"The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow that seemed hard frozen..."

Good morning, friends! I hope all is good with you this day.

I hope you awoke with joy in the hope of whatever opportunities await you.

I hope you feel peace.

I do.

Yesterday was the 34th anniversary of my dad's death, and today would be his 80th birthday. Yes, those two dates are 46 years, less one day, apart. I have written about him a couple of times, here and here, so I won't repeat. This year, the "season" between Easter and now has been typical. The best way to describe it is a struggle to navigate through water and fog simultaneously, making it difficult to move very quickly or see very clearly. I've learned over the years not to fight it, but to just let it be.

But today, I feel that fog begin to lift. At least a little. First thing in the morning, I took Shulamith's little boy to McDonald's to play, while she went to her 32-week prenatal checkup. We had the whole play area to ourselves. It was quiet. I had time to reflect. And the tears flowed. The past three weeks have been so busy; I haven't had time to cry. It was a much-needed release, and fortunately no one else came into the play area. I thought back 34 years to how I was feeling on that May 6th of 1979, my dad's birthday, the day after he died. I was so very young. At that moment, I honestly believed I would never be happy again.

I was wrong.

Just four years later I got married, and the following year I became a mother. I experienced joy like no other. I learned that the atonement is powerful enough to heal even the deepest most sorrowful wounds, and that God loved me enough to send me one, and ultimately five, of his most precious children. As Mother's Day approaches this year, I once again express heartfelt gratitude for the blessing of that divine role and destiny.

Through my tears, I began to feel peace.

As Swen played, I sipped my Diet Coke.

"Happy Birthday, Dad! I don't know if you celebrate birthdays in Heaven, and I don't even know if they have Diet Coke there (but they must have it, because it's Heaven, after all!). So drink a Diet Coke for me, and celebrate with Grandma and Grandpa. I hope it is the happiest!"

As we were leaving, I remembered this poem, one of my all-time favorites:



Sometimes  - by Sheenagh Pugh

Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse.  Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen:  may it happen for you.