Mourning with those who mourn

So, recently I was able to really understand the real meaning behind these words.

I’ve always heard that our trails allow us to understand and have more compassion for others who suffer.

At first, I don’t think that was the case for me. In fact, I found myself with very little patience for people’s whiny, small problems. (sorry, friends.)

I remember one time, not long after Brad passed away, I was listening to some friends as they complained–One about how awful it was having to walk all over Lagoon and it was really hot and the kids were out of the control, and the other about how they had to take their kids swimming all by themselves and how frantic and crazy they felt and didn’t even have a second to themselves all day and the other about how money was too tight to take the kids out to eat.

I sat there, biting my lip to keep from shouting, and trying to change the subject to keep from crying. I wanted to yell at them:

“Oh you poor girls. What a horrible day you had! Do you know what I did today? I got to go see the broken, shattered wreck of a plane that my husband was killed in before they took it for scraps. And then after that, I got to go shopping to pick out a headstone for my husband. Then I went home with my three year old daughter and ate dinner by myself.

Do you want to keep complaining now?”

Of course, I didn’t say anything. I just smiled and kept to myself and cried in the car. (someone has to help me get it through my head that the car does not make me invisible and people can still see me sobbing because the glass is see-through.)

(Sorry if the friends that I’m talking about happen to read this. I’m totally over it and love your stinkin’ faces forever.)

But, thankfully, as time when on, I was able to change and not be such a . . . Meany face.

So, last December, after coming down from the after-math of my sweet cousin’s death just a few weeks before, our little friend Britton died from what seemed to be a simple case of the flu. He was only seven and the autopsy showed something more serious, lesions on his liver, or something. (At least, I think that’s what it was. I don’t want to state it like it’s a fact in case I’m wrong.)

My heart was broken into pieces.

But I couldn’t quite figure out why. I didn’t know the little boy that well. I didn’t know his family too well. He’s my cousins’ cousin. My Aunt’s nephew on the other side. He’s my Dad’s next door neighbor. I’d met him a few times. He was cute, silly, and told jokes that were only funny because of his lisp and they way that he messed them up.

But his death hurt so much.

As I went through the line at the viewing and I approached the casket that was much too small, I just started to cry. And I realized I was mostly crying for his mother. It broke my heart to see her stand there, clutching the edge of the casket and gently touching her son’s hair. I know what it feels like to stand in that spot. The worst spot ever. I know what it feels like to grab the edge of the casket with all you have just to keep standing.

I hugged her and told her that I was so sorry that she was standing there.

I cried for my Aunt and Uncle who have had too many tragedies this year–Brad, Mariah, Britton, and a few Grandparents.

I hurt for my Dad who loved this little guy and who has suffered his share of tragedies and has had to stand strong through them all.

I just hurt for everyone else because I knew what that hurt felt like and I was so sad they had to feel it too.

It makes me wonder if that’s what the Savior feels. On a much larger scale, of course. He suffered all our pains, hurts, heartaches and guilt. So he truly knows how we feel and is so sad when we suffer through them.

I found myself wanting to going out of my way to do whatever I could for the family. Not because I’m such an amazing person, but because people did it for me and I had to pay it forward. The love and support I got was such a blessing to me, I had to pass it on. I just needed to. I wanted to do so much to help them, a small thing like food seemed so insignificant, but there was not much else I could do or say. I imagine, that’s how many of you felt towards me.

I guess it’s one of those little blessings that come from the trials we face. I’m normally a selfish person and have a hard time being compassionate for what other people are going though. So, this is my own little refiner’s fire. No one ever said the getting tossed in the flames felt good, huh?