Mourning with Those Who Mourn

[The Rambam]

I have a sister a year older then me and one of her best friends, Kristin, went to Utah State in Logan for college, where her grandmother lived. My senior year of high school, Kristin and her grandmother were driving up Sardine Canyon back to Logan after visiting family and a semi slid on the ice into their car, killing them both.

Her funeral packed a Stake Center to overflowing as Kristin was well loved by her fellow students--a truly beautiful person inside and out. All our hearts were completely broken, her family, of course, most of all--losing daughter and mother in the same accident.

I struggled to find peace with it. Kristin and I had been dance partners in the school show choir and she was always at our house with my sister. We never dated, but were genuinely close.

I believed in God and the Spirit World--that life continued after death. But it seemed so unfair that Kristin would be robbed of the fun of going to college and dating and falling in love raising babies--all the joys and struggles of life. It just wasn't fair.

Months after her funeral I was still troubled and couldn't let it go. It seemed odd, because I wasn't family and she wasn't my girlfriend or anything. But I couldn't stop being mad at God for the unfairness of her death.

One night, Kristin visited me. She assured me she was fine and happy. I told her I was so sorry she wouldn't get the chance to fall in love and date and enjoy all the things here on Earth. She laughed. She said she would absolutely have the chance to do all those things and it would be even better then on Earth in many ways. She was so happy and beautiful. My pillow was literally soaked with tears.

I have no idea why she came to me or was allowed to come. It makes no sense to me that an acquaintance would come to me to give me comfort while parents and spouses often suffer far closer sorrow without respite. But it was real and I am grateful.

I called her parents the next day to tell them about it. They listened quietly and thanked me for calling. I have no idea if my call meant anything to them--if it was helpful or annoying. I wasn't really close to them. But the whole thing altered my life significantly. I can't wait to see Kristin again. And I still mourn her loss, but moreso now for her family and friends who still, I'm sure, miss her terribly.

I'm not sure how this story fits in this thread, but felt to share it.

[Sullyute]

One night, Kristin visited me. She assured me she was fine and happy. I told her I was so sorry she wouldn't get the chance to fall in love and date and enjoy all the things here on Earth. She laughed. She said she would absolutely have the chance to do all those things and it would be even better then on Earth in many ways. She was so happy and beautiful. My pillow was literally soaked with tears.

Thanks for sharing this personal experience. The bolded portion really interests me. It just reinforces my belief that no matter what people have said about the next life, we really know next to nothing about what really goes on there.

[faith]

Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who shared in this thread. I don’t feel quite so alone in my struggles to deal with grief.

[Joe Public]

I buried my mother three years ago this week. I still cannot talk about it, but I may finally be able to anonymously type a little bit about something I want to share.

I went to Beehive Clothing in Orem, Utah to purchase some clothing for the burial preparations. Due to both the natural grieving process and the circumstances of her passing, I was an emotional wreck. The store was busy, so I waited in line to talk to one of the workers for assistance.

When it was my turn, a slender lady with short hair and glasses, perhaps in her early-to-mid 50s, asked how she could help me. I muttered that I needed some clothes for burial preparations. She asked me the size I needed. It's a simple, routine, necessary question. However, it reminded me of the significant weight loss that came with my mother's condition before passing.

"I... don't... " was all I could say before I lost the composure that I had barely maintained up to that point. I couldn't speak; I just looked at her while tears once again flowed from my eyes.

Without hesitation, she quickly walked from behind the counter while she waved me over to a somewhat-unoccupied section of the store. She put her arm around me and said with sincerity, "Come with me, and we'll cry together."

She took me to the relevant clothing section, asked some simple yes/no questions that I could answer with a nod or shake of the head. Once we finished the selections, she guided me to an unoccupied register and quickly completed the transaction. I muttered a "thank you" and went on my way. With everything else that was going on, that was all I could do.

However, I've thought of that lady often over the last three years. She didn't rush me or wait impatiently as I struggled that day, nor did she passively wait for me to eventually make my request. Instead, she mourned with one who mourned. She comforted one who stood in need of comfort. "Come with me, and we'll cry together."

I don't like to post personal things that are out there for anyone in the world with a web browser. However, as I've reflected this week, I wanted to recognize the lady at Beehive Clothing somehow. This thread was the first place that came to mind. I may delete the post after a while.

[Mrs. Funk]

I buried my mother three years ago this week. I still cannot talk about it, but I may finally be able to anonymously type a little bit about something I want to share.

I went to Beehive Clothing in Orem, Utah to purchase some clothing for the burial preparations. Due to both the natural grieving process and the circumstances of her passing, I was an emotional wreck. The store was busy, so I waited in line to talk to one of the workers for assistance.

When it was my turn, a slender lady with short hair and glasses, perhaps in her early-to-mid 50s, asked how she could help me. I muttered that I needed some clothes for burial preparations. She asked me the size I needed. It's a simple, routine, necessary question. However, it reminded me of the significant weight loss that came with my mother's condition before passing.

"I... don't... " was all I could say before I lost the composure that I had barely maintained up to that point. I couldn't speak; I just looked at her while tears once again flowed from my eyes.

Without hesitation, she quickly walked from behind the counter while she waved me over to a somewhat-unoccupied section of the store. She put her arm around me and said with sincerity, "Come with me, and we'll cry together."

She took me to the relevant clothing section, asked some simple yes/no questions that I could answer with a nod or shake of the head. Once we finished the selections, she guided me to an unoccupied register and quickly completed the transaction. I muttered a "thank you" and went on my way. With everything else that was going on, that was all I could do.

However, I've thought of that lady often over the last three years. She didn't rush me or wait impatiently as I struggled that day, nor did she passively wait for me to eventually make my request. Instead, she mourned with one who mourned. She comforted one who stood in need of comfort. "Come with me, and we'll cry together."

I don't like to post personal things that are out there for anyone in the world with a web browser. However, as I've reflected this week, I wanted to recognize the lady at Beehive Clothing somehow. This thread was the first place that came to mind. I may delete the post after a while.

I hope you don't. What a wonderful story to share, though my heart is breaking for you.

[Donuthole]

Excellent post, JP. Thanks for sharing.

[Surfah]

Touching post and a lesson for us all on how to mourn with others.

[il Padrino Ute]

Thank you for sharing this, JP.

[Eddie]

Thanks for sharing, JP.

Some people are simply awesome. It's who they are. It's good for the rest of us to hear about the things they do so that we might do something awesome at some time as well.

[UtahDan]

However, I've thought of that lady often over the last three years. She didn't rush me or wait impatiently as I struggled that day, nor did she passively wait for me to eventually make my request. Instead, she mourned with one who mourned. She comforted one who stood in need of comfort. "Come with me, and we'll cry together."

This post made my day. Thanks for sharing.

[smokymountainrain]

She took me to the relevant clothing section, asked some simple yes/no questions that I could answer with a nod or shake of the head. Once we finished the selections, she guided me to an unoccupied register and quickly completed the transaction. I muttered a "thank you" and went on my way. With everything else that was going on, that was all I could do.

However, I've thought of that lady often over the last three years. She didn't rush me or wait impatiently as I struggled that day, nor did she passively wait for me to eventually make my request. Instead, she mourned with one who mourned. She comforted one who stood in need of comfort. "Come with me, and we'll cry together."

Have you ever thought about going back to that store to see if she still works there, perhaps find out what her name is from another employee and write a thank you to her? You never know what is going on in her life and a note or words of appreciation might do her some good.

It's likely she's no longer working there, but might be worth a shot.

[FN Phat]

great post, jp

[Pheidippides]

A spectacular post JP. The people of whom you speak are the ones who will get into whatever heaven they choose, no questions asked.

[clackamascoug]

As I have loved you, love one another.

JP's story exemplifies the extent of the Saviors love for each of us, and it makes me feel warm all over.

Thanks for sharing.

[Moliere]

I took a break from work to check CUF and saw this post. I'm glad I took that break. Thanks JP.