Why So Quiet?

I sat alone in sacrament meeting today. My dear companion who sat by my side for 54 years had departed this life. When I returned home, the deafening silence greeted me as I entered our home. Only hours before the home had been filled with laughter, happiness and lively grandchildren who were loving the joy of being together. And now it was as silent as the Garden Tomb.

After the funeral yesterday, we enjoyed a meal together provided by the generous Relief Society sisters of our ward. Then that was followed by a rousing dance party out on the basketball court. There was happiness and there was nothing but frivolity. I was tired, but they were not.

And then today, it was silent and I was alone with my thoughts.

Oh, my thoughts! How many, how varied, how consistent and how tranquil. I re-watched her funeral online at the Larkin Mortuary website. I shed a few more tears as I listened to our wonderful children share their talents with the audience. 

I told them I wanted two things out of the funeral - to edify and inspire the congregation, and to show them her good example. Both goals of mine were met, I believe.

I have had so many tell me her funeral was one of the finest they have ever attended. Lance Larkin, my cousin, reminded me of what Elder LeGrand Richards once told him about funerals. He said he had been to many funerals during his long life, and that there were good ones and there were bad ones. The good ones, he said, were about good people, and the bad ones, well, you can finish the sentence. Lance told me, "This was a good woman." I echo his sentiment.

I loved hearing her teachings to her children recounted and now embodied in their lives. She taught them how to pray, how to love their Savior, how to serve others without reservation and how to live their lives faithfully here in mortality. 

And then, far too soon for all of us, she took her leave. She went into another room, as she often did when we had said our prayers and I climbed into bed and fell asleep. She, on the other hand, was up again and in another part of the house preparing something good to eat for her loved ones or someone in our ward who was in need of her loving outreach. I would awaken a few hours later, and find my bed empty while she toiled in preparation. Not unlike what I feel now and realize she isn't coming back to bed.

That's what her death represents for me. She has merely gone ahead into another room to make preparations for me and all our posterity. That she will do it with grace, with lovingkindness, and with patience I have no doubts. It may not involve vacuuming the carpet or making good food to eat, but it will involve spiritual sustenance for which each of us craves.

I told the grandchildren before we closed the lid on her casket that she now has superpowers - she can "fly." My meaning is that she will fly quickly to their sides in times of trouble, or times of need, or times of turbulence, or times even of joy. 

I told them to listen carefully for her gentle invitations to do better, to reach a little higher, try a little harder, persist in faith a little longer. In those moments she will meet them and give them the needed encouragement and spiritual strength which she can dispense from a deep treasury of her own making.

She loves the Lord Jesus Christ. Her whole life was anchored in Him. She became much like Him in all His attributes.

I read these words this afternoon, as I opened my copy of The Teachings of Harold B. Lee. It was as if I could hear his voice speaking directly to me:

"Don't be afraid of the testing and trials of life. Sometimes when you are going through the most severe tests, you will be nearer to God than you have any idea, for like the experience of the Master Himself in the temptations on the mount, in the Garden of Gethsemane, and on the cross at Calvary, the scriptures record, 'And, behold, angels came and ministered unto him' (Matthew 4:11). Sometimes that may happen to you in the midst of your trials." (THBL, p. 192).

She has gone into another room, not far away, and left me to ponder, "Why so quiet?" And the answer seems to suggest, "So that you may hear her when she comes to minister to you."

And Then She Was Gone. . .

I write today to inform the world of the passing of my spouse and eternal companion, Patsy. Her passing came upon us all suddenly and without much warning. Those who have heard about it have asked, "Was she sick?" The answer is simple: not until in the last twenty-four hours when sepsis filled her body.

I met Patsy Hewlett when she was a student at East High School, one year younger than me. Until she drew her final peaceful breath on Earth, she loved me and her whole family completely, absolutely and wholeheartedly without any reservations. She was an emissary of Jesus Christ, a true angel on Earth. Easily the most spiritual woman I have ever known, she was on intimate terms with the Almighty.

One night recently, we settled down in front of the TV to watch a movie together over dinner. I asked her to say the blessing on the food while I paused the movie. There is a counter that tracks the minutes between the pause button and the play button. When we looked up again, the timer had exceeded 15 minutes. And that was a prayer over food, but so much more! Her individual prayer roll grew longer with each passing month. I used to tease her that she left out the tribe of Reuben. Oh, what prayers we have shared together over the years! Her final act on Earth, I believe, was to die, return to the spirit world and begin answering her own prayers on behalf of all for whom she prayed. Don't be surprised if you discover a new guardian angel who is pleading your cause before the Throne of Divine Grace. Without even knowing it, you may have been on her mind and in her heart. 💗💗 She loved, loved, loved hearts.

How I love this dear companion! Our first date by all accounts should have been recorded as a complete disaster. They ran out of food before we got there, the dance band had taken a break just before we arrived, and there was nothing to do but take up a spot on the side of the dance floor and talk. And oh, did we talk!

Our conversation expanded into the early morning hours on our way back home. It was soul-searching, deeply spiritual, and wide-ranging. I was amazed at the depth of her soul, the strength of her testimony, and the power that spilled forth from her all night long. When quizzed by my mother the next morning, she asked, "What was Patsy wearing?" I stammered out a response, "I think it was a yellow gown." I quickly assured her my memory wasn't bad, but that we were engrossed in a spirit to spirit deep connection I had never encountered. 

One of our younger sons said to me yesterday that he has been lamenting his children would not know or be able to remember Grandma Patsy. I said to him, "Don't worry, I will write the exhaustive seven-volume series about her and I won't leave a single stone unturned." I pray I may live long enough to complete that joyous work for our posterity.

As an example of her thoughtfulness, I took her to the emergency room in the Park City Hospital only last week when she was complaining of intense chest pain. I thought she may be having a heart attack, but it was only pericarditis, an inflammation of her heart lining, and I took home a regimen of anti-inflammatory medicine to treat it. Behind us in line came a middle-aged mother accompanied by her daughter. The mother was crying out in agonizing pain, gently holding her arm which we later discovered had been broken. Without even thinking, Patsy instructed me to let her go first in line ahead of us. And that's what happened. She always thought about someone else ahead of herself. It was instinctive with her, a reflexive act of charity.

We had a family gathering this last Sunday afternoon in our home. I had received permission from our bishop to offer her the sacrament after which we shared testimonies with each other. She was sedated for pain in her hospice bed, but even with her eyes closed, she said "Amen" when each one concluded, and she mouthed the words of the hymns we sang. It was a spiritual, peaceful outpouring of love for the Savior, the gospel and for each other. She loved every minute.

Then later that night she sat up, spoke with her beloved son, Andrew, who is a highly skilled surgeon. He told her he was concerned about her lungs. She said, "Yes, so am I." He asked her if she would like to return to the hospital for further testing to see if he could make her stronger. She said she would, and we packed her as gently as we could into the car.

That was the beginning of the end. They discovered three infectious sites in her body, including pneumonia in her lungs, none of which had been evident in her most recent blood workups. 

"Dad," whispered daughter Melanie early the next morning, "She's gone."

And with that simple notification she had left quickly, quietly and without disturbing anyone or being a burden to anyone - it was on her own terms and her own way.

People ask me how I'm holding up. The answer is also simple - I am being borne up as on the wings of angels all around me. They are my family, friends, and nearly everyone who has heard about her passing. And most of all, I am being sustained by my dearest Patsy who continues to minister to my needs in a higher and holier place.