After I became pregnant with you Aubrey, I remember entering Hahna's room and gazing into her crib and tearfully wondering if it would be possible to ever love another child as much as I loved my first one. What a lame thought. Because, even before that very moment when you arrived, and carried you within me, kicking and seemingly ready and anxious to come into the world, I realized how much I loved you, and how anxious I was to meet you! Then I was finally able to hold you for the first time and wept with joy, and that previous thought would never enter into my mind again. How I loved you. Endlessly. Boundlessly. Still do. At that time, I could gaze at you with clear eyes and was blinded by your radiance. I was amazed at the beauty of this baby girl in my arms. At that time I was able to see you as you really were, and you cracked my heart wide open with love. You were a breathtaking miracle and I loved you with a depth that I could never find the words to express. Beautiful. Curly head of lots of hair. Huge brown eyes. And you loved to be held.
As a baby, you cried a lot. And that began to be one of your methods of communication for the first few years of your life because it was what you were accustomed to ... only out of necessity. It was your survival method. For example, little did I realize (until later) that as an infant you were colicky and most likely had an aversion to the formula you were drinking. Your poor little tummy! And you poor little baby girl. As a toddler, sometimes you seemed angry because you cried so much. Yet little did I realize (again, until later) that you weren't angry at all; that because of your younger baby colick, that's how you had to express yourself and any frustrated sentiments, and that because of your lovable Elmer Fudd dialect you were frustrated because people couldn't understand you the way you needed them to. So you'd cry. Loudly. And for a long time. lol Frankly, I would've done the same thing if I had been in your shoes. (Hmmm. Actually, I think I DO resort to that form of expression at times! lol) I figured this out later about you. I just wish I'd figured it out sooner so that you wouldn't have to go through such frustration. Poor thing. You also loved the car seat in your infant years. When you were an upset baby, we could take you for a drive in the car to calm you down and we'd also put you in our bed with us. The soft rhythms of a moving vehicle always quieted your stirrings. Love also does that when we're too old to respond with a scream like we did when we were infants. As a toddler you were a tad stubborn and willful too. If you didn't want to eat those strained peas, you'd lock your jaw shut. If you didn't want to be buckled in, you firmed up that finger to push the buckle open. lol. Your tenacity strengthened you to be your speech therapist's 'best student' (at age 3, mind you!). You were extraordinarily diligent in your little homework exercises she gave you because you really wanted people to understand you better! And when kindergarten came along, you were ready and confident. Only to return to me at the end of your school day with a running hug. Gads. Those running hugs gave me inexplicable joy. The ground could have swallowed me up at the moment after your running hugs and I'd have fallen in with a smile on my face. Your small delicious kindergarten self became Maritza's favorite student. You were amazing. You still are.
Of the three of you, despite those loud crying times of yours as a child, you were the one who cracked me up the most in toddler and young childhood. That was actually the most predominant aspect of your young disposition. You made us laugh. A LOT. I mean "laugh out loud" crack ups. Your energy was always bursting at your seams! You wouldn't just jump. You'd leap! You wouldn't just laugh. You burst out! You didn't want to speak softly. You spoke out! You were happy far more than you ever cried. I think your preschool picture captured it perfectly! When you were a child, you had few cares about what those around you thought. I found that wondrous and enviable! And you were so animated! Your imaginings recruited crazy sound effects, imaginary friends, and high energy actions that would keep you (and Hahna and me!) entertained for hours. I cherished those morning hours with you when Hahna was at school. Playgrounds, parks, playdates, preschool. We were the best of pals. You had that tiny little black bicycle with training wheels, and your little legs would keep up with us as we towed you behind us while we all rode around Yosemite. It was a magnificent sight to behold! You were the one who'd jump into the water without floaties because you didn't want to wait. haha. And You and Hahna were the best of friends. You did everything together: hike, climb, swim, play, craft, color, paint, dress up, do imaginary stuff, watch Puzzle Place, eat lunch, have picnics, build forts, play in the park --- you were each other's best friends to the end. At first, you hated seeing her go to school without you.
Then it was your turn to go to school and I hated seeing you go without me. Saying goodbye to any of you was one of the worst experiences of my life: to kindergarten, to college, to a mission, to marriage. Goodbyes to my daughters will always be a blight to my life. When I picked you up from kindergarten, your greeting to me was bliss. You'd run up to me, jump into my arms so that I could catch you and you'd give me a big kiss. When I dropped you off for school, I'd watch as you happily ran to your classroom, and then I'd cry as soon as you were out of sight. You were so happy to go to your new adventure. My gosh, how I loved my little girl. I still do. Your dad and I even had a difficult time leaving you or your sisters in the nursery at church. We'd peek through the doorway to see if you were okay, when in reality, we needed to see you so we'd be okay! Sending you to school was the end of your babyhood and the loss of my little companion and our day-time together. I kept telling myself that I should be ecstatic for having two girls in school and the morning to myself and your baby sister (who was also entering toddlerhood). But I was kidding myself. And my tears were the evidence. As each of you briefly left the nest for what was to be a new rite of passage ... for all of us. And now, years later, any impending goodbye feels more wrenching and poignant and bittersweet --- and necessary --- as all the other painful goodbyes I've bid to you.
And when it came to school you were so bright. Mrs. Pizzica, Mrs. McKinnon and Mrs. Eckert would meet with your father and I to try to identify how they could best provide you with more stimulating learning because you were so much brighter than the rest of your class.
At your baptism, we found you sitting quietly alone amidst the excitement. When asked if something was wrong, you said that you just wanted to hold on to the feeling of being perfectly clean and you didn't want anything to mess that up. Wow. That feeling of the Spirit is what you repeatedly returned to, even in your toughest days, and it's what helped you through them.
As you grew up, you were uniquely independent and would keep so much more to yourself. You were a lot like your Oma Enny and your great aunt Stella (Lizzy's sister). You 'held your cards close to your chest' as they say, and kept your pains, embarrassments, and even happinesses often to yourself. You'd also frequently get migraines and tough it out alone in your bed rather than mention anything to us so we could help. We had to learn how to get insight into you about your life or how you were feeling because you rarely delivered it freely. Perhaps you wanted us to earn it. No matter. Your dad and I were willing to do whatever was required because we loved talking with you for any reason. We still do. You were always at the top of your class. Beautiful inside and out. Confident. Happy. You played a lovely clarinet. You could and still can vocally out-harmonize anyone in the family. Your soccer playing was feisty. You'd try out for parts in plays (remember your performance for the band's Renaissance Faire, and your part as Tinkerbell!?) and as PCMS class president and Valentine Sweetheart with gusto! And you'd bounce back with quiet fierce optimism if situations (or people) weren't what you'd hoped for. And what I found uber Christlike, was that you'd befriend many an underdog (remember Lauren at PCMS?) no matter what others thought. Gads. You were a so much more courageous and good person than I was at that age.
And when things took an unexpected turn for you health-wise your adolescence combined with your medical condition brought a batch of fresh new, and very unexpected challenges, that none of us were prepared for. It's difficult for me to think and talk about but such an epic time in our lives. You kept your pains largely to yourself because you weren't sure what was going on at first either. Dad and I had to second guess a lot. And many times I was clueless. Even when we figured out what the problem was, I was clueless. During that phase, not a day went by in those times when things were easy. We were all flailing because none of us knew what to do or the depth of what you were dealing with. I was overbearing and angry. Your confidence plummeted because you had no control or understanding of what was going on. For a time, we were inept at communicating with one another. What I saw as panicky protection, you viewed as interfering, clueless, consequences and controlling. What I perceived as defiance, was actually your suffering. As such, I often became your stumbling block rather than your foothold. For that, I cannot be sorry enough and will never forgive myself for the difficulties I may have created for you. I just didn't know. I was watching someone, whose life I held more dearly than my own, dwindle right before my eyes. We should have handled it better at first, yet just didn't know what was going on. Sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling and praying and promising ourselves that things would be better tomorrow. The emotions I most remember during those very difficult few years of your medical condition were anger, utter helplessness, and stark fear. It seemed as if the little girl I'd known and raised had disappeared. During those dark days, I would spend hours upstairs after everyone was asleep, literally weeping oceans of tears, praying to know what to do. It was the scariest time of our life. No books could answer the emotional questions that arose. We couldn't know what to do because you were unable to describe what you were going through. At the time, I had a shadowy (and very wrong) idea of what lay ahead: a delightful happy young girl replaced by an unhappy brooding person. You were going through painful transformations that none of us understood and it filled us with indescribable fear. Yet those times were probably more frightening for you than for us. I know that now, but didn't then. Forgive me. Our family life was radically altered though we struggled to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Baylee longed for her normal family back. Hahna too. I know I complicated things and caused you pain. I was so scared because, for the first time as a mother, I didn't know what was going on, or what to do, and there was no book to educate me.
It was after startling revelations, months of research, a bajillion phone calls, and painstaking, even obsessive, study that I finally came upon answers that brought light into our dark days, bringing calm, tenacity, patience, and sweet earnest hope to our personal and family lives. Though we all stumbled through our confusion, your dad eventually seemed to get it right and developed the approach toward you that you trusted. I did all the homework and footwork, but I was still behind in knowing how to approach you. Forgive me (again). I knew that one of the most important things to do was that you get through school --- in addition to getting through each day. I thank God for good doctors who provided the treatment, medicine, and insight that helped you begin your journey back from what seemed like an emotional and medical sinkhole. We thank our Heavenly Father for the answers, light, blessings, and epic tender mercies that trickled into our home at this crucial time: Mr. Bylund, Robin Zazio, Margo Thienemann, Kevin & Shannon, Breanna Crabtree, Tina Malcolm, Brooke Yerman, and many more.
You continue to master your path to victory. Your accomplishments are epic though perhaps not always by the world's standards but absolutely through a loving Heavenly Father's eyes. In your patriarchal blessing, Heavenly Father reminds you that He knows you personally and will guide you through all of these phases of your life. He has and does. Aubrey, yours has been a journey unlike your sisters. For His own reasons, Heavenly Father selected you to travel a more challenging path, and as such, thus far you've arrived at unique personal heights because of the valleys only you could climb out of. This road hasn't come to an end yet, but it's not made up of the same giant mountains and low valleys of our yesterdays --- a few hills perhaps.
What is so amazing and humbling to me, is that rather than shaking your fist at God because of your trials, you chose to serve Him more intensely through a full-time mission! Wow. You've earned your victories and a bright future is definitely on the horizon and attainable. What developed in you from these challenges is greater strength, tenacity, empathy, and insight that you may not have developed otherwise. I sense that perhaps these chapters of your life will shape your future profession or personal choices with a path that may include aiding others who are going through similar challenges. Of your accomplishments, I'm immensely proud of and impressed by you. What have you taught/reminded me? That every moment with you is precious, life is too short, and that it's all good --- even when it's not. I've learned that someone can be perfect just as they are (and I pray others remember that when they encounter my innumerable imperfections), even if that perfection isn't easy to see at that moment, from an inch or two feet away. Now I can look back and recall not the worries about you, but rather, your perfection --- though I wish I'd possessed that vision then. Your sweetness and complexity: that's the essence of your life. I can look at you now and it seems as if we're coming out at the other end of that tunnel back into the beautiful light of day. I wish I could say that in the blink of an eye I was able to learn how to relate to you or that you woke up one day to find yourself back in sync with life. But it's never that simple.
I've learned to have more faith in you. I have a giant list of things you have taught, and continue to, teach me. I believe that you'll come out of it just fine because you're partnered with a Heavenly Father who knows you better than I do. I've learned not to be so afraid. I've learned that my job is not to control or judge my daughter, but simply to help you remember, with words and touch, who you really are and the great things you're capable of. Turning that corner I've been able to center myself within enough love and patience to survive the past painful transformations. (I'm sorry it took so terribly long) I've learned that when your inner beauty and perfection had slipped from my sight, I held that space for you in my heart and would come a bit closer to knowing your true essence and goodness that resides just beneath the surface. From all of that, I learned that parents are very imperfect, and that imperfect parents and their imperfect adolescent children can live under one roof despite some tumultuous times. Why? Because of enduring love and the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It's the love that I had for you since the day you were born. I've learned to focus on what is good and beautiful in my Aubrey. Shame on me for taking so long to "get it". Forgive me (yet again.) Your goodness and inner beauty was what reinforced that change in my attitude. I've repented. I've tried to be better. And your grace, lovely humanness, and inner strength has grown and flourished once more. For some reason, our loving Heavenly Father placed you on the road less traveled. Your life was not to be the same as your sisters. Yours was to be another path. What's so amazing is that, despite those difficult times past (and maybe present), your faith in your Heavenly Father has emerged unscathed because you've clung close to Him through those times. And it seems that doing so has enabled you to "touch his robes" and experience His healing.
The multitudes would follow Christ; they’d never give Him rest.
They’d push and crowd their way to Him, their sick ones to be blessed.
One day a woman with disease the doctors could not cure
Thought, “If I can but touch His robe, He shall heal me to be sure.”
She pushed her way, then saw His robe just above the ground.
As she bent down and touched it, Jesus stopped and turned around.
“Who touched my robe?” He asked the crowd. The woman did not fear.
Then Peter answered, telling Him how many crowded near.
The woman felt Christ knew of her. His spirit warmed her soul.
As she came forth, Christ told her it was her faith that made her whole.
When you were just a child, you believed your faith would grow;
That someday you'd behold Christ’s face, and not believe— but know.
You've clung to his robe through life's dark days, keeping Him in your heart
And with that faith, have been blessed by him, His healing to you to impart.
In young adulthood, you remained active in the Church and loyal to our Heavenly Father. That's epic these days (think about all of Hahna's high school friends). Upon Hahna's departure into marriage and moving away, and Baylee's moving into adulthood, you both have also become the best of friends. Few things have made me happier than knowing that the three of you so rarely argued, and that you have been and still are, so close. Your dad and I pray that will continue even more after we pass on. During your struggles, your spiritual intuitions even encouraged our family to have regular family scripture reading together. That was an important move for our family.
In young adulthood, you remained active in the Church and loyal to our Heavenly Father. That's epic these days (think about all of Hahna's high school friends). Upon Hahna's departure into marriage and moving away, and Baylee's moving into adulthood, you both have also become the best of friends. Few things have made me happier than knowing that the three of you so rarely argued, and that you have been and still are, so close. Your dad and I pray that will continue even more after we pass on. During your struggles, your spiritual intuitions even encouraged our family to have regular family scripture reading together. That was an important move for our family.
What I feel now is less regret for the times I've messed up, or fearful of what lies around the corner, but gratitude that we've ended up at this place, with you at the threshold of greater victories, despite possible setbacks. I hope you can extend grace and forgiveness to me for my endless mistakes. I made too many at your expense at times. These past few years have taught me that no life is ordinary --- and that you've always been 'extra-ordinary' --- even when your life turned into something unexpected. And now, I can travel through my photo albums of you and I'm reminded that no day was ever ordinary with you. Despite our imperfections, it's still a perfect life. That's how I feel about you. That's how I feel about being your mother. Your beauty and goodness is perfect. Let people into your heart. Avoid the bristly stuff and embrace those qualities within you that keep you close to Him and to others. As you continue to serve on your mission, and return to BYU and beyond, remember these two places --- your home and my heart --- despite having been a small occasional battlefield over a few years, I have loved and nurtured you, and will continue to do so forever ... no matter what! You were the one who excitedly jumped into the water without floaties. You were the one who wanted to be strapped into the bungees trustingly with your dad, only to be launched into the unknown air! You were the one who, though never having flown in a plane, opted to fearlessly, yet trustingly, jump out of one (strapped into a parachute!). You were the one who were tenacious enough to board a plane to trustingly embark on your mission in spite of those obstacles that temporarily held you back. You were the one who encountered unique health issues only to rise above them and fly free and unencumbered toward your dreams. Fly baby. Fly. ........ But please please don't fly too far away from me. I love you. Endlessly.
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