Live For Today and Never Give Up

On Friday, May 29, I woke to the sound of a text message notification on my phone. And I knew. Rushing and hesitating all at once, I opened up the message and read,

"This morning, just as the birds began to sing, Trevor ran home to our heavenly father. We love you all."--Chelsi Linderman.

I clumsily replied with, "We love you. I'm so sorry."

Today, almost two months later, I'm still not sure how to say everything that I want to say. I don't know how to write this post, and in some ways, I've been putting it off. How can one blog post possibly articulate all the feelings and thoughts that have been on my mind since that May morning?

I cried. I gave up on any expectations or plans that I had for the day. My beautiful friend with 2 little babies the same age as mine was now a widow, living my worst nightmare. My heart broke for her. My heart felt relief for him--he'd suffered so much for so long. I felt regret--why didn't I try harder to get over to their house and say goodbye? My faith washed over me, and I re-evaluated it once again. Do I really believe in a resurrection? Do I really believe that families are forever? Do I really believe that this isn't the end? When the answers to all those questions came in the affirmative, I was grateful for the reminder of what this life is really about. And I knew I needed to spend the day with my little family and not let anything get in the way.

I pulled myself together and went for a walk. Not too long after I started, I looked down at the stroller I was pushing and thought about their sweet boy who hadn't even reached his second birthday before he lost his daddy, and I melted into a puddle of tears there on the sidewalk next to Redwood Road.

 I had two goals: give Chelsi a hug and spend quality, un-distracted time with my kids. After getting us all dressed and in the car, we headed to Target to put together a care package. It was so hard. What do you get for the little girl that just lost her dad that can somehow make things all better. The answer? You can't.

 After Target, we drove to their house and awkwardly approached the door. The kids had just left. Chelsi was just about to leave for the funeral home, and she apologized to me for that. I gave her a hug and told her I wasn't there to be a burden; I just wanted to give her a hug, let her know we cared, and then get out of the way. So that's what we did.

Following the Linderman's blog slogan to "Live for Today", we met Brian for dinner and then went bowling. It was Rachel's first time bowling, and she was adorable.

 Rachel totally stomped all of us. Here's the scores (The first M is Michael, the second is me). I know, embarrassing. But, it usually takes me a game to warm up and figure out how to bowl again, and we only played one game. I'm just happy I beat Michael this time.

 I love seeing bowling shoes this small. It just kills me with how cute they are!

 After bowling, we went for frozen yogurt.

 Michael was so sweet to me when he'd see the tears in my eyes. He'd look concerned, smile at me, give me a hug.

I felt a little guilty--here I was with my whole world, eating ice cream, and  knowing that someone else's was painfully shattered.

The next week was a little rough. I had lots of things to be working on, but had problems focusing. I accomplished very little. Brian said I was pretty distracted, and he didn't know how to help. (This distraction lingered through most of June as well).

Thursday night was the viewing. I had arranged with Chelsi to come pick up her kids right at the beginning. She was worried it would be a long night, and the kids needed a distraction. I took the kids to the viewing so they could pay their respects and learn about being their for friends.

There is something sacred, tragic,  and beautiful about funerals. I was in awe at the grace and poise of my newly widowed friend as she stood next to her husband, all in elegant black and wearing her signature heels. Her hair was up in an elegant bun. She looked positively regal. I knew she had cried recently; her eyes held traces of tears, but for that moment, she was held beautifully together, offering comfort to those seeking to give her comfort. I stood in amazement and admiration of her--not for the first time, and definitely not the last.

Miss I wanted to show Michael the slideshow of her dad. I told her to just let me know when she was ready to go. Michael sat by Miss I and they watched. And then we left. Their nanny drove them to our house and I showed them our castle. Later, all four kids went out and jumped on our tramp, still in their church clothes. I watched them from my dining room, my heart taking a picture while I considered the privilege it was to have them with us that night. And then they left.

The next morning, Brian took work off. We dropped the kids off at Lea's and headed to the viewing and funeral. It was raining, which seemed appropriate. By the time the funeral started, though, the skies had cleared and it was a beautiful late morning. The funeral was held outside in the funeral home gardens. We stood as the procession came down from the funeral home. The pall bearers brought down the coffin and right behind the coffin came Chelsi, once again graceful, elegant, and all in black holding those two sweet children in her arms.

The services were beautiful. We laughed. We cried. We honored this amazing man, and I wished once again that I had known him better. Chelsi gave a talk, at the request of Trevor before he passed, and we all stood in awe that she could hold herself together to give such an eloquent tribute.

Their slogan for his fight was "Never Give Up." At the funeral and in the months since, I've reflected a little on what that really means. I think initially, it meant not giving up hope that he could beat his cancer. Yet, cancer seemingly won. Or did it? Perhaps Trevor's fight wasn't really against cancer. His fight was the one all of us face, the true fight of faith. Will we still have faith in the Savior and in God's plan for us, even if things go horribly, despairingly not the way we want them to go? Come what may, will we still love Him and trust Him? Will we trust that He has a greater plan for us than the fragmented one we put together for ourselves? If He calls our precious loved ones home before we're ready to let them go, will we still love Him? Will we be faithful to the end?

Trevor was. He fought to the end, he fought the good fight, and he fulfilled his mission in mortality, and he won the fight against cancer because he never allowed it to crush his soul.

After the funeral, I posted this on Facebook: 

A thousand thoughts have come to me today as I have contemplated this man's life and those he loves, but the one that comes back the most is one of gratitude for a Savior who triumphed over death, making the words "The End" have no meaning. This is not the end, and I'm looking forward to a game night with Trevor, Chelsi, and Brian in the next life since we never got that chance in this one. And in the meantime, I promise to help look out for your little family until you are united again.

I hope I can live my life in a way that matters the way Trevor did. To echo the words and lives of this beautiful family, live for today and never give up.