom living it, and by observing it in the lives of the scouts who had already been through her patrol.
We learned to use a knife and an ax, safely and well. She didn't tell us how to sharpen a knife. She gave us a dull knife and some sharpening materials, and she expected us to sharpen the knife until we could whittle a feather stick (for starting fires) with it. When we got frustrated, she didn't take over for us. She taught us what to look for and how to get the results we needed. It's largely thanks to her that I can still sharpen a knife to get a shaving edge. And I learned the difference between chopping with a sharp axe and a dull axe in a Guide Patrol axe yard. One of Covey's Seven Habits was learned by this scout before Covey had even thought about writing his book.
We leaned to cook over a fire without utensils through eating our efforts—some delicious, some barely edible. But we ate what we made, and we found out that life is better when you do things right than when you take shortcuts. And I learned that I could be pretty self-sufficient. I remember one long day of fishing in Millcreek Canyon with my friend Brent. We had ridden our bikes to the canyon, and had fished until afternoon, with only one small trout to show for it. We were starving. We cleaned the fish (with our self-sharpened knives), then found a flat rock in the stream, and heated it in a fire (started with a feather-stick and only one match), then cooked the fish on the flat rock. It was some of the best fish I have ever eaten, even to this day.
When it was time to learn orienteering, we did a little bit of classroom work. Then we went to a wide open location in the Jordan River Narrows (maybe 8 square miles). Mom had set up an orienteering course that went up and down hills, through the brush, across irrigation ditches, through an abandoned gravel quarry, and ended up with candy bars for a prize when we found the end of the course after a total distance of about two miles. And every one of the scouts found the prize.
For trailing and tracking, we went to the narrows again. We took turns trying to make a trail that couldn't be followed, and trying to leave a marked trail that could be followed. By the end of the day, we could all track one another, and we knew how to leave effective trail signs to help others on their journey.
We learned knots. Not just how to tie them, but we learned to use them to accomplish things we wanted. To this day, it's second nature to tie a clove hitch when I want a knot on a rail that won't slip, or a bowline when I want a loop that won't tighten but can be easily untied. With knots, as in life, knowing how to do the right thing at the right time makes all the difference.
As I look back more than 40 years to my time in the Guide Patrol, I can see that my life was immeasurably changed by a woman who saw a vision of what a group of sometimes rowdy boys could become. She understood how to help us grow from boys to men. She taught us skills that not only helped us in our boyish activities, but pointed the way to becoming men of sound character, who embody all the attributes of the Scout Law. Her teaching was effective—so effective we didn't really realize how much we were being taught until much later. I'm a much better man for having been in the Guide Patrol for troop 578 in the Great Salt Lake Council, and for being taught at the feet of my mother.
My Mom—my Guide Patrol leader—my hero.
i was fortunate to have my Mom as my Guide Patrol Leader. Not because she was my mom, but because she was probably the world's best Guide Patrol Leader. Scouting for Mom wasn't show and tell. It was learn and do. I don't know if they had Wood Badge in those days. I do know she never went to Wood Badge. But she could have taught it.
We learned the Scout Law. I can still remember reciting it with her. I don't remember reciting it in the classroom—I remember reciting it in a car coming back from an outdoor cooking experience. "A scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean, Reverent." That's from memory. And I learned what the Scout Law meant by watching Mom living it, and by observing it in the lives of the scouts who had already been through her patrol.
We learned to use a knife and an ax, safely and well. She didn't tell us how to sharpen a knife. She gave us a dull knife and some sharpening materials, and she expected us to sharpen the knife until we could whittle a feather stick (for starting fires) with it. When we got frustrated, she didn't take over for us. She taught us what to look for and how to get the results we needed. It's largely thanks to her that I can still sharpen a knife to get a shaving edge. And I learned the difference between chopping with a sharp axe and a dull axe in a Guide Patrol axe yard. One of Covey's Seven Habits was learned by this scout before Covey had even thought about writing his book.
We leaned to cook over a fire without utensils through eating our efforts—some delicious, some barely edible. But we ate what we made, and we found out that life is better when you do things right than when you take shortcuts. And I learned that I could be pretty self-sufficient. I remember one long day of fishing in Millcreek Canyon with my friend Brent. We had ridden our bikes to the canyon, and had fished until afternoon, with only one small trout to show for it. We were starving. We cleaned the fish (with our self-sharpened knives), then found a flat rock in the stream, and heated it in a fire (started with a feather-stick and only one match), then cooked the fish on the flat rock. It was some of the best fish I have ever eaten, even to this day.
When it was time to learn orienteering, we did a little bit of classroom work. Then we went to a wide open location in the Jordan River Narrows (maybe 8 square miles). Mom had set up an orienteering course that went up and down hills, through the brush, across irrigation ditches, through an abandoned gravel quarry, and ended up with candy bars for a prize when we found the end of the course after a total distance of about two miles. And every one of the scouts found the prize.
For trailing and tracking, we went to the narrows again. We took turns trying to make a trail that couldn't be followed, and trying to leave a marked trail that could be followed. By the end of the day, we could all track one another, and we knew how to leave effective trail signs to help others on their journey.
We learned knots. Not just how to tie them, but we learned to use them to accomplish things we wanted. To this day, it's second nature to tie a clove hitch when I want a knot on a rail that won't slip, or a bowline when I want a loop that won't tighten but can be easily untied. With knots, as in life, knowing how to do the right thing at the right time makes all the difference.
As I look back more than 40 years to my time in the Guide Patrol, I can see that my life was immeasurably changed by a woman who saw a vision of what a group of sometimes rowdy boys could become. She understood how to help us grow from boys to men. She taught us skills that not only helped us in our boyish activities, but pointed the way to becoming men of sound character, who embody all the attributes of the Scout Law. Her teaching was effective—so effective we didn't really realize how much we were being taught until much later. I'm a much better man for having been in the Guide Patrol for troop 578 in the Great Salt Lake Council, and for being taught at the feet of my mother.
My Mom—my Guide Patrol leader—my hero.
Musings on Mom
My mom has Alzheimer's disease. She's had it for a few years now, and has been slowly progressing toward the end of her life.
I just got word that she's stopped eating. Her body is shutting down, and I don't think she'll live more than a few days.
About a week ago, when I found out that she had become bedridden, I felt like I ought to write an essay about what she means to me. I'm usually a pretty good (and fast) writer. But I have a history of being slow when it comes to writing personal essays that are important to me (as a college freshman I took nearly a month to write a personal essay about challenges I faced as a preteen—fortunately my teacher took pity on me and let me count it for two papers, and he thought it was really good when it was done).
This "essay" was no different. In the past week, I've been mentally organizing, writing, and rewriting the essay. I could never get an idea for the focus I wanted. There was too much to say. Then I got the idea for a blog. Instead of one essay, there will be a series of vignettes. None of the vignettes comes close to capturing the way I feel about Mom, but hopefully the set will will convey at least part of the wonder I feel to have been raised by this wonderful woman.
As far as I know, Mom never received any special recognitions or awards as an adult. She never had her picture in the paper or a magazine. She was never featured on the radio. She wasn't listed in Who's Who. But she raised five good children. She loved, honored, and respected my dad for nearly 60 years of marriage. She toiled in anonymity in the greatest work the world has to offer—helping children to become like heavenly and earthly parents.
And so, in this blog, I hope to bring to light some of the great things Mom has done for me.
I wish I had done this sooner, while she could still read and understand. But soon she will be free from the limitations of this mortal body, and I hope that she will somehow be able to know the things I write as they are read and understood by others.
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