A letter to my Mom and Dad that they can't read

Sunday, 28 June 2015

Dear Dad and Mom,

I'm sorry that I didn't hug you more, hold you more, and weep with you more when you lost your own parents. I'm sorry that I didn't realize that just because you were a grown up, and my rock and security, that you were vulnerable and sorrowful. I'm sorry that I made you be strong for me as well as for you, because now I understand for the first time that you weren't indifferent or emotionless about it. They were your parents. You loved them. You miss them still. I would like to go back in time and squeeze you just a little harder, and acknowledge the difficulty of that transition for you because I don't remember saying anything at all, let alone anything appropriate to you at the time.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry to see you losing your vitality. You've always been a support to me, and it is hard to have that strength ebb. I'm sorry to see Dad so weakened that he can't get out of bed, can't eat solid food. Can't keep the thread or finish a sentence. I'm sorry that conversations with Mom are just a loop of shallow thoughts, repeated over and over again in the span of a minute or two. I'm sorry that you can't take care of yourselves or each other, and so grateful for my siblings that still live close enough that they can help you in the way that you once helped all of us.

I'm sorry that I cried at the end of my mission, because I wanted to stay in Japan more than I wanted to come home. That's not exactly how it was; the emotions were overwhelming, you see. Japan had become my new home, and the missionaries and the Japanese people members of a new, extended family. I was so attached, so in love, that I couldn't wrap my mind around an end to that part of my life; but of course I wanted to come home, to see family, to be with you again. It had been more than a year! Of course I was excited to see you again—and Mom, I never meant to make you feel otherwise.

I'm sorry for the heartache I caused you when I was a teenager. I understand all too well now how you must have hurt when I hurt, cried when I cried, ached when I was mean or disrespectful to you, and rejoiced when I succeeded. I recognize now all that you set aside for me, all that you sacrificed, all the times that you did that I wanted to do that was in no way fun or fulfilling for you. I recognize how many times Mom got out of her bed in the middle of the night to come and rescue a huge carload of my friends from one of our adventures. I recognize how you always kept me safe without being overbearing.

I'm sorry that you won't be able to see my children grow up and marry, or see me become a grandmother. I know you want that experience for me, as I want it for my own children. I'm sorry that Dad won't be at any of their weddings, because I always imagined he'd keep powering on pretty much forever, even if it was only in a slow shuffle.

I miss the places we always visited, even though I know they'd be so different if I went without you. Dad, Lake Powell is truly like a second home to me, even though I haven't been there for 20 years. It was such a part of my life, and you were such a part of Lake Powell—long hikes, swim breaks, the perfect beach to camp on for the night, teaching me how to ski and then towing me everywhere, anytime. Putting up with my whims when all I wanted to do was get tan and not to actually see the sites or do the fun things. I wish so much I could pass that on to my own children, share it with them as you shared it with me. I sorrow that they will never know our special place, and never know you in it.

I am glad for the gentle, constant presence Mom always was at home, and grateful to have been able to see her mothering and her love extend to my married brothers and sisters and their children. She became a grandmother when she was younger than I am now, and she killed it. By the time my own children came along she was older, more worn out; and then she started forgetting. But I remember. I remember the love, and I remember that home didn't feel like home unless Mom was there. I remember my nieces and nephews were as sure of her love as they were of their own parents'.

And now, at the end, I find it very hard to part with you. I've seen you young, hale, and hearty; I've seen you gentling, and aging. I've seen you forgetful and waning. Is there ever a good time for a child to lose their parent, even if the child is grown and the parent has lived a long, full life? It has been difficult watching Mom's mind leave, piece by piece; just as difficult to watch Dad's body decline so quickly that we don't know if we have minutes or weeks. I don't know how much time I have left with my father, nor for how much longer my mother will remember me. But I love you both, for everything you are to me and everything you have made me. I love you both.

Love, Alyson

Hermana Emma Joy Lee

In less than 24 hours this lovely lady, who is still my beloved wee babe, will be entering the MTC.

I adore her. I am so proud of her.

I loved every moment of my mission to Sendai, Japan. I felt joy, I felt adventure, I grew. I wish her all the same.

I cannot wait to see the woman she becomes.

Because when my children achieve things, it feels like I achieve things.

(1) Emma had a fantastic three weeks in London. She had some hiccups and small disappointments in the portion of the trip that she planned herself, but in all it was a terrific success and she saw and did a whole lot and she was ready to come home when it was over which I think is a good sign. And then, when she got home, she opened her mission call, which had been sitting here waiting for her for two weeks.

She's going to the California Santa Rosa mission. Her proselyting language will be Spanish, which she will learn in the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Mexico City. She leaves August 20, and I am so excited for her. This is going to be an amazing experience, and is probably just about perfectly suited to make her grow in just the right ways for what she wants to do when she gets back.

The world is such a different place than it was when I served my mission. There are mission pages on Facebook and she is already "meeting" other people called to the same mission, or going to the Mexico MTC at the same time. So cool. And the coolest part about the Santa Rosa mission:

"The California Santa Rosa Mission is the first mission in the world to have gone “global” to the four corners of the earth. Missionaries use mini iPads, internet access and skype to teach friends from far and wide. The internet and facebook are used to contact and teach investigators, strengthen relationships with members and contact less-active members."

I had heard about so-called Facebook missions, where a few missionaries in a mission might have iPads and be on the internet an hour or so a day to connect with people and to teach, but how exciting that it is every person in her mission! This, too, is perfectly suited to her talents and abilities. And it will make it so easy for us to communicate with her on preparation day (aka P-day, the day when missionaries are allowed to write home)!

So even though it is Emma's mission, it's really pretty exciting news for the whole family.

(2) Christian graduated from high school. Graduation at Wasatch Academy is pretty great. The student body is small (graduating class of 103) so they actually take the time for the headmaster to read a tribute to each and every graduate, written by their advisor. The advisor walks across the platform with them, stands next to them, and hands them the diploma. Friday evening, the night before graduation, was the final performing arts showcase. Christian and Libby both performed. (Libby ended up winning a cash prize for choreography. I think Christian should have won for his piano piece *objectivity is not my strong suit*, but another pianist won.) He'll be attending Southern Utah University in Cedar City in the fall, and I can't wait to see what he decides to do once he's there!

(3) Oh hey and I forgot to mention, Jackson was officially accepted at Wasatch Academy for next school year. I'll be down to three homeschool students next year. But I'm so excited for him!

Because you're all cats and I'm trying to keep the curiosity at non-lethal levels:

Exciting things happening at Casa Lee (aka News)

B lost his job nearly two months ago now. (If you want to add us into your prayer list!) Though he has been training at The Green PolkaDot Box for two weeks now, and that has the possibility of turning into full-time job. You'll just have to check back later and see!

Emma has purchased her plane tickets for London, and has found a small group of people she barely knows to stay afterward several days with and see more sights around the UK. I am out of my mind excited for her. She is amazing to do all this on her own!

Christian is awesome, but I literally can't think of anything new to tell you. He's precious. Is that news?

Libby stayed up so late all weekend, actively avoided doing homework, and started out her Monday exhausted and stressed with everything she has piling up this week. She does that sometimes, but I do adore her.

Jackson is like the Pied Piper for the younguns in the neighborhood. We actually had this adorable 7YO girl whose family just moved in a few months ago come to the door and ask if he could play yesterday. When she saw him she threw her arms around him and hugged him. That's Jackson. He's a jewel. WHAT WILL I DO WITHOUT HIM NEXT YEAR.

Ethan turned 12 in February and so moved from the kids organization to the Young Mens at church. He is adorable, how much he thinks he's a grown up now. And it's true, all of a sudden he is growth spurting for sure. He has grown out of 85% of the clothes in his drawers. For most of their lives Jackson and Ethan were nearly the same height, despite the 2-year difference in age. But two or so years ago Jackson turned up the gas and all of a sudden, almost overnight, he was a whole head taller. And he just kept growing. Well now Ethan's turned up the gas. He's doing his best to catch up to Jackson.

And Kyrie! I bought her some totally cute clothes for her bday in December, and they fit her great. Now, four months later, they look at least two sizes too small. I wish I could go get her some more. Fingers crossed B's training turns into salaried position soon.

Macklin got to participate in his first derby as a cub scout. Pinewood (car) derbies are always fun, but this was a space derby. He did not win. But he had a great time anyway, and that's what's important.

Whoops did I even comb his hair before going to the derby? Yikes. Good thing he's still adorable.

My big news (I guess?) is that I bought some dry ice and self-froze my warts. I Instagrammed one photo of a resulting blister:

I'm excited for the whole healing process to occur at whatever speed it does, so that when I finally peel away the dried up/withered top skin I can see if baby warts dwell beneath, or if I GOT THEM ALL.

Boring you to tears with inane details of my real life. That's my motto.

A lesson I learned years ago that continues to apply today

I should always represent myself in the best light.

Once upon a time we were refinancing our home. We've done it quite a few times since then too. But the appraiser who came through said a few things that stuck in my craw, about renovations we'd done not being up to snuff. It's a case of pride for me, and pride goeth before the fall. I emailed the loan officer about the appraisal, and (I'm sad to say) I kind of turned up the snark about a few of the appraiser's comments. I thought, this loan officer and I are getting along well, she knows me, she knows my attitude and will think this is funny. But of course, what I had with the loan officer wasn't a friendship; it was a business relationship. She forwarded my email straight on to the appraiser just as it was. He responded back with easily 10x the snark, justifying his position and making it exceedingly clear I had no idea about the arcane terms and valuations appraisers use. Which is so true. He made me look like a fool, using my own words.

And I realized, if I had kindly, as my best self, asked how he had arrived at that valuation, he'd probably have responded as kindly. Because as it turned out, he thought our renovations were very good. Just, you know, the house is really old and doesn't score very high due to age, and when I make period-appropriate renovations they're not going to look like I did them yesterday.

I am often reminded of that moment, of the time my own snark was turned against me to make me look foolish. Only three people even saw the email, but I still felt about an inch tall, and I had done it to myself. It's a good reminder for me to always be as kind (smart/thoughtful/wise) as I can possibly be, at my best—because it is nice when that kindness (thoughtfulness/wisdom) is reflected back.