The First three Years aFter Chad Died

For the first three years after Chad died, I experienced an overwhelming peace—one that

consumed me. This peacefulness told me that things were exactly as they should be—that Chad

would continue his mission on the other side of the veil, and I was to finish mine on this side. He

felt it equally; we talked of it in the quiet nights before he passed.

At the same time, in those same three years, I was obsessed with impatience. I desperately

wanted to go home to my Heavenly Parents, to my Chad. I made bargains with God, telling him I

was willing to stay for seven years. That was the perfect number in the gematria, in God’s

numeric language. Yet, to me, it was my physical earth time. I was sure he would agree with the

deal.

Sometime during the fourth year, the peacefulness began to fade, and my bargain with God lost

its grip. I felt a broad paradigm shift in that I had a different path. I had written a second book by

then, and the third book was no longer patiently waiting in the background of my mind as it had

for thirty years. But it wasn’t about the books any longer; it was about change.

My prayers have become longer, more meaningful, and sweeter. I now feel a stronger pull to

work with women in the recovery process. Both mortal and immortal, angels have been placed in

my path to teach and encourage me. Countless miracles have surrounded me. Some doors have

been closed while more meaningful doors have opened.

I’m in the middle of my seventh decade here on earth, and believe me, I can feel every year of it

in my uncooperative body. Two things, in particular, have happened in the last six months that

have moved major mental and physical mountains in this regard. First, I visited our youngest

daughter, Cherie, in Tokyo. I spent three amazing weeks with her and her family of ten. During

the hustle and bustle of trekking up and down stairs, escalators, and endless train rides, I found it

necessary to hold my daughter's arm to steady myself due to poor eyesight and weak knees. I

enjoyed her closeness, but was surprised at my dependency.

Brilliant and intuitive beyond her years, she spoke about the benefits of yoga, exercises to

strengthen and stretch the fascia throughout the body, and the advantages of eating less meat.

Then she annoyed me by sending videos of older women running marathons and remarkable

weight-lifting gurus. She reminded me that we are only as old as we think. Returning home, I

made several wonderful changes to my diet, exercise routine, and thinking patterns.

Secondly, another daughter, Isa, and her husband, Daron, took me to dinner for Mother’s Day.

Among other gifts, Isa read to me a very long list of “Why I am Thankful for My Mom.” Not

only was I shocked that she remembered so many details of our relationship, but this was a

revelatory experience. As most of my dear friends and loved ones know, I am open about my

decade of opioid drug addiction and my work with women in the field of Recovery. As a mother,

I find that the mix of joys and horrors from those years can be haunting and often negative.

So, as the list was read, we talked and laughed and cried. I remembered that I had slowly

forgotten the good of those years in a busy household and allowed my mind to become afraid to

look back. While all of our children have been loving, forgiving, and affectionate regarding our

relationships, in an old woman’s tired mind, things can get crusty if we let them. Once again, I

am taught by the younger generation. I realized that I have many years of work ahead, that the

sorrows of my past will no longer hold my present hostage. I learned that if I constantly check

my thinking, and if I treat this God-given pack of molecules well, my mind, spirit, and body will

respond in kind.

As I sit here surrounded by furniture ready to be wrapped and loaded, with nearly 40 boxes of

household belongings that now seem completely unnecessary, and with moving dates set and

travel plans complete, I am dizzy with wonderment. I have no idea why I am moving except to

say that I feel directed. I also have no idea where I will finally end up. Some days, I merely hope

it will be a place where my writing laptop will function and where I can continue my Zoom

group meetings.

The peacefulness of those first three years has not faded but has morphed into a sweet

determination to seek Christ’s guidance with greater integrity and energy. The strangest thing of

all is that wherever I am engaged, I know I will be safe in the cove of the Lord, Jesus Christ’s

hands. I don’t expect things to be easy; worthwhile endeavors are rarely without struggles. But

this I know: along with the support of my children, I am fearless because my Savior, my Chad,

and other mortal and immortal angels will walk this new path with me.

Angel by Abbot Handerson Thayer