I'd Give it All For You

I'm a very blessed and fortunate man, in too many ways to recount here. As I think about the activities of this past week, this is reaffirmed to me anew. Last night I was hosting The King's Singers, a six-member male a cappella ensemble from London, for their second sold-out performance at BYU. I brought them to Provo to perform on the performing arts series I produce for the university. Prior to the show, I had the unique and wonderful opportunity to visit with President and Sister Uchtdorf backstage while we were waiting for the singers to emerge from their dressing room. They had come to attend the performance and wanted to say hello to the singers before the performance began. As I was waiting backstage with the Uchtdorfs, we didn't talk about anything serious, just sort of "shot the breeze." I literally had several minutes of private one-on-one time with these two good people, which was really neat. President Uchtdorf is just as wonderful in person as you'd imagine him to be from watching him on TV. I had never met or seen his wife before, and she is really wonderful, too.

Later, I thought to myself: I'm a pretty lucky guy to be able to do the things I get to do. I am grateful for it every day.

So, I'm chatting with the Uchtdorfs, hosting The King's Singers, relaxing at the beach in Southern California, and living it up at Disneyland with my wife and kids--all within the last ten days. Sounds pretty great, right? It is, no doubt, great. But this morning as I reflected upon these things during a wonderful church service, I realized that I'd give it all up in a heartbeat to have my son, Jack, back in my arms. Not that those two things are directly linked, that giving up my worldly successes and joys will bring about Jack's return, but sometimes this is just the way you think when you're dealing with a major loss in your life. At least for me.

My thoughts have turned to one of my favorite songs by the composer Jason Robert Brown. It's called "I'd Give it All for You." It's about a man and a woman in a relationship who took time apart from each other only to realize how much the things they subsequently pursued in their lives couldn't compensate for the loss they felt from the absence of the person they loved. They end up giving all those new things up so that they can be together again. This rings true to me, too, now. My wife and I would really do anything to hear our sweet son running through our quiet house again. But we also trust in the Lord's plan for our family.

Willingness to give it all up is a new thing for me. Could I have said that Before? I'm not certain. But I have no doubt about it now, especially as I force myself to deal again with the trivial and mundane tasks that come with living everyday life. A lot of things just don't seem very important to me anymore. This is a lesson I've learned as I've dealt with Jack's passing. One of many such lessons.

Something else I've learned is that the waves of grief keep coming, and they are just as powerful now as they were seven weeks ago when this all began. They can be nearly overwhelming at times, in fact. To combat this, there are a lot of things we (my wife and I) do to create distractions from grief (such as going to Disneyland), but they really just allow us to pause from our heartbreak. They don't erase it. In fact, I can most certainly tell you that Stacy and I have quite literally shed tears all over the Disneyland Resort. (The nice thing is that it seems to hit Stacy and I at different moments, which is probably good for our kids and most definitely for the strangers around us.)

We decided last month, just after we lost Jack, to make a trip to Southern California a top priority. We had hoped to make such a trip early next year, after we'd finished paying off some bills. The twins would be at an age when they would have absolutely loved to go, especially Jack. But we hadn't yet made any concrete plans. So with Jack's passing, it became quite important to us. I'm not going to let opportunities pass me by to spend quality time with my family. You really never know when any given moment may be your last with someone you love.

So we went to Southern California. We did so for two reasons. First, and most obvious, was to have some family healing time. We all really needed it. And it was great for that purpose. Really wonderful. I had such a great time. We all did. My son, Tate, and I (Jack's twin) in particular formed a stronger bond during our trip. I really love him so much, and I feel like I know him even better now. But it was fun to get to know all my kids in a more personal way, to become friends and a dad both.

Balloons at Jack's funeral

The second reason we went to Disneyland was to honor Jack's memory, and to give him the experience of going there, too. Even though he wasn't with us, physically, he was with us in our hearts. Stacy took a small Elmo doll with her everywhere she went on our trip. This was a toy Jack sometimes used to sleep with. So it sort of felt like we were carrying him with us wherever we went. We also wanted to release a balloon at Disneyland in Jack's honor, something we had done at the graveside service following the funeral. Everyone in attendance wrote a message on a balloon for Jack and then we all released them into the sky. 75 balloons with special messages for Jack filled the air above us. It was really special.

I wanted to do that for Jack at Disneyland since he wasn't able to go with us in person. And so on our final day in the park I bought a balloon from a street vendor near It's a Small World, barely flinching at the price ($8!, which really says something about how I'm doing right now). We carried that balloon with us everywhere we went that day. It was a nice reminder of our son.

When the park closed at 8:00 p.m. we slowly made our way down Main Street to the large staircase at the bottom of the train station near the front entrance of the park. We stood there for a moment and said a few words to Jack, snapped a photo, and then my oldest son, Avery, released the balloon into the nighttime sky. We watched it rise up into the heavens for as long as we could see it. And then we left the park behind and walked back to our hotel. That was a difficult walk, but it felt good to have remembered him and honored him throughout our joyful moments during those three days.

Releasing that balloon was a tough moment, but it wasn't the hardest. The moment that really hit me the most had come the day before. We had just exited the Space Mountain ride and came upon several Disney characters greeting children just outside the Star Tours gift shop. Chip and Dale and Pluto were there, as were Mickey and Minnie Mouse. We hadn't taken time to stop to meet any of the characters on our trip, but we decided to do so on that occasion because the lines were, surprisingly, rather short (all of the lines at Disneyland had been much longer than we'd anticipated for a weekday in late February. "Why aren't you people at work! And your kids at school!" I'd think to myself, my truant kids in tow).

I took pictures with our camera of our three kids with Chip and Dale as well as with Pluto. But when it came to Mickey and Minnie we opted for a full family photo. We all crowded together and smiled for the camera. It was a really nice, yet bittersweet, moment. I was fully aware of the absence of one of us all the while. But I'm glad we did it.

I fell apart just after the photo was finished, however, when something really touched me quite deeply. We had all stepped away from Mickey and Minnie and began to collect our belongings so the next people in line could get their photos taken, too. I casually turned back to see if Tate was behind me. When I did so, I saw Minnie embracing my little boy in a big hug, her oversize hands secured around his back. He was hugging her, too, which I found unusual for him, as he's always been a bit shy. Nevertheless, he had wrapped his little five-year-old arms around Minnie's waist and legs. Tate then turned around and found Mickey there to greet him, too. They hugged tightly and shared a sweet moment together. I still see it very clearly in my mind, although I don't have it recorded by a camera. Mr. and Mrs. Mouse didn't know the story of our family trauma, yet it seemed like they knew somehow that we all needed that extra bit of love for Tate at that moment to get us all through the day. Even now as I type this, I have a hard time keeping back the tears. The two actors didn't know they were helping mom and dad by giving that extra bit of love to this boy who had just lost his twin brother. But when I saw them each hugging him, it really meant a lot to me. People really are watching out for us, even when they don't know it.

And this is just one more reason I feel so full of gratitude as we continue charting this journey through grief and hope and life.