Fever

Parker has had a fever for almost two days now. She hasn't had much of an appetite and her mood swings between sadly lethargic to angrily uncomfortable. I hate it. I hate it for her sake because she obviously doesn't feel well and there's so little we can do for her. (Motrin, baths, lots of juice, all the naps we can get her to take.) I hate it for our sakes too because we're all still dealing with feeling depleted from last week. It's hard to give fully when it feels like you don't have much yourself.

Suzy was up with Parker for most of last night and now feels hammered and more exhausted than before. Were this any other time in life, I might have called in sick to work and stayed home so she could get some rest. But since I've already missed a week, my options are limited. It sucks.

I get done today at 2 so I'm headed home right after to see if I can offer some relief. I should have gotten up more in the night to help out. Sometimes I'm a little more dead-to-the-world than is good for me (or Suzanne).

The sun was out for a minute this morning and it was one of the most welcome sights I've seen in a long time. It just gets really gray and lightless here and it kind of drives me nuts. A little bit of sunshine goes a long way. There's a cool song by Sting called "Lithium Sunset" and I saw an interview in which he talked about it. He said he'd read that sunlight either had lithium, an anti-depressant, in it or it stimulated its production in our bodies or something. I don't know about the science (if any) of it but it's a good song and I certainly feel the lyrics.

"Lithium Sunset"

Fill my eyes
O Lithium sunset
And take this lonesome burden
Of worry from my mind
Take this heartache
Of obsidian darkness
And fold my darkness
Into your yellow light

I've been scattered I've been shattered
I've been knocked out of the race
But I'll get better
I feel your light upon my face

Heal my soul
O Lithium sunset
And I'll ride the turning world
Into another night
Into another night
Into another night
See mercury falling...



One weird thing I experience is having moments when I think, "Today is a day I would have called Dad/Mom." Either I have a question about something I know they could have helped me with or I see something that reminds me of them or it's just one of those natural times when the tide of life sort of draws you back to your parents. It's an odd, not terribly pleasant feeling to realize they're not around to call anymore. It makes me thankful that I can call Suze or text my brothers or something. Thank heavens for Verizon wireless.

Unmoored

Grief is exhausting. So is going to bed at 1 a.m. and then waking up at 6:30 to go to work for the first time in over a week. I got by yesterday largely on nerve and adrenaline but, last night, I fell asleep in front of the tv at 9 p.m. and didn't really wake up until 7 this morning. I'm still tired though. I could easily lay my head down on the hard, cold desk here in the Writing Center and be asleep in a matter of moments. I just feel really out of it.

In general, I am a lot more at peace concerning my mother's passing than I was/am with my dad's. We knew it was coming and, when it did, it was a blessing for her to finally have some relief. Still, the sadness, the anxiety, the dread comes and goes. Honestly, I was pretty much fine until I came back to work. I think being back has given me a moment to decompress a little and it's kind of painful. In Idaho, I had a mission - to say goodbye to my mom and to clean out her house as best as we could. I had things to do and only so much time to do them. Now that I'm home, I feel a little unmoored and adrift.

It's good to be back in the classroom. That's one place where I feel in control and confident. Plus, having specific things to accomplish gives me a sense of structure and purpose that's helpful.

So I'm trying not to feel overwhelmed by all that is on my plate - but here's what's coming up:

finishing a draft of my prospectus and sending it off to my committee in order to begin the endless dance of revision.
editing and publishing the student magazine.
taking and (hopefully) passing the foreign language exam at Wayne.
teaching classes.
raising my kids.
being a half-decent husband not consumed with his own concerns.
not curling up into a fetal position.

I know what my mom would say: don't look at it all at once. Break it up into small, doable tasks and take them one at a time. Just focus on what I can do today, right now and don't worry about the rest. Obviously, that's easier said than done but it's still good advice.

Mom

After a valiant battle against breast cancer and its complications, Laurel (Laurie) Gwen Sheffield Brown slipped into the next world to join her husband, Dennis, on January 14th, 2011. Her life was distinguished by a seemingly endless supply of kindness, gratitude, and faith.

Laurie was born in Springville, Utah on July 7, 1947 to Erwin and Katherine Sheffield. As a young girl, she doted on her parents and was devastated when she lost her mother at the young age of thirteen. Refusing to be defined by tragedy, she determined to develop a positive, grateful attitude and worked throughout her life to find the good in even the most difficult of circumstances. She grew up loving her three sisters and two brothers, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, the Beach Boys, and BYU sports.

When she was nineteen years old, she attended Ricks College and there met Dennis Brown, a tall, dashing farmboy who had just returned from a mission to Chile. Just a few months after they met, the two were married in the Salt Lake City temple on November 23, 1967. It was then that Laurie began her great work in life: being a wife and mother.

Laurie and Dennis had four children: Jason, Mark, David, and Daniel. Being a mother to four rambunctious, sometimes difficult boys was a challenge but Laurie loved her sons steadily and without question. She encouraged them in their interests, comforted them in their heartbreaks, and always provided a listening ear. The happiness of her husband and sons was her highest priority.

Membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints provided Laurie with many opportunities to serve others. She served in presidencies for the Relief Society, Sunday School, and the Young Women organization at both ward and stake levels. She helped organize Girls Camps, Wyoming Treks, and humanitarian projects. Besides the more public aspects of her service, Laurie also made a regular habit of small, private kindnesses. She often sent notes or offered small thoughtful gifts to people who were suffering, or stopped by just to visit. She took every opportunity to brighten someone else’s day, and rarely spent any time thinking of herself because she was too busy improving the lives and lifting the hearts of those around her.

Laurie retired after a career working at Ricks College and then BYU-Idaho. She loved the friends she made as she worked as the secretary for the Theater and Dance department and, later, the secretary for the Division of Performing and Fine Arts.

Despite being diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in her late thirties, Laurie didn’t let her physical impairments stop her from living a full life. She considered her full-time job to be being Grandma. Spending time with her grandchildren was one of the greatest joys of her life and she loved talking and playing with each one. She made sure that they knew how special and loved they were and, in turn, she was loved deeply by each of them.

When Laurie was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2008, she didn’t think she had a lot of time left. She worked hard to stay active, engaged with her family and friends, and to serve faithfully in her calling. She lasted far longer than anyone anticipated and never lost her sense of dignity. Even in the last days of her life, she never failed to say “thank you” to those who helped her. Laurie set the highest standard of faith, kindness, and perseverance. She was a woman of uncommon goodness and her family and friends will miss her.

Where I Am

In Idaho. Rigby, to be exact. Earlier this week, the oncologist said that it's likely my mom is in her last few weeks of life. He doesn't know for sure, of course, but she's exhibiting the symptoms of someone who is nearing the end. So I've come to see her while I can.

Since I heard the news, my stomach has been sour and in knots. I haven't been able to sleep and the idea of food is mostly repellent. It just seems like a lot - to lose two parents within a matter of months. It feels like more than I can bear.

It's hard to be here and to see how Mom has declined just in the three months since Dad's funeral. It's painful to watch her be unable to move, unable to feed herself, etc. She sees people and places that aren't really there. She doesn't always remember who everybody is. I wish I could find peace with this and recognize it as an opportunity to say goodbye but instead I just feel sick and confused.

Mom recognizes us (my brother Jason and his family are down from Moscow also) and she seems glad we're here. That's a blessing. I got to sit with her and scratch her back and hold her hand last night after I arrived and that was a sweet experience. It's good to be with my brothers who are loving and good. So it's not all bad - but it does feel pretty overwhelming at the moment.

So if you think to yourself, "Well, what can I do for you and your family, Mark?" I would reply, "Pray for us." We need all the divine help we can get at this point and so your prayers in our behalf would be greatly appreciated.