I remember almost 17 years ago when my little brother, Ben, died. He was almost six months old. We knew of the possibility of his passing, he’d had so many close calls in his short life though, that we, at least I, believed he’d come through the heart surgery.
I was walking home with my older (by two years) sister Liza, and a family friend, Tiffany Van De Graaff. It was the last day of school and I was lolly gagging home. Liza and Tiffany were not bemused and repeatedly gibed me so I’d pick up my feet. I didn’t. Eventually though, we turned the corner home and I had the first view of the lovely house I called home. Daddy’s car was in the driveway, early. He had told us they, Mom and Dad, would not be home until Ben had healed from the operation which would be quite some time. In my young mind I just figured Ben got better really fast and would get to see him. I immediately took off yelling, “Ben’s home! Ben’s home! Ben’s home!” I barely noticed that my sister and her friend did not follow so quickly.
I was met by my father’s sad, red, tired face at the door. He stopped me. Asked Tiffany to go home, and then walked Liza and I into our front room.
Grandma Denning, Mom’s Mommy, was there and she smiled at me. Mom did not. Then they broke the news. That Ben had lasted through the long surgery, but it had been too much and he passed away that morning. My heart stung. Ben had gone home, but not to us, to God. Grandma Denning told me Ben’s spirit was still around and he’d hear us tell him we loved him. So we held his body and cried, and told him we loved him.
Grandpa Denning held me at the funeral while I cried and cried. And Grandma and Grandpa Newren were ever present, as they always were in our lives. Our family loved and loved each other and held each other up, and cried when anyone else cried, which was a lot, so we did a lot of crying, and laughing, and being grateful we had each other and that we got to have Ben, even if only for a little while.
Grandpa Newren died about five years ago from cancer, and though we missed him terribly and it was hard, and we cried a lot, we still had each other, and we still had Grandma Newren.
Early April this year, Grandma Newren passed, and it’s been hard. She was the cornerstone of the family. Her house was a gathering place. And her children loved her. She stayed for a long time, all the while wanting to be with Grandpa, but not wanting to leave us. But under heaven there is a perfect time for everything, and a time appointed for our passing, even those we can’t bear to part with. So we let Grandma go.
But, we still have each other. This is not the time to give up, or despair. Every death is hard, but it’s a reason to hope and love more. To grow deeper stronger bonds between us, as we did when Ben died, to feel in the hole they left. The pain never goes away. You never stop loving or missing your Ben, your grandpa, your grandpa, your friends, your family. But it’s all the reason more to love more, to hope more, to have faith more, to be grateful more. Love those who are still here more, and help them. Hope more for happiness. Have faith more that we will all be one day united once more. And be grateful for the time that we’ve been given with those we love now, in the past, and in the future. Only love can fill our hearts so that, even though we miss our passed love one, we can fill up our hearts to overflowing, and love still even greater.
I don’t know how to end this except to say that God said,“Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45) And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
