Friend

I looked for you again
an unexpected email
one of your old friends
feeling guilty that you died
she didn’t know in time
didn’t call you back that night
oh, the sorrows and regrets
googling ‘citicow68’ and
there you are, just like that
your name, face
really just a glimpse on the internet
some personal details
almost like reading someone’s journal
your honesty, fears
trusting others to understand
I didn’t know
you wanted to die in your sleep
not something a mother and son would talk about
in everyday talk easier
to reprimand you
for watching so much ‘South Park’
and have you done your Statistics homework yet
both of us in school then
pursuing the carrots we called dreams
pushing you on, onward
never really knowing how far you could go
but what would happen to you, if I quit?
your patronizing grin
trying to rub the anxiety out of my shoulders
you didn’t need pushing, only encouragement
did I give you enough?
tell you how proud I was that you kept trying?
kept going when life knocked you down?
I didn’t realize, until after
how many times you got back up, over and over
with a smile, a kind word, a thank you
so I stare, for the thousandth time, at your picture
the one nearest to what appears when I close my eyes
see the real you just beyond the veil
your love intact
your peace assured
I get your message
return the email
tell her
no regrets, my friend
only happiness
only love
only peace

Rolan's Special Day

Rolan in a chair that belonged to his mother when she was a little girl.

Grammy, Michele, Rolan, Brent, Clayton, Mike

Me with Rachel in her 'Brandon' sweatshirt

Rolan wouldn't give Rachel a kiss but he was happy to blow her one!

Rolan received "A Name and a Blessing" on Sunday, March 29 at the home of his parents. Brent Echols performed the ordinance with Bishop Sincich while Rolan sat on Mommy's lap. A chocolate chip cookie helped keep the reverence. My sister, Rachel, attended and Chantel's family was there in spirit. I believe Brandon, Grandpa Dayley, and my dad were probably there too, completing the circle of love around Rolan. I couldn't help shedding a tear as I felt the spirit and heard the words of the blessing. A wonderful end to my visit to California.
I love you, Family!

I Love You, Still

This was supposed to post on Valentine's day. I don't know what happened. 2nd in a series.

Because you’re a fighter

a wriggly wiggler

a bed-time breaker

and a soccer ball kicker

I love you because you love rock and roll

porcelain dolls

eating at the Mecca

and anything on which to climb, even me

I love you for the way you move with a destination in mind

play your music

kiss those little fingers

and belch like a sailor

for the tomatoes, the potatoes, the corn

and because after all these years

you talk about that venison steak dinner, still

I love you because you love hats

like me

and pet rats, um, not me

for late night chats

for the sharp sound of 'crack' every time you got up to bat

and I miss those days

but I have my memories

I love you because she slobbers

a lot

and you don’t mind

for that home-made macaroni and cheese

and because your lemonade is too sour

but your enthusiasm makes up the difference

I love you for saying yes

for not asking why, though I think you knew

your expressive hands

your fat toes

and your tight little butt

Ok there

I said it

I love you for allowing the anguish

to push you up, not down

for after dinner walks

for walking the talk

talking the walk

and Grammy, come see the moon!

I love you for your apple trees

your apple crisp

your sparkling apple cider

and the Unbelievable Apple

I love you because you’re generous

you sing with your whole soul

kiss with your mouth open

and 'do when the spirit say do'

I love you for the squeak in your laugh

the bounce in your dance

for teaching me how

and for what Jessica Rabbit said about Roger

I love you for surprises

big surprises

I mean, really—Big Surprises

and for that time

eating plums from a tree in the dark

I love you for your work ethic

your working man

your working man’s hands

and for giving me my first pair of earrings—gold, Trifari

I love you for your wild bushy hair

their buzzed heads

and mine too

1-2-3

I even love your bih

your buh, your do, your duh

and your fro

because I’m your guh

and you’re my bo

I love you for your art

drawings that fly and blast create chaos

like bombs and rocket ships and farts

and make you laugh out-loud

I love you for the raisins

the easy hugs

the way you hitch up your pants because you walk

just like him

and no one tries harder than you

I love you for your French fries

your give-it-to-me-straight philosophy

for being the slowest to anger I've ever seen

and sparklers on the fourth of July

I love you for tri-tip on the grill

June bugs

your stubborn will

for telling me the truth

even though

it made me cry

and camping in the hills above Burley

I love you because you get it

you got it

and that’s good

I love you now

I loved you then

I loved you before

and probably

I've loved you forever

I love ya

I love ya, darlin’

I love you—still

Making it Official

This morning I decided that I need to break some old habits by starting some new ones. Instead of waiting until bedtime to read scripture, I read after breakfast before I do anything else. That way I make sure that it happens. And for some reason, I feel compelled to re-read the Book of Mormon straight through and finish by March 28, 2009, the anniversary of Brandon's death. Now, if it were a novel, no big deal, right? The last time I made this kind of goal (I hate to admit it, much less put it in writing) was in 1983 when I was in labor with Clayton...

My labor started late in the evening and after only four contractions I was doing the breathing thing. I worked hard, and Larry did too, pressing his thumbs in my lower back during each contraction. "Harder! Harder!" I'd scream, and harder he pushed. At one point he said, "My thumbs are going to be permanently kinked backwards!" Most of my labor was in the warm water of the bath tub. When the midwife arrived and I asked her how much longer, she said at the rate I was going, probably six or eight more hours. I couldn't do it. I knew I couldn't. I had given birth to two other children but this labor was different, intense from the word go, and we were having yet another home birth. I closed my eyes and prayed. I promised the Lord if he would help me have this baby soon, I would read the Book of Mormon from beginning to end--something I had never done before. I delivered Clayton within the hour without a hitch, and he was over 10lbs!

He turned out to be the most contented, good-natured baby ever (of course, he should have been content--he nursed every hour for the first 48 hours, and was up to 13 pounds by the time he was 3 weeks!) The sweet spirit he brought into our home cannot be described. The joy of his birth and the love his brother and sister felt for him was truly wonderful.

One morning while nursing him in the rocking chair, I remembered that I had bargained with God. We had a deal and I needed to keep my end of it. I picked up the Book of Mormon and started at the beginning. I read and I read. I cannot explain the peace I felt during those times and how it permeated our home. I made it a point to read whenever I sat down to nurse. Sometimes I read for five minutes, sometimes longer. Eventually I did what I promised to do and finished the sacred record. Blessings followed the way they always do whenever we keep a commandment, and I'm sure much of it had to do with increased spiritual knowledge.

Last Sunday in gospel doctrine our instructor asked for examples of how reading the Book of Mormon has blessed our lives. I thought about that sweet time with Clayton--25 years ago now, and I guess that's when I decided to read straight through again. Why I feel the need to do it by March 28 isn't clear. But often, we go by faith, right? Ten pages a day or more. I'm on it...

Zion

They talked about reaching Zion as a condition of the heart. Something to strive for our whole lives. The state of the world during the millennium after all the wars are over when people will dwell together in love and peace. I could have told them that yes, zion is a condition, and it is a the state of the world, but we don't have to wait for it or for the Savior to come. Zion is close by. I know because I lived there. It was right around the corner.

To Bonnie, Raedene, Marilyn, Linda, and Susan

From You I Learned

That fresh pressed cider tastes like heaven
dogs should be spayed or neutered
copying copyrighted music is wrong
and following the prophet is right
From you I learned
that it's a good thing
to make someone a birthday cake
get your other friends together
and sing happy birthday while holding the cake
and standing on the birthday girl's porch
From you I learned
that hard work makes good things happen
staying faithful to covenants is essential
elberta peaches have the best flavor
and zucchini can be canned
to become a substitute
for crushed pineapple
From you I learned
that no husband is perfect
and neither am I
but sisterhood is close
From you I learned
that raspberries need picking
or they stop bearing fruit
consistency is key
and neighbors appreciate
a regularly mowed lawn
From you I learned
that each day is a new start
no matter what happened yesterday
and God hears our prayers
even the ones we just think about saying
From you I learned
that it's ok to say no
the spirit speaks all the time
but it's we who decide
if we're listening
or not
From you I learned
that our children can bring us happiness
and squished dandelions
wet kisses
exasperation
and frustration
no matter how cute they are
even in families
that look perfect on Sundays
From you I learned
to plant a tree in the front yard
leave home once in awhile
even if it's just long enough
to go get some curly fries
exercising to music is fun
but forgiveness is vital
From you I learned
that potato bugs are a nuisance
teenagers don't always mind
direction is important
the veil is thin
and sometimes we just have to believe
From you I learned
that I could give a talk
plant a garden
teach a lesson
bottle home-made chili
and feel the promptings of the Holy Ghost
From you I learned
that I could
be a neighbor
a friend
a mother
and myself
all at the same time
From you I learned
to get up early
do it right
keep going
family is everything
and finding joy in the journey
is the goal
From you I learned
that time changes appearance
circumstances alter our course
and distance separates
but love among sisters remains in force
forever

A Favorite Quote

It isn't enough to talk about it or dream about it. Even the best plans lie stagnant until one takes action. In my work to establish Head Injury Hope, a non-profit organization, amazing things have taken place which the following quote explains better than I can.

"Concerning all acts of initiative and creativity, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.

I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets: 'Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, magic and power in it.' "

W.H. Murray
The Scottish Himalayan Expedition
J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1951

To Nancy

I don't need to touch it to know
it's just a picture
of a painting
of him and yet
through my blur of tears
something shifts
his tender gaze
like a caress
a glance
a softening around the mouth
as though he can indeed,
speak from the page
I dare not look away
the compassion!
the understanding!
the knowledge!
that in the aftermath's anguish
while I lament the 3000 miles between me
and my friend know
with hopeless certainty
that I can do nothing
I understand
suddenly
that He
has already done
everything was at her side
from the first moment
fog rising up from the tulles like angels
to wrap her in the arms of love
binding the wounds of her broken heart
Balm of Gilead
Beautiful Savior
Healer
of us all

Christmas Time

This year I vowed that I would involve myself in as many holiday events as possible. Last year I was moving and missed almost everything. This year was a different story. I attended numerous musical events at the D.C. Visitors Center, including several choir concerts Chantel was involved in. I took my friend Kathy to see the lights. I went with the Calders to see the lights again and enjoy a barbershop quartet, and I attended two different ward Christmas parties. In addition, I made goodies for my neighbors, most of whom I barely know, but had fun leaving goodies at their doors. Christmas eve was spent at the Calders. I woke up to hear Owen, "Grammy! Wake up! It's time for stockings!" I love stocking time and always have. Once again, Chantel filled mine without my knowing it. She is an angel daughter. After breakfast we opened gifts. Later in the day, we picked up my friend Kathy and she, along with us and another family, enjoyed a ham feast complete with tablecloths and candlelight. A wonderful, lovely, Christmas day.

Diversity

Last month while I was in California, Rachel and I did something we've only talked about doing for years--we went to a singing-clapping-rockinout kind of church in San Francisco--Glide Memorial, a non-profit started 40 years ago in the tenderloin district. What a fabulous experience. Glide resides in a large, old building on a corner. It isn't fancy. Someone pointed out that children who live there have never seen the Golden Gate bridge. So many experiences in life we take for granted! Two services are held in the chapel each Sunday to accommodate everyone, but don't imagine pristine and ceremonial. It was anything but. The chapel is old, the floors and benches are worn and the whole building needs a face lift, but never mind. The spirit of the people who attended more than made up for any physical deficiencies in our surroundings. Rachel and I attended the early service and sat in the middle just a few rows from the front. The band warmed up (yes, they have a 7 member band including brass!) and then the famous Glide Memorial Choir filed onto the stage. No robes, no costumes of any kind, just people in all their diversity. They didn't have any sheet music either, just voices and heart. When they began to sing, and boy, howdy, can they ever, the crowd stood up and sang with them. Honestly, I've never seen so many different ways to shake a booty, or had so much fun!

"I'm gonna do when the spirit say do!"

"Do when the spirit say do!"

"I'm gonna do, Oh Lord, when the spirit say do!"

"Do when the spirit say do!"

"I'm gonna laugh when the spirit say laugh...

"I'm gonna sing...dance..."

I taught this song to Soren after I came back to Maryland and he laughed out loud the minute I began to sing. Of course, I was clapping with the song the way I learned it--on the down and third beats; later we added our own extra verses...I'm gonna jump...hop...pray...eat...clap...He still grins from ear to ear whenever we sing it.

The meeting lasted 1 and 1/2 hours and was about 2/3 music and 1/3 talk. It's not the kind of Sunday I could do every week--I need my quiet, reflective time, but the experience was unique and joyful. I'm glad to have been a part of it. I loved the pastor's interpretation of the prodigal son, because it was all about hope and never giving up. I sat there looking around at the people from all walks of life from the wealthy to the homeless, listening to different languages being spoken around me, and I thought to myself that this is probably the purest San Francisco kind of experience anyone could have.

Glide feeds the homeless (as well as anyone else who wants to eat) three hot meals a day, 365 days a year. I hope the city of SF is subsidizing them in some way for all the work they do. In addition to serving approximately 70,000 meals per month, they have a youth program to help young people finish high school and find work, a day-care program, an after-school program, a drug and alcohol education program, and they just finished construction of a high-rise in SF that will provide permanent homes to 81 low-income families. What a great example of vision and how much love and determination can accomplish. If I ever live in the Bay Area again, I would love to do some volunteer work there.

First Born and Second Chances

Brandon was my first-born in the wilderness, son of my youth. He gave me motherhood in all its facets. He was my first pregnancy, my first labor and delivery, my first experience with breast-feeding and teething and diapering and loving thoroughly another perfect human being who depended on me completely for his life. On him I practiced, with him I was infatuated, from him I received much love as he was a cheerful baby, but on him I made the most mistakes. I didn't know nearly as much as I thought I did. As he grew up he became more and more independent--sometimes too independent to my way of thinking--and the problems, experiences, the trials, the joys, the successes, and even the mundane, all became more complicated because soon we were a family of four and then five, and Brandon was not just the first-born, he was the older brother, the one we expected to set the example for the others, the one who, no matter how old he became, was always the first child. Whether he was 12 or 22, my experiences with him were always new. Always a trial run. Always a crap shoot if I was doing it right or not. But Brandon seemed to be able to handle it.

Later as I grew in wisdom as a parent, I lamented the fact that I could do a much better job with Brandon if only I had the chance to do it over again. I got my wish July 30, 1998 when Brandon survived a major car accident. Horror. We didn't know it that day, but Brandon was going to come out of his coma a 200 lb infant; we were going to do all the things with him that we'd done the first time around. He had to relearn everything and we were going to re-raise him only this time with an upped ante--magnified personality traits, a man who didn't realize anything was mentally wrong, intense temporal lobe rages that put us in physical danger, an inability to reason, and all with the same strong independent will as before and a physical strength that returned well before his mental capabilities did. God help us all if he stopped progressing at 15! Thankfully, he didn't. But even in the most difficult circumstances we found some humor.

Shortly after Brandon first came home after three months in the hospital, he went from using a wheel chair to walking with a walker. His balance was very poor. The doctor had emphasized how devastating it would be if Brandon fell in the shower or anywhere and hit his head again. For that reason, one of us always followed him to the bathroom to stand guard in case he started to fall. Chantel even put on her bathing suit and helped him in the shower a couple of times. I remember one time in particular, Brandon went into the bathroom and I was close behind him. He was physically progressing rapidly and was irritated when any of us were in there with him. In frustration he turned around and hollered, "Well, you followed me in here-- do you want to hold my penis for me too while I take a piss?" There he was! The old Brandon! Shortly after that, he quit using the walker and we gave him back some privacy.

Another time, Larry, who had became Brandon's full-time-every-kind-of therapist, (fodder for another post) decided that he needed to increase the level of Brandon's physical activity. Brandon had surpassed every physical goal, from being able to walk to the corner and back, to walking around the track down at the school, to walking around the block and up the hill. Larry often brought the wheelchair with them in case Brandon needed it to get home, but one day he decided to sit in the wheelchair and let Brandon push him. That was the day that a neighbor drove by and scowled at Larry as if to say, "What a mean father you are, making that poor crippled boy push you up the hill!"

Remembering those times makes me proud of how the Dayley family sacrificed for Brandon and how hard he worked to 'come back.' It makes me marvel at how determined he was to overcome his limitations and to what degree Larry and Chantel and Clayton gave to make that happen. It makes me reflect with gratitude on the power of faith, the hundreds, maybe thousands of prayers that were offered up for all of us, and it makes me hopeful that I will have the opportunity to help the families of other head-injury victims, even if it's just a word of courage to them.

I do feel sad to remember how open ended our grief was in those days. The Brandon we knew had died, but his body had not. Although people sent numerous cards, and offered many prayers and messages of condolence, there was no funeral and no closure. We wore our grief like shackles, with no one to explain to us the grieving process or how to get through it. At the time, Brandon's accident was the worst trial I'd ever been through. I didn't think I'd ever go through anything more difficult than that. I was wrong. But would I go back and change those days? Fast forward over the early years to a place where Brandon was mature and confident and hopeful? Not a chance. I learned so much with him and from him, and from my family also. Those years were a gift, a blessing in the form of adversity. Brandon should have died in that car wreck. The day I stood at his gravesite and spoke was the day I realized that he didn't need to have been here, to struggle like he did these past ten years. It was the rest of us who were given the opportunities to grow. We became more patient, more understanding, more willing to give and do and love, more forgiving, more filled with compassion. And isn't that the idea? To return home with honor to our Heavenly Father and Mother, having received the experiences we came to earth for? Sometimes I ask myself: If I had the chance to relive those years, knowing what I know now, would I? My answer is always the same: You bet your life. And mine too. In a heartbeat.

I found out

yesterday that Paul, a friend of Brandon's, died recently. I was devastated, especially for Paul's aunt and her family who are cherished and long-time friends. I've tried several times to write about all the feelings that emerged as a result of this news, but there's a limit to what should be shared in a blog. Sometimes life's most sacred events call for privacy and intimacy between friends and this is one of those.

I wrote this last night in the middle of the night, not as poetry, but trying to define the experience which was too real to call a dream, and too wonderful to say it wasn't.

realm skipping again
in my sleep
Brandon and Paul are laughing,
making puns of human vocabulary
suddenly archaic and unnecessary
here
in this ivory twilight between rest and dawn
more laughter between them
brown eyed boys to men and
I hold my breath,
and love this place, this interaction,
and whoever gave me permission to see it,
thank you! Oh,
if I could linger just a bit
longer pretend
I belong here too but,
too late
I have returned
to where moonlight embellishes
these periwinkle walls
and a mound of pillows cradles
this mortal frame
I will sleep now
even though more laughter,
the kind that only men can make,
deep chested and uproarious
continues to echo
my return

Joy

Being with my niece Serena when she received her endowments in the Washington DC temple was pure joy. Added to that was being in the temple with Chantel. Below, me, Serena, her mother Katheryne and her step-sister Christina.

Trying out the Colors

Who would have thought that I'd find an apartment complex that allows its tenants to paint?!! I was THRILLED beyond words when I found out. Beauty and order have become more important to me, more so as I've gotten older. I think it's because our pre-mortal home was a place of beauty and order as well, so it's natural to gravitate toward the familiar. I don't need things around me to be perfect, but too much disorder leaves me feeling confused and out of sorts. Sometimes I just can't think straight until I've cleaned up, or at least created a couple of neat piles.

Before moving in, I did a bit of experimenting with paint colors and different effects. Below is one of the bedroom walls. Two colors worked well in the condo because the walls there are heavily textured which added another dimension. But when I tried to get the same effect here, it just didn't work. These walls are smooth, so in the end I opted to paint with single colors only.

Trying to pull out the mauves and wine colors of my couch cushions.

The living room wall with two different colors. I took some advice that I got a long time ago from Deborah, a good friend and an interior designer. She said to always spend a little extra for sample colors and put them on your walls before you commit to buying gallons of paint that might be completely wrong. I'm so glad I listened to her. That advice worked in the condo, and it worked here also. I would have chosen the lighter mauve and would have ended up with a living room that looked little girl pink. As it was, the darker color turned out to be perfect.
Taken in the living room with the dining room in the background. "After" photos will be on a future post when I'm finished unpacking and hanging pictures. Soon. I promise.

News Flash!!

I am moving into my own apartment!! I get the key on Friday and will be painting (repainting) the walls. If you know me at all you know I love beauty and color, and I just happened to find a complex that allows their tenants to paint! So a periwinkle bedroom is in the plans and I'm not sure about the living room and dining room yet. The actual furniture move takes place on the 18th, but I will have my kitchen and most of my personal belongings--clothing etc., already put away. (I will not be painting the insides of the closets). The complex has two swimming pools, a fitness center, and a business center with free fax and copy machine access. The complex has 1300 units and it feels like a community. I liked it even before I saw the inside of an apartment. Rachel has sent me a care box with kitchen goodies and I can't wait for it to arrive. I haven't had my own kitchen for over a year and I'm really looking forward to opening her box and my other ones and stocking the shelves. I will take before and after pictures of the apartment. And I'll be only 10 to 15 minutes from Tel and her family. My apartment is in different ward boundaries (but I hear it's a fabulous ward) and moving is an opportunity for growth as change always is. The main thing is, I felt the spirit when I found this place--the same feeling I had when we found the Concord house, and later when I found the little studio in Pleasant Hill. This time I had been looking (and looking and looking) and had almost begun to despair of finding just the right place when Chantel and the boys and I drove 10 miles to Ellicott City to this complex. The feeling there was unmistakable. I was ready to sign right then. It's the right place and that's a great feeling. Why it's the right place remains to be discovered.

Brandon's Life Sketch

Written and given by long-time friend, Janet Nelson, April 2, 2008.

Brandon Scott Dayley was a bicentennial baby (his birth certificate even has a special seal on it) born in Twin Falls, Idaho, on a Wednesday summer morning—June 23, 1976. He was born to young parents who were very much in love with him from the start.
Three years later a baby sister Chantel, joined the family—and four years after Chantel, Brandon’s brother, Clayton, was born.
Brandon’s earliest years in Burley Idaho were spent as close as he could get to his paternal grandfather. He worshipped his Grandpa Dayley and spent as much time as possible with him in the garden working and watering.
In 1984, the family moved to California. They lived in Oakley for a year and a half. During this time, Brandon was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
His uncle, Dan Dayley, felt very close to Brandon and once took young Brandon on a trip back to Idaho where he wanted to go pheasant hunting. Brandon was to stay in the car while Dan, just outside, managed to quickly shoot down two pheasants. The car window was rolled down, and Dan said he could hear Brandon yelling, “Hooray for my Uncle Dan—hooray, hooray!” Dan said Brandon was always his best cheerleader.
In 1985, Brandon’s family moved to Martinez where they started a tree farm on four acres. Brandon’s beloved grandparents spent several months each year down in Martinez helping out with the tree farm. This absolutely delighted Brandon as he could then ride the 4-wheeler and shoot guns with his Grandpa.
Brandon attended the Martinez schools and spent his high school years at Alhambra High. He especially enjoyed playing football all four years with the Bulldogs. In fact, his senior year he played both offense and defense. His football coach remembers Brandon’s enthusiasm and love for the game.
Brandon had lots of friends. He was gregarious, had a bit of a swagger in those days, and was very interested in being actively involved in life, sometimes too much so.
Elwon Lance tells the story of coming into Brandon’s Sunday school class where he found the teacher hadn’t shown up, so he proceeded to instruct the class. Brandon happened to mouth off in a very disrespectful manner, and Elwon pinned him up against the wall and “counseled” him. Later in the hallway, Brandon challenged Elwon again, and Dane Lance, (Elwon’s son) calmly said to Brandon, “You really don’t want to mess with my dad—he doesn’t fight fair.”
About a year and a half later, Brandon apologized to Elwon and they became good friends. In fact, Marci remembers that it was Elwon whom Brandon asked to ordain him to the priesthood before his mission.
Brandon enjoyed the out of doors. He went on numerous camping trips with my sons. When my son, Chad, earned the Eagle rank in Scouting, it was Brandon whom he asked to speak at his Court of Honor. And Brandon did a fantastic job.
Growing up in Martinez, Brandon was close friends with Elise Bendixen. Elise says they were best friends for over ten years. She appreciated his non-judgmental attitude, his willingness to listen endlessly, and his loyalty. Elise’s little sister remembers Brandon coming over to fix her broken down bike and how nice he was to her.
After high school, Brandon was in a very transitional period. He moved up to Chico to room with his Dad who was attending school there. This is the time when Brandon dove back into church activity. The key was Shane, whom you’ll hear from shortly. Another friend, Ian Farr, had recently returned from his mission and spent time talking with Brandon.
Brandon received his own mission call in 1998 to Argentina. That’s when he took his fateful July road trip to Utah to see his grandparents and Uncle Dan. He also went on a long day mountain hike with my son Dan.
Afterwards, Brandon and his uncle Dan went up to Idaho to see Grandpa and Grandma Dayley. They worked hard all day long trimming pine trees on the property. Dan then returned home to Utah, and Brandon continued into the night to finish the tree trimming project. Then he left for California.
You know the story of the horrific car accident. Brandon was not expected to live, and his uncle Dan called Bishop Renshaw who then called Paul Maughan to go and administer to him. Paul said it was the most stressful blessing he’s ever given. An hour later a nurse called back Dan to report, “Well, two men from your church gave Brandon the last rites, and he’s actually taken a turn for the better!”
During his recovery period, Brandon received numerous letters from friends recounting all their mutual good times. These letters were read over and over to Brandon to stimulate his memory. Some of you letter writing friends are probably here today continuing your support. Chantel was an incredible help at this time also, totally devoting herself to Brandon’s recovery.
Two years later, Brandon was out on a mission—to Dallas, Texas. Yesterday when I spoke with his mission president, I was told the story of how Brandon wanted to spend time in a nursing home as his weekly service project. One day Brandon fell and hit his head so was taken to the hospital. The mission president’s wife said she received a call every hour on the hour from the nursing home as they wanted continual updates on their special friend.
This compassion for older people naturally extended to Brandon’s grandmother. For the last three years of her life, while she herself was in a nursing home, Brandon called his grandmother almost every single day.
When Brandon returned home from his mission, he started attending DVC. His math tutor (Shirley LaFevre) told me that Brandon was ever the missionary—sometimes she would just have to say, “Now Brandon, this is a math class.”
Brandon had to take several classes over, but Marci said nobody could keep Brandon down. He just willed himself to persevere.
As you read in the obituary, Brandon had hoped to gain enough education to work with and help other victims of head injuries. Now, we believe Brandon will be made whole and will be able to use his outgoing, friendly nature to assist others.

And so we bid farewell to Brandon Scott Dayley and remind ourselves—

That life is fragile, and must be treated with prayer. In the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Who are the Poor Among Us?

The last few years of his life Brandon developed a great sensitivity to and concern for the homeless, the down and out, and people with disabilities. Every day at school he made an effort to talk with the disabled on campus at DVC and LMC. He used to tell me how bad he felt that many of them didn't seem to have any friends or anyone to talk to because they were 'different.' He made it a point to try to change that. Brandon talked with people everywhere he went--on the BART, on the bus, on the street, at the grocery store. He loved the interaction. He had picked up a little Spanish and liked to practice that when he could. He was also taking his third semester of American Sign Language and had developed a close relationship with a deaf woman and other friends in the deaf community as well. Unlike many of us, Brandon was comfortable with everyone and in any situation. Frankly, he worried me with the way he trusted others until they did something to destroy that. He had been mugged, robbed at knife point, slapped in the face, kicked, and probably some other experiences that he didn't share with me. I finally had to accept the fact that no matter what happened to him, he was not going to stop reaching out to other people. In his attitude, the world was full of people less fortunate than he was and if he could make their lives even a little bit better, he wanted to.

The poor have been in our midst in every dispensation. In the Book of Mormon, King Benjamin counseled his people on this very subject: "Ye yourselves will succor (Latin: run to) those who stand in need...you will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain and turn him out to perish." I know that this is the right thing to do, but I have to question how actively I follow through.

Brandon's death has made me aware of my own thoughts and feelings about the homeless population and those who ask for handouts. King Benjamin's people apparently had some of the same attitudes we have today: "Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery. Therefore, I will stay my hand and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just." How easily I think this and justify my decisions to ignore others! Perhaps sometimes I've done so out of fear. Or I can tell that the person really does have a substance abuse problem, but that does not relieve me of my obligation to help another.

I"ve been in meetings and discussions before when others say that they never give the homeless money because they're sure that the person will just go spend it on drugs or alcohol. I used to feel that way too, until one day it occurred to me that even drug users get hungry, need food, and clean water, a place to lay their heads at night. I decided that if I felt impressed (or inspired) to give another person money, then that was the right thing to do regardless of the doubts that might assail me just then. It isn't up to me what the person spends the money on, nor is it my responsibility, just for giving it to someone, to make sure that that person spends it in a way that I think he should.

King Benjamin continued, "But I say unto you, O, man whosoever doeth this [judgement on others] hath great cause to repent...For behold, are we not all beggars?" It's been said that most Americans are only three months away from being homeless. We have way too much debt, not enough savings (if any), and we live paycheck to paycheck. So who's to say that the next man on the corner didn't have a respectable job and a nice house just a short time before? "And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of your substance one to another." Brandon didn't just believe this principle. He was one of those who could have said (quoting King Benjamin again), "I give not because I have not, but if I had I would give." Instead, Brandon found ways to give anyway in spite of his very limited income. He lived this principle like no one else I have ever known. In that way he was a great example.

The other day I took an exit from the freeway and saw a man at the corner holding up a sign. My first impulse was to judge his appearance--Did he look as though he was getting enough to eat? Was he thin and showing signs of drug abuse? Did he look like an alcoholic? I ignored those thoughts and reached for my wallet. Generous. That's what Brandon was and in his honor, I did what I thought he would have done. I reached out the window and pressed a bill into the man's outstretched hand. He looked down and then his face registered surprise. "God bless you!" he said. I had done the right thing. That was for you, Brandon. And I felt like he was there beside me in the car, cheering me on. I could still hear the man shouting, "Bless you! Bless you!" as I drove away with tears coursing down my cheeks.

Another Lesson (Re)Learned

I withdrew from grad school. I know it was the right thing--the only thing, actually, that I could do given my present circumstances, but I still felt sad about it. What I realize in looking back, is that I shouldn't have enrolled this semester to begin with and here's why.

I have long been of the mind-set that when I'm trying and trying to do something and everything I do doesn't work, it's almost always because I'm on the wrong path. Now I can't describe exactly the feeling between what I'm talking about and the natural opposition we get when we KNOW we're doing the right thing, but this "signs" experience happens occasionally and if I had paid closer attention to the signs, the details and the feelings, I'd have saved myself some grief.

When I was trying to register for school I ran into all kinds of problems, from registering for classes, to reaching people in the right departments, to being registered as a 'non-degreed' student even though I was accepted otherwise, to getting financial aid. There were so many indications that I shouldn't force school, and the most prevalent was the feeling, even the idea coming into my head that maybe I should hold off. But did I listen? Listen and trust? Noooooooo. I think I was so anxious about having a plan for my life, having a reason to get up and having goals to work toward, that I forced the issue anyway.

Had I waited just a little longer, I would have arrived at the same place without all the unnecessary stress. I know why I'm not supposed to be in school and what I'm supposed to do and why. Feels wonderful. I'll keep you posted.

Inspected, Found to be Infected, Nonetheless, Directed

Ok, so my title is an attempt at humor and to practice coming up with a 'sexy' title, something one of my very favorite professors talked about as important for every piece we write.

You know how sometimes you do something, or think of someone and call, or go somewhere, and only later do you look back and realize that you were being directed because of what happened after that? This is my attempt to relay the events leading up to today.

I saw Dr. Koutrelakos today, the oncologist, henceforth Dr. K. He is the one I wanted to see, prayed that I'd be able to see, and the same one who was recommended to me last week. But I had my doubts about how it would all work out. Fast forward: I start treatment next week, but instead of 5 hours every 21 days (there goes my weight loss commercial) I will spend one hour every 28 days. I'll have 4 to 6 treatments and from the sound of things, will be able to stay in grad school. I am resistant to the original meds they had me on (about 30% of ovarian cancer patients are) and this one has no heavy side effects. I even get to keep my hair. Hurray!! Ok, now for the coolest part.

Last week before I went to the hospital, I felt impressed to call one of my new friends, but I couldn't figure out why I should call. Finally I quit arguing with the HG and called her. She told me that if I needed chemo again, she hoped I would get to see Dr. Koutrelakos. When she said that, I felt a warm feeling and wrote down his name so I wouldn't forget. That night in the emergency room, (I was there all day) the pulmonologist said she was going to call oncology in even though the test results weren't back yet. (Big duh! But she was cool. I liked her.) I told her that a friend had recommended Dr. K. The next day in my hospital room, Dr. K comes walking in, smiles, introduces himself and proceeds to tell me that he'd heard about me and even though it was his day off, wanted to come see me. (Do you think I was impressed? Let's see...) I felt an instant connection to him, very caring and sincere doctor but then the anxiety started. I didn't know how in the world Kaiser would pay for me to see someone outside Kaiser. I prayed and cried and worried and stressed for days. I wasn't even sure if Kaiser would pay for the emergency visit and all the tests. Then two days ago, I called Member Services and they told me I'm covered for emergency and urgent care all over the world! So I went to Kaiser here to get a referral from the primary care doctor I was assigned to. She asked if I had a preference of oncologists and when I told her Dr. K, she said great, because Kaiser refers all their oncology out because Kaiser doesn't have any oncologists locally. After I got the referral, I called Dr K's office and they got me in the next day. I couldn't believe how easy the whole thing was.

Today at the end of my visit, which took place mostly in Dr K's office and reminded me of Aunt Claire's house with color on the walls and beautiful furniture, he asked if I had any more questions and I said yes. "How did you know about me last week?" He said the hospital had called the practice and he happened to be the one "on." I found out that had I gone to the emergency room the day before or the day after, he would not have been the one 'on' when the hospital called and I would be seeing someone else instead. The last thing he said today was that he believes people meet for reasons (implied: beyond our control). Chantel went with me and she is such a comfort and support.

Now, was I inspired to call my friend, even though I didn't know why?
Was I inspired to go to the hospital the day I did, even though I didn't feel that bad?
Was I inspired to make a move to the East Coast when I did and not later, as originally planned? Heavenly Father really will guide us if we will pay attention to the still small voice even though sometimes, especially if we have our fingers in both ears, he's a little hard to hear. I have to say that I've felt the spirit many, many times throughout my life, directing me one way or the other, knowing what to do, what to say, when to keep silent...you'd think I wouldn't spend one single moment arguing when I get an impression. Good thing he is patient and understanding. I am proof that he knows us and loves us and, contrary to what some people might say, cares about even the most minor details of our lives because he cares about us that much.

We Thank Thee, Oh God, for a Prophet

I sit tonight at my computer; the house quiet, the family asleep. Checking my email before turning in, I read an announcement, that President Hinckley has died. I am surprised, but softly. After all, he was 97, yet I feel tears beneath the surface. I walk quietly upstairs so as not to wake the boys. "Chantel?" I whisper, just in case she's asleep, but she isn't nor is Austin. I need to share this news with them. I can't take it to bed alone. They are surprised too, and thank me for telling them. The whole interlude lasts but a minute and I sit here at the keyboard again, trying to analyze why I want to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Everything will work out." That's what President Hinckley always said, and that's what he believed. Because he believed it, I believe it too. Whenever he spoke, I felt his great love for us, and for the Savior. I loved our prophet's great sense of humor, his courage to lead us during these ever perilous time, his ability to raise public sentiment of the church to greater heights. I love that he said what he thought, that he was clear about standards and right is right and wrong is wrong. I admired his talent for speaking out with both clarity and humility. I believe that President Hinckley did more for the masses save Joseph Smith only, by accelerating temple building around the world, providing those blessings to hundreds of thousands of God's children both here and beyond the grave. That's the way I'll think of him.

The church will go on and the role of leadership will transfer seamlessly. In spite of evil's best efforts, the gospel will continue to spread until the hallowed day of Jesus Christ for which we all work. God bless President Hinckley. God bless America and all the nations of the world. President Hinckley taught us by word and example how to live and how to be happy! I am grateful to have lived under his loving and watchful care these many years. I will miss him very much.

Once in a while

a missionary comes along whose influence goes beyond the norm. Such is the case with Elder Grow who spent many hours at our house and finished his mission last December. The other day I had the great pleasure of visiting with him again (and giving him a real hug) and meeting his mother and one of his siblings. Elder Grow told me that a blessing he once gave me was the time when the spirit was the most clear about what he was supposed to say and what I was supposed to know. In the blessing were many promises both for me and my family. He also said, "There are more trials ahead..." I have thought about that many times since, especially lately. I hope I'm enduring this trial with grace, faith and courage. I am so supported by the love of others and living at my sister's house feels especially right.