An Epiphany...Of Sorts

Thank you to all of you for reading and commenting on my last post. I felt a lot better after writing that and you saved me thou$ands in therapy costs. As we are all poor folk these days, anything to save a little money is very much welcomed. 


10 years ago, when I graduated from high school and started college (sweet mother of Elvis, has it really been that long?) I already had decided what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a journalist. I was going to be on TV and was set to take over Barbara Walters' job on 20/20. There was no doubt in my mind that Diane Sawyer was going to eat my dust. It was going to be awesome. Oprah wouldn't be able to hold a candle to me. I knew I was meant to be a reporter and to be in front of the camera. Take that, Katie Couric!


My plan was going along just perfectly until one day, in 2003 at the University of Utah, I had an epiphany. I was in the middle of my magazine writing class when I started to laugh. And as I started to laugh, it slowly turned into a sob. A full-on-I-want-my-mommy sob. I hated journalism. I hated the classes, I hated the writing, and most of all, I hated that teacher that had just ripped my article apart because "she didn't understand why anyone would write something like that." It was an article about teenage girls in abusive relationships and the signs to look for. She said it made women look weak and that no real woman would allow herself to be in that situation. I wanted to walk up to her, all 4 1/2 feet of her, sit on her face, make a flarty, and not get up until the stink went away. (I know, it's a little graphic, but you should hear the desires I have to stab a current co-worker in the jaw with my pen.)


Every female journalism and communications teacher I had in college felt like they had to prove themselves to EVERYONE! They were just as tough as a man and would dress like it to prove it. I realized that I am not that kind of person. I don't have to prove myself to anyone but me and to my Heavenly Father.
So I left the journalism program. I decided to become an English major and study creative writing. That lasted for half a semester. I got kicked out of the program because I wouldn't analyze poetry and I looked at Shakespeare plays as a theater person, not an English major snob. (It also didn't help that I did all of this in the class that was taught by the department head's wife!) 


So I moved on. Finally, I graduated with my degree in playwriting. I know, it's been oh so useful in my life...but it has helped in certain occasions. I wrote plays for my after school program kids. I wrote plays for other kids. I have been the editor for three books. And here's what all of this comes down to:


I love to write!


I do! I love it. I can express myself so much better in writing. All of the witty things in my brain can come out and they don't sound as crazy on paper as they would of I were to say them out loud. (Except for the jaw stabbing thing. I do admit that it's going a bit to far. Don't worry, after tomorrow I will no longer work with this person. Praise the baby Jesus for that one!)


I think this is why I enjoy blogging. Because there isn't a certain format I have to stick to. I don't have to follow the inverted pyramid or the MLM. I don't have to regurgitate a bunch of stuff that my professor's expected me to do. This is me. It may not always be pretty, and it definitely isn't proper, but it's who I am. It's how I feel and think about life. And even if no one were to read this (I am VERY grateful that you do!) I know that I am releasing my thoughts into the universe of the world wide web and allowing the juices to flow. I am being true to myself and not letting anyone tell me that having feelings and emoting makes me weak. Because it doesn't. I believe that what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger.  And gosh dang it, if the past few years haven't killed me, then a little jaw stabbing action won't either. Nor does it show that I am weak.


It merely shows that I am human. And in the end, isn't that what this life is about?

A time to heal

(Wendi and my uncle Scott at our wedding)

So it's time for me to say a few things and to get some things 

off my chest. Here goes...

On March 17th, we found out that 

my uncle, Scott W. Johnson, had passed away.

As the day went on, we found out more of the details.

All signs point to the fact that he took his own life.

Police were called, a detective was assigned to the case.

He was found, dead and alone.

We don't know exactly when all the events leading to this took place, 

but it was determined that it was that day.

March 17th is already a hard day for my family.

Five years before, my grandfather, 

Lyle W. Johnson, also passed away.

He had been ill and mt grandmother had cared for him on her own.

He received better care from her

then he ever would have at a nursing home.

After several strokes, heart attacks and dealing with diabetes,

he was left helpless.

The night before he passed away, 

my grandmother had told the Lord 

that she had made peace and was ready to let him go home.

The next morning, on their way to the hospital for a treatment for his leg,

he fell asleep in the passenger side of the car.

He had gone home.

As the family gathered for his funeral, there was a sense of sadness,

but also a sense of peace.

He was no longer suffering.

He had moved on 

and was now able to do the work that he loved doing in life.

He was going to teach the gospel to those 

that had not heard it on this earth.

It was a peaceful farewell.

Ever since then, 

there have been moments where I have felt him very near to me.

He was at our wedding, just as he had promised me he would be 

at another wedding ten years before. 

When I was in the prep room for my gallbladder surgery,

he and my other grandfather, John Mike Gates,

were right beside me the whole time. 

I could feel them watching over me.

In a moment were I was alone, 

without my husband and my parents,

they were there to comfort me 

and assure me of their eternal love for me.

Families are forever.

After I had heard that my uncle had passed,

my heart began to hurt.

I had no idea that he was hurting as much as he was.

We had heard things here and there,

but he had become withdrawn from the family.

Even at this moment, 

I realized that I have not allowed myself to fully mourn.

I have great memories of my uncle.

He was always smiling and laughing.

He had the best sense of humor.

He had the biggest heart of anyone I know.

He hid his pain from us.

The last thing he wanted 

was for someone to worry about him.

He never asked for a thing

but he was the first to offer a helping hand.

My cousin, Tyler, got married two days after Scott passed away.

He and his lovely bride were married in the Idaho Falls Temple.

After the ceremony, my aunt, Tammy, was in tears.

It was an emotional time for all.

My mother asked her what was wrong.

She said that he had felt the presence of my grandfather there...

as well as the presence of my uncle.

He was at peace.

From that moment on, 

I knew that he had found the peace that he longed for.

I also knew that my grandfather was with him that night.

He was not alone.

A father would not leave his child alone in such an hour of need.

Just as our father, our Heavenly Father,

will never leave us alone in our darkest hour.

At my uncle's funeral, 

there wasn't the same sense of peace as at my grandfather's.

There was some bitterness.

Not only towards my uncle, but towards other family members.

There was a lot of finger pointing and blaming.

Even during the service, it was painfully obvious to see the family divided.

I was sitting at the piano in front of everyone.

But I was hidden behind a television.

I was playing the piano as my contribution to the services.

No one could see me.

But I saw and felt everything.

Including the presence of my uncle and my grandfather, 

standing in the back of the chapel.

They were watching, observing...

But there was a peace about them.

I'm not psychic or a "sensitive" as seen on tv.

But I am sensitive and as I have gotten older,

I have been able to understand it more.

But even though I know that he is at peace,

I still need to allow myself to mourn.

What's done is done, what's passed has passed.

No sense in blaming, pointing fingers or being angry.

The time has come to heal and look to the future,

And pray that we have learned from what has happened

in hopes that it may not happen again.

Thanks for letting me purge in a healthy way,

and not in the way of super models.

One of my favorite quotes ever is:

We write to experience life twice.

Once in the moment it occurs,

and again in the form of a memory.

(I'm pretty sure I slaughtered that quote...but you get the point.) 

PS - Ok, so this was not one of my more entertaining posts. Needless today, death is a heavy subject that is hard to not only talk about, but write about. But, there were some funny moments to the day of the funeral. As we were walking from the mortuary to the cemetery, Jeremy, Heather, Hannah and Jack found us. Once Jack was awake enough, he started to wave to us. After the grave dedication, Jeremy and company had to leave to go get their older girls from school. As I was turning to say goodbye to Jack, he kind of glared and gave me a thumbs down! His thing lately is to give a thumbs up to everything. But not at the moment! He gave his disapproval, and then waved goodbye. I still laugh just thinking about it. Also, thanks to Gary, my uncle's friend, the eulogy was NOT boring. Good times...good times.