Conversations with Caleb

  Caleb, This week was supposed to be different.  Once upon a time it was going to be your "Welcome Home" week.  While we know you've been welcomed to your Heavenly Home, our family had some emotional moments together this week as we imagined that welcome hug that could have been. Should have been. Instead, we spent the week remembering you. We cleaned the house and yard, with help from dear loved ones, and invited family and friends for a celebration.   In the middle of all the heartache that comes with that reality, we found ourselves overwhelmed by love.   Friends, family, and mission companions (and friends),  gathered to celebrate you. They showed up with stories, memories, laughter, tears, and reminders that your life mattered deeply to so many people. We left feeling grateful for a community that has carried us in so many ways over the past 5 months. We drank gallons of grape juice in your honor.  This is Papa's finest juice, fresh from the f...

 Caleb, Just in time for Memorial Day, you have a headstone - and it looks so good! It sounds weird just to say that.  I never thought I’d have to plan a headstone for one of my kids. It’s one of those things people joke about when they’re young: “When I die, put {blank} on my headstone.” Like: “It’s dark down here.” Or: “No vacancy.” Or for you: “LET’S GOOOO!” Or: “As for me and my kingdom, we will serve TACOS.” But when it becomes real -  when you’re actually choosing the words that will be written in stone to memorialize someone you love while the earth keeps spinning around without them - suddenly it doesn’t feel like the place for wit. You only get a few words. A few lines to capture a life.   Sorry, buddy. We weren’t clever, and we definitely weren’t brief.  The words on your stone are the same ones we put on your funeral program. But they fit you perfectly: "In memory of every hug, high five, knuckle bump, handshake and smile he ever ga...

Hi Caleb, I don't think you're sad...but I am.  Sadness is an interesting emotion. I have experienced sadness throughout my life, but rarely have I chosen to live in sadness. I think I have long equated living in sadness with becoming a victim, and I have always wanted my life to stand for the opposite of victim hood - a life of creating, building, choosing, becoming. But lately I’ve been sad. Not just passing moments of sadness, but seasons of it. Sometimes I wake up and it is already sitting beside me. Sometimes it follows me through the day quietly, like a shadow I cannot outrun. And what has surprised me most is the fact that I am still creating. I still love people deeply. I still make meals, write words, grow things, solve problems, comfort others, laugh unexpectedly, make plans for tomorrow, and run my businesses. I still notice beauty. I still contribute. I still choose. I'm learning that sadness is not the same thing as defeat. Lately I've cried a lot o...

Caleb, Sometimes when we look at pictures of you, we say, “We can hear Caleb in that picture.” And it’s true. You were full of life, and your excitement often came bursting out in a loud whoop or holler. You celebrated your own wins, but just as often, you celebrated ours. And it was never forced. It was genuine joy. April has been a month that would have given you plenty of reasons to shout. 1. Easter! He is the Reason for the Season, and you had a great testimony of that. We visited your graveside and found a beautiful painting from our friend Rod.  It was such a meaningful surprise.  We enjoyed being together at the cemetery - crying and laughing about you, and finding joy in the knowledge that we're only separated for a short time.  You were there with us.  This time, though it wasn't a shout from you - just a warm feeling of love.   2. General Conference And as if that wasn’t great enough, some of your friends from Ft. Wingate stopped by our home on the...

Caleb, Your heart was special. You always knew how to love - fully, freely, and without hesitation.  And yet, your heart was also hurting in ways we couldn’t see. We treated symptoms, searched for answers, but nothing pointed us to what was really happening. The tests didn’t reveal it.  Not until the autopsy did we begin to understand the physical reality - that your heart had been struggling. You had cardiomyopathy connected to an ultra-rare genetic condition. It wasn’t only your heart; other vital organs were affected too. And still… you kept going. You were your same energetic self - working hard, chopping wood, serving, lifting others. The night before you passed, you received a blessing for intense back pain. Now we understand… it was likely your heart. Your dad and I decided early on that no matter what we learned, we would seek peace with your passing. But still, the questions come… What if we had known? Could we have helped you stay? Those questions  -  what ...