A Grief Observed

Grief.

It's been on my mind for a while now, but it's been at the forefront of my thoughts these last few days. Some of my dearest friends from back home lost their youngest daughter, 18 months old, in a tragic accident over the weekend. I was stunned by the news. It was one of those situations where one irrationally thinks, "This? Why did this happen to them? They are some of the best people I know." But then, it is often the best and strongest who pass through the hardest trials life has to offer. Needless to say, my heart has been heavy all week.

As I've prayed for them, I have felt an assurance of God's love for them as well as the strength of their testimonies. They truly are some of the most faithful people I know. Even their email announcing the funeral was filled with hope; I know they have a testimony of the resurrection and the plan of salvation. However, that knowledge does not preclude the grief one feels at the loss of a loved one (especially one so young). And I have come to find that it is actually through one's faith that grief is most purely experienced and manifest.

After the death of his wife, C.S. Lewis kept a "grief journal" which he eventually published under the title A Grief Observed. I think this is one of Lewis' most valuable published works simply because of its raw energy and exposed nature. In it, he gives an excellent visual analogy about tests of faith. He says, in essence, that it is easy to stand on the edge of a cliff and say we trust the knots we have tied. However, when we are asked to go over the edge, all of a sudden we want to test them, double-check, just to make sure they are secure. Lewis, the great Christian apologist, found himself testing the knots he had written so much about as he worked through his grief. He was disheartened at the need to deconstruct his faith and rebuild because of his feelings.

"What would H. herself think of this terrible little notebook to which I comeback and back? Are these jottings morbid? … I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. Do these notes merely aggravate that side of it? Merely confirm the monotonous, treadmill march of the mind round one subject? But what am I to do? I must have some drug, and reading isn’t a strong enough drug now. By writing it all down (all?—no: one thought in a hundred) I believe I get a little outside it. … In so far as this record was a defence against total collapse, a safety-valve, it has done some good."

In my immaturity, when I first read this book I contracted the feelings of grief and hopelessness. I concluded that his grief would not have been so deep had he had knowledge of the plan of salvation. As I have gained experience, I have come to understand that hopelessness and grief are two separate emotions but are sometimes contracted because loss is such a test of faith, and as we grieve we also tend to address our faith (or crisis of faith), as Lewis did. The knowledge we have of what comes after this life helps us to separate out those two feelings and can lessen and ultimately elminate the hopelessness that often accompanies grief, but it does not take away the feeling of grief itself.

It brings to mind a photograph I saw of President Hinckley at his wife's funeral. The first time I saw it, my heart swelled and a tear or two escaped. The sorrow etched on his face for the loss of his companion touched my heart. There sat a prophet of God, who knows better than any of us about the plan of salvation, heartbroken. From there, my thoughts naturally travel to the Savior himself. Christ, our perfect mentor, wept with grief at the loss of Lazarus, his friend, just before he raised him from the dead (John 11:32-44). He knew he had the power to raise him, and yet he mourned with his friends.

D&C 42:45 says "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die..." Mosiah 18:9 outlines our baptisimal covenants which include being willing to mourn with those that mourn. It may not seem so revelatory to those reading, but for me the realization that we are supposed to mourn the loss of those we love was both surprising and liberating. I went in search of what grief really entailed. I found a great statement by Elder Lance B. Wickman. He said:

grief is the natural by-product of love. One cannot selflessly love another person and not grieve at his suffering or eventual death. The only way to avoid the grief would be to not experience the love; and it is love that gives life
its richness and meaning.

President Hinckley loved his wife deeply. It follows then that he would feel her loss deeply. The Savior loved perfectly; of course he wept at the death of his friend. This is grief felt with faith. In the past, I have sometimes felt unjustified or foolish in feeling loss so deeply, but to revisit my own experiences with these thoughts in mind changes things. It makes sense: still, twelve years later, whenever I hear a violin playing, I always think of Grandpa Willardson, and at times feel a slight stab of loneliness upon hearing a haunting melody. At the ranch, I always, always think of Grandpa Bradshaw and wish we were all back up on Court Rock or in the basment playing PIT or at the general store buying colorless soda and fireworks. When I come home to a rare piece of handwritten mail, I can't help but think of Grandma and our weekly, handwritten letters. When I smell strong aftershave, I think fondly of Uncle Doug. I love each of these family members dearly and deeply; it is not a lack of faith or selfishness that fuels me missing them but, rather, love.

It makes me think of our Heavenly Father's farewell to each of us as we came to this earth. How many tears did we shed through our excitement because of the separation that was about to occur, even though it is for a relatively short amount of time? And how excited is our Heavenly Father to welcome us back home? The idea of grief being a feeling God himself feels sanctifies those feelings for me. It brings a sense of holiness to it all.

I was not able to attend the funeral today but my parents were. They confirmed what I already knew: it was of course heartbreaking, but it was also full of faith, hope and love. And I think that's exactly how it's supposed to be.

I've been tagged by Cherie

Here it goes - 6 unique things about me:

1. I am very wary of heights, bridges, metro grates, and climbing ladders, but absolutely love rollercoasters and cliff jumping. For rollercoasters. the harrier the better.

2. I tan no matter the SPF or frequency of sunscreen applied.

3. When I was a senior in high school I could bench press 150 pounds.

4. I've been on BBC television. I was a victim of a pretty severe jellyfish attack during college (go ahead, laugh away) and was interviewed about my experience for a segment on an experimental jellyfish-repelling sunscreen. (Close the door, I can still hear you laughing...)

5. I've been knocked out twice in my life (and therefore have had two concussions): once from falling off a skateboard in a parking lot (I have terrible balance, which is one of the reasons I am so afraid of heights) and once from getting elbowed in the face during a game of church broom hockey.

6. I am claustrophobic, which is why when the metro is crowded I have to ride with my eyes closed and iPod playing.

Bonus: I have an inexplicable fear of my phone.

The Jeff & Jer Showgram

Gutsy: that’s the word my family uses to describe much of my behavior. At the time of execution it just feels normal to me. In retrospect, I think it’s more accurately described as “reckless.” It isn’t dangerous per se, as in bodily harm. It’s more like fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, come-up-with-a-crazy-idea-and-go-with-it-regardless-of-how-embarrassing-or-risky-it-might-be kind of way. It definitely produces incredible experiences and consequently fabulous memories. It’s like life is just plugging along when all of a sudden I decide it's not exciting enough and so I get it in my head that I want to do something to give it a little bit of variety: it usually has an element of crazy, an element of comedy, and an element of uncertainty. And somehow it all comes together, for better or worse.

For this confession, I have chosen to omit names in order to protect the innocent. I feel it interrupts some of the flow, but I want to try to respect the privacy of the individual involved, even if I didn't pay him the same courtesy seven years ago. The chances of him stumbling across this blog are rare, but still…if he does by chance get wind of this, I only hope he’ll think it’s funnier than he did the first time around.

So, yes, there was this boy. Don’t all good stories start that way? I was 20. That should excuse most of the behavior I’m about to relate. He and I were set up by a mutual friend even though we lived in separate states (let’s just call his Utah for convenience sake). I found myself “in the neighborhood” every four to six months, as members of my family were currently living there as well as several friends from college who had recently relocated. Whenever I would go up, we would go out. Whenever he was visiting our friend in San Diego, we would go out. We had a good time and got along great, but we lived in separate states. We had never talked about the possibility of actually dating but I think, at least for me, it was always tucked away in the back of my mind. There may have been potential, but given the circumstances it just wasn’t going to happen.

At the end of one particular visit, he provided me with a copy of his band’s newest CD. Being the supportive friend I was, I always listened and enjoyed. I found myself asking him if they had ever tried to get their stuff on the radio. I don’t really remember his response, but it had something to do with one of the band members trying but not having a lot of luck. Whatever it was, it prompted me to say, “You know, what do you want to bet I could get your band on the radio?” To my surprise, he simply shook his head and smiled and said, “Julie, I don’t doubt you could.” Well that’s not any fun, I thought. At the height of my young, immature and competitive state, I couldn’t see the point of exerting extensive effort towards anything someone actually thought I could do. Where was the challenge in that? I shrugged and said, “Well, it would be funny at any rate if I did,” and then dropped it, which I think in retrospect is exactly what he wanted.

I was home a few days later, sitting in my modern literature class, bored to tears. My mind drifted back to the idea of the band and the radio. Despite his certainty of my success, I was doubtful. I had pulled off some great stuff in the past, but nothing quite like this or on quite this scale. After class I decided I had nothing to lose; I went to the computer lab and crafted an email to the Jeff & Jer Showgram, a popular morning radio show that frequently entertained off-the-wall ideas. (I once won a burping contest on their show…but that’s another blog entry for another day.) I listened to them frequently and thought if anyone was up for something like this, it would be them. The only problem was I had to come up with a gimmick, something that would get me past the normal email traffic. I knew exactly what would sell these guys. I weaved an engaging story (I know what you're thinking. Me? Weave a story? Shocking!) about having a crush on my friend and that maybe if I did something really great like get his band on the radio perhaps something more would come of it. The email was pretty funny (at least I thought it was – I wish I still had it to share here in all its glory, but alas…) but as good as it was I honestly didn’t think anything would come of it. It gave me something to do for the afternoon and I went on with my day.

I checked my email later that night and was floored to find there in my inbox a response from the show’s producer; he wanted to meet me and hear the band’s CD. I thought perhaps he was blowing smoke, but sure enough when I called the studio the next morning, we set up a meeting for the following day.

To say I was nervous would be too simplistic a description. I felt that slightly ill twinge in the pit of my stomach, mixed with this intense nervous energy that made my heart thump slowly but emphatically. I knew I had to play the adulating groupie (ugh) if I wanted any chance at getting my friend’s band on the radio. An intern escorted me down a sterile white hallway and into the studio. The producer’s office was separated from the show’s hosts by a large plate-glass, sound-proof window; the show was piped into this room so we could hear everything that was going on without disturbing them with our conversation. He asked me a series of questions in between screening callers during open phones, talking to the radio personalities during commercial breaks, and generally running the show. During a segment in which he wasn’t needed, he listened to a clip of my friend's band.

“Not bad,” he said, eyeing me skeptically. “Does your mom know you’re hanging around with boys who play with guitars?” I just laughed and assured him I was perfectly safe. Not satisfied, he grilled me a little bit about his background. I tried to keep it light and cool and as vague as possible. While I spoke, he looked at the CD cover and band photos closely. “Hmm,” he said, without looking up. “He looks and sounds like a good Christian boy if you ask me.” I couldn’t help but laugh again and sort of nodded my head and shrugged my shoulders in uncommitted agreement. He considered the situation for a moment and then proceeded to formulate a rough plan. We were in!

“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking.” He decided to slot us for the following Friday, “because Fridays are fun days and everyone listens on Fridays.” As the plan unfolded, I realized he expected me to be in the studio, participating. I gulped. All of a sudden this "hilarious" idea wasn’t so funny. I had envisioned myself sitting at home, waiting for a song or two to come on the air, recording it and then sending my friend the tape as proof that I really am that good. Presence in the studio was one step away from participating live which was something I was not interested in doing. Tommy didn’t fill in all the details because he wasn’t even sure of them himself, but on my way out he said, “Oh, and make sure you have your boyfriend on standby just in case the guys decide to call him.”

I whipped around and croaked, "Call him?! Live?"

Tommy gave me a satisfied smile, said, “See you Friday!” and turned back to the show, leaving me to find my way out. I felt ill as I started to realize the ramifications of putting my friend on the radio, especially given the story I had given these guys to get the ball rolling in the first place. What had I gotten myself into? I should have backed out right then and there.

But I didn’t.

The week passed slowly, but before I knew it, Thursday night had arrived. I didn’t sleep one wink. I spent the night thinking about my options: I could warn my friend about the phone call, but then that would tip him off to the whole thing and the surprise would be spoiled. I could just discourage Jeff & Jer from placing the call altogether and pray they listened. I didn't even want to think about option three, which was figuring out what on earth I would say to him if they didn't.

By Friday morning I made a decision: I was going to wing it. I have since determined this is never a good idea when it involves live radio, two loose canons for radio show hosts, an unsuspecting male friend, and one girl with underdeveloped wit and poise (I’ve made great strides over the last seven years). I drove slowly to the studio and sat in my car for five or ten minutes before gathering the courage to go inside. I was escorted back down that sterile white hallway and into the studio. Little Tommy had just finalized the bit with Jeff & Jer. They decided that it would be funny to stage a “fake tape” for this guy to make it sound like they had “discovered” his band. They were going to act as if they had played the entire CD the day before and that they were taking listener feedback that morning. They would play a couple of songs, get a few listeners to call in and gush about the music, and make it sound like this total Napster phenomenon. I thought, "Okay, totally doable." No problem. Then he handed me the phone and said, “Call him.”

“Huh?” I was confused. I thought we were sending him a fake tape, thus precluding the need to call him.

“Call him.”

“Who? My friend?”

“Yes. We’ll put him on hold so he can listen to the whole thing live. Then we’ll put him on the radio and you two can talk.”

“Talk? Live? About what?”

“You can tell him how you feel! Won’t that be great?!” He was grinning from ear to ear. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten any breakfast.

“No, no, no. This will not be great. Tommy, we've never talked about it. I don’t think this is a very good idea.” This was, in fact, a very bad idea (I know every guy reading this is nodding his head in agreement). Me, the open book; I was sure that under pressure I would subject myself to some kind of self-coerced confession of undying crush on live radio in my home town.

He looked at my very seriously and said, "Julie, we need good radio. You can’t back out now. This bit is starting now. Whatever you do, don't choke. Be animated…just be yourself. It’s great. This story is great. That's why we're putting you on the radio." All I could think about were all the people I knew who were listening and how I was going to explain all of this.

I was ushered into the studio and introduced to Jeff & Jer, the main personalities, and Laura, the show’s gossip/fashion correspondent, traffic person, and token female. Tommy told me that after they introduced what they were going to do (by reading my email on the air!) and got some callers on hold, I would place the phone call to my friend, tell him I’d gotten his band on the radio, then put him on hold so he could hear the whole thing live. My voice was shaking uncontrollably when I called him. He was a little bit confused (he sounded like he had just woken up) but I didn’t have time to explain. Tommy took the phone out of my hands, put him on hold, and pointed to the empty chair at the head of the table in the studio. I was to sit there, put on the headphones and talk directly into the microphone when it was time. (I have to admit that even as I’m writing this, seven years later, my heart is pumping wildly!) Despite my dread at the prospect of having an unwanted and ill-timed DTR on live radio, as I took my seat and put on my headphones, I felt a thrill of excitement shoot through me. I had done it! They were playing one of the best songs on the CD for all of San Diego to hear. The callers were ridiculous and funny, Jeff & Jer were on their A-game, and I was actually enjoying myself.

Then the bit ended. It was time to bring my friend on the air. Enjoyment over. Only, he wasn’t on the phone anymore. Tommy had accidentally hung up on him (I think) and the guys didn’t want to take the time to place the call again, but we still had about five minutes left on the show. Jeff & Jer, having finished their bit, decided to turn the foiled DTR into an interrogation, led by Laura, the gossip-maven. She didn’t waste any time.

How did we meet? How long had we known each other? When was I going to see him next? Was he my boyfriend? Did I want him to be my boyfriend? Had he kissed me? My mortification increased with each subsequent question. I kept thinking of Tommy’s admonition for “good radio” and so I tried to answer her questions as animatedly as possible, praying he would never hear the words coming out of my mouth. (Never mind the fact our mutual friend taped the entire show for him...) At 8:30, the show was over. I was released. They thanked me for coming in, asked me to keep them informed of the situation, and sent me on my way. Tommy took a picture of me next to their "Star" wall and posted my picture and the CD cover on their website for the morning. It was over.

I walked out of the studio thinking, “Nothing, absolutely nothing will ever top this.” So far, I’ve been right; I've made sure of that. But I still have a whole life to live, not to mention an adventurous spirit. :)