A letter to a friend

I wrote this letter from my heart to a friend, then realized it belongs on this blog.  It's a letter to you, too.

Dear Friend,

I’ve been thinking of you for a few weeks.  My heart aches for you and the pain that you are obviously feeling. On one hand, our trials have been very similar, and I truly know the despair and hopelessness you feel. Along with that, I also know that there is nothing I can do fix your trials. It would be nice, but some things, nobody can fix. They are the trials you have to endure and come out the other side of. Something I learned early on is that talking with someone who really understands what you are going through means mountains more than talking with someone who simply feels bad for you. I hope this letter is going to help you feel that too. I don’t know all of the issues your family faces, and I don’t have all the same emotions you feel, but I hope we share enough.


I did the whole Crohn’s thing, and I would say that was difficult for me. I had only been married for 6 months and the recovery from the j-pouch surgery was at least a year. I had two blood transfusions in that year and lost 70 pounds. It was hard. At times I thought “If this is how my life is going to be, then I don’t want it.” Now looking back, it was nothing. I have learned that physical trials are not nearly as hard as emotional and spiritual trials. Even looking back on Greg’s physical trials, and all that he’s endured doesn’t compare to the others. We have been married for a little over 13 years. In that time, Greg’s endured 31 foot surgeries, including his two below the knee amputations, gastric bypass, and the removal of a brain tumor that was hemorrhaging. He’s had 8 picc lines, and we’ve had countless home health nurses, wheelchairs, hospital beds, prosthetics, etc. There were times I sat by his bedside in the hospital and begged for the pain in his body to stop. I have yelled at nurses and demanded different specialist in ICU’s. Greg’s been through a lot physically, and I wonder how his body has been capable of it all.

Medical trials aren’t cut and dry physical either. There is a fierce financial burden that goes along with it. There have been years that others have helped us with Christmas, we’ve had food orders from the Bishop’s Storehouse. We’ve sold two houses within days of foreclosure. It’s heartbreaking not to be able to give your children what they want. Once, a long time ago, I had it all. A husband with a Master’s Degree and a good job, a home we built, we were active in church, I was a stay at home mom with two little children. I was Compassionate Service Leader and we went to play group and lunch dates. Then it was all taken away. I have worked to support my family for >7 years. I’ve missed countless moments with my kids. They’ve often called me at work, crying for me. Motherhood is my biggest joy and my passion, and to sacrifice my children to work outside the home has been devastating.

By far, the most challenging thing to have happen to my family is addiction. Greg became addicted to prescription meds somewhere along the way. The pain, turmoil, and despair of addiction is overwhelmingly the worst. It has nearly destroyed our family. I remember the first time Greg told me he though he may have a problem with drugs. I was a few weeks away from delivering Jack. I was so naive then, I thought we could detox him and everything would be better. I had no knowledge or understanding of the disease. I was ashamed of the stigma attached to the word. I was afraid that if everyone knew Greg was an addict, all they would see would be that, and not the man he was. We’ve fought this addiction for 10 years, and we haven’t won yet. In fact, Greg lived most of 2012 away from home. I’ve been a single working mom for most of the year, praying to know when to file for divorce and attending therapy with my kids. It’s been heartbreaking and the nights that I have sobbed my way through bitter prayers, begging for help, have been countless. For years I have felt abandoned, picked on, and my faith has been shaken. Where was my loving Heavenly Father who promised to help me if I would just ask? I stopped attending church, the temple, and paying my tithing. I was so bitter that the “right answer” was never shown to me. If I knew what I was supposed to do, no matter how hard it was, I would do it! Greg’s been through numerous rehab facilities, and we’ve done our time in NA meetings. We’ve been to lots of therapy.  A few years ago I started another blog. It’s referred to as “the secret blog.” It is viewed daily by people I don’t know in a variety of countries. It’s testimony of how widespread addiction is. It secret because I don’t want everyone who knows us to stumble across it.  I write freely there, and I don’t want it to become a place where those who know me but don’t understand me are able to judge. I have struggled with my relationship with a lot of people. I usually don’t answer my phone or my door. I mostly don’t care who it is and don’t want to deal with what they want.

I do have close friends who love and accept our trials. And my family continuously sticks around for the next round. In fact, a little over 2 years ago, my mom called and asked if I wanted to move to Ogden and take her place at the family business so she could retire. They helped us purchase a home and I work with Jesse every day. It’s been a huge blessing. I was working graveyards at the hospital before and I am now 100 yards away from home. My kids can walk over anytime they want. While our financial situation has improved greatly, and our medical problems are not so overwhelming (mostly because Greg doesn’t have legs!) and we are active again in the church, our life is not a fairy tale. I still wonder if I should give up on the man I married ever returning, and divorce. I still have a plan in place in case my husband doesn’t wake up one morning. My kids struggle with insecurities, and we are all still in therapy.

Mostly what I want to convey to you, is that you aren’t alone. It may seem like the families around you walk on rose petal covered paths- with working, healthy husbands, and their most difficult trials are who to hire to do the landscaping. It’s easy to feel picked on, and I have my share of “picked on days.” I want you to know that these trials won’t last forever. Sooner or later things will get better. Some of the stress will be lifted from your shoulders and when the fog of despair eases, you will see that you were never really left alone. The blessing around you will be easier to see and you will realize that there truly is peace and joy to be found, even in the darkest places. Hope is everything, and even though it sounds cliché, it always floats to the top. Hold on to it, and know that there are countless others, desperately clinging to our hope as well. While I still struggle with a few gospel principles, I know that the peace I crave will only come from faith in my Heavenly Father. There is a bigger plan for us. I trust in His purposes and in His reasoning. I know that it is possible to make my home a refuge from the world for my children, even with an addict residing there. I have faith in the healing power of repentance and I have hope that my husband will one day be freed from the bondage of addiction. This life isn’t fair, and usually people don’t get what they deserve. But I know that this life is but a small moment and my understanding of my trials will someday be complete. I have learned that when I can’t see anything but the sorrow of my own life, the best thing to do is to look up and serve others. When people talk about hard years and heavy trials, they always focus on the blessing at the end. Unfortunately, I still don’t see the end. You and I are still in “the middle place.” We are stuck in the trenches of the fight and susceptible to the dreariness and pain. I have hope that the middle place won’t last forever. That one day will be grateful for the time we’ve spent here, knowing that it was the only to become the women we are destined to become. Life isn’t how I planned it, but my life is part of a plan. Yours is too.

I love you.