A Family Story

October 3, 2020 by a close relative from Paige’s family.

Today we held a memorial service for my cousin Joy at the Mormon temple in Rancho Cordova just outside Sacramento, California.

I wanted to go with someone from my family or even my spiritual non-Mormon friend Jeanne, but that wasn’t to be. I went alone.

I am seventy-seven years old so I didn’t really want to go by myself. So many things can happen especially during COVID-19 — every conservative’s nightmare. With sheltering in place, it’s difficult to predict what will happen on the road.

Did I mention I blame the democrats for this? I suspect it is just another way to keep Donald Trump from being re-elected. And Trump is going along with it because he has OCD. He doesn’t realize the danger he is in. He’s a bit trusting and naive and unsuspecting. I laugh when I think how the democrats demonize him by saying he lies. He the most honest person I know. He can’t help but tell the truth. A little like a babe in arms. You’ll never hear that on CNN!

We conservatives know the overreaction to the virus a ruse and my cousin Joy knew it, too. The death numbers have been well below 1%, something like the normal flu.  Joy would have liked to vote for Donald Trump again on November 3, but she just couldn’t hold out any longer. She had been battling cancer for five years and needed to move on.

Bless her.

I knew before I got on the road, the trip could be problematic due to the virus. Or should I say due to everyone’s reaction to the virus. I had to carefully planned ahead. I couldn’t forget my mask. No one could go anywhere without a mask now, even since about March 15 of this year, when the country was brought to its knees by an invisible enemy.

In preparation for my outing, yesterday I drove to the local Denny’s in Redwood City and asked a waitress a question. “Are we able to use the restroom?” She assured me, “Yes.” This was important because during COVID-19 many restrooms are closed. It would be a 3-hour drive to the temple and I wanted to be able to use the restroom about halfway there, if need be.

In addition, as a test , this morning, on the way, I stopped at my favorite service station in Belmont and went into the little market there. Sure enough, there was an “out of order” sign on the restroom. Suspicions confirmed. It may be a difficult trip to Sacramento.

Just in case, I had brought a bucket. My mother had always done that. She was born in 1904 in Utah and they used a chamber pot during cold nights so they wouldn’t have to walk to the outhouse through the snow. A bucket is a poor man’s substitute for the chamber pot.

I laughed to myself. I hoped I wouldn’t need a bucket, but I took it along just in case. As it turned out, I almost needed it.

The midway mark on Highway 80 is at Appian Way near Pinole. I usually stop there and have a break and use the restroom. But Starbucks wouldn’t allow me to use the restroom and some things weren’t even open yet. It was still 8:30 in the morning. I was out of luck.

I used GPS to find the nearest Denny’s. Luckily, there was one just 3 miles back off San Pablo Dam Road. Denny’s was a lifesaver. They allowed me in no problem, although they said I needed a mask. I used the restroom and bought something to eat to ease my conscience. I was able to sit at a table and eat without a mask. People were allowed to sit at every other table. I left a good tip I was so glad Denny’s had a restroom.

As I left, I saw a man smoking crack. I had never witnessed that before. It made me sad. He was a black man. This was Richmond. I knew Richmond had a problem like that, but it made me sad anyway. He was a young man and could have been working, although many people were not working nowadays due to the virus. Then I hoped he didn’t want to interact with me in any way. I was alone in the parking lot. But he ignored me.

After Denny’s I continued on my way east on Highway 80. The air worsened and I rolled up my windows and put the air conditioner on low. I prefer fresh air but the air was not fresh in the valley today. The sun was obscured by a smoky haze that turned the fiery orb into a perfect red disk. It looked more like the moon than the sun. Maybe a moon on another planet.

We have been forced to live with wildfires for a couple of months now. Many conservatives believe this is due to mismanagement of the forests, which began in Bill Clinton’s era with the passing of new laws. I remember when Governor Jerry Brown was leaving office and Gavin Newsom was taking over the governorship, President Trump met with those two men at the Camp Fire at Paradise and he commented then that the wildfires could be stopped with proper management of the forests. But of course, the liberals don’t believe that.

So, I had to use my mask while driving today just because it helped filter the air. That’s a better use of a mask than to prevent contracting a virus. So be it. I am looking forward to new management in California. It may come sooner than we think because Trump’s influence is even helping us in California. Fingers crossed.

My next stop was the temple itself. After all my worrying about getting there, I was exactly on time, 11 AM. The service would end at 1. Perfect.

We were not allowed into the temple itself. This was an outdoor service on the lawn. It was a huge, beautiful green lawn. My relatives had tables set up with programs and packages containing live butterflies. Our area was next to a nice bathroom, by the way.   :  )

My family is huge and most of us live in the Sacramento area. Years and years ago, we rented a hall to hold us and that was about 100 people. Some have died, naturally, but now just one branch of the family – Joy’s immediate family – was huge. I estimated sixty or seventy people were in attendance today.

It was a casual affair. Blankets were on the ground. Chairs were set out. Babies and even a dog were in the mix. We were advised not to wear black so there were many colors. The day was warm, about 75 degrees. People wore Hawaiian prints, sandals, sun dresses. Bubble machines sent bubbles into the air throughout the service. I was near one of the machines and dodged several bubbles. A young boy behind me watched, apparently mesmerized by them. And I was mesmerized by him.

It was a very Mormon service, this memorial. It opened with prayer. There was a hymn and several speakers. A young man played the violin. Joy had always played the violin and I believe that may have been one of her pupils. At the singing of Amazing Grace, the butterflies were released. I watched one land on Joy’s daughter’s husband’s shirt for several minutes. After the closing prayer, people talked and ate a little. It was very nice.

About that time, I noticed a large group of wild turkeys. They walked across the huge lawn towards us. Kent commented they looked exceptionally large and healthy. “Probably the clean living the Mormons practice,” he said.

The turkeys walked past our group and joined a group of Canadian geese further on.

I usually cry a lot at funerals, but, although I had tissues with me, I didn’t shed a tear. I think that’s the way Joy wanted it. That’s why she didn’t want black.

People grow up and change so quickly that, since I had been living in Redwood City for a while, I wasn’t sure who all most of these people were. I recognized Joy’s husband and her son and daughters.

I was pleasantly surprised to see my cousin Jackie who I grew up with and her husband Tom. My son Kent and his wife Cathy were there.

I also wondered if I was about the oldest person at the affair. Maybe. There were maybe 3 or 4 contenders for that dubious honor.

I left just at 1 and headed for home.

On the way back, I thought about something that had happened when my mother had died back in 1998. I owned the ranch then and I was cleaning the stable apartment. I was alone on the 42 acres. Mom had died a couple months earlier.

My mother’s chair was in that apartment in the living room. I had moved her things after the flood, which is a whole other story.

I wanted to vacuum under her chair. It was one of those recliners that lifts up electronically if you push a button. It went up but it wouldn’t go back down. It was as if my mother was standing there. I tried to ignore her and continued to vacuum. Then a copy of her memorial program fell from the bookcase and landed between shelves just at eye level before me.

“Ok,” I thought. “That’s weird.”

Another coincidence occurred. I had been trying to find an electrician who would help me after the flood. So many things had to be replaced and repaired. Electrical was one of them. But I had been unable to find an electrician who would take on the project, saying they could lose their license or something. I had been wondering what I should do. While I was still cleaning the stable apartment, wondering what I should do about the electrical, the landline in the stable apartment rang. It was my son Michael. He said something had told him I needed help at the ranch house. He said he had just flown in from out of state and he had time to help me. His father had taught him how to rewire a house so, although he wasn’t an electrician, he was just as knowledgeable as one.

So, after the phone call I said, “Ok, Mom, you sent Michael to help me. Thank you.”

But when I told this story to my spiritual friend Jeanne, just last week, she said I was wrong. Now, I listen to her in matters like this because she is one who prays all the time and has a remarkably close relationship with God. She is not a Mormon. Her faith is closer to Pentecostal. But we are all Christians, believe in the Bible and Jesus Christ and all that, so the similarities are more than our differences. So, I listen carefully to my friend Jeanne.

But Jeanne clearly disagreed with what I was saying. She said my mother was not sending messages. My mother was not trying to get my attention and she hadn’t sent Michael to help me. She was in Heaven with God and there was no crossover between the two worlds. That surprised me because I had always experienced the opposite.

When I got home, I got a text from my son Kent that Kevin, Joy’s husband, said that he’d had people communicating concerning Joy “across the veil.” Seven messages had been sent to him so far.

That jived with what I knew. I used to love the stories about spiritual matters that the Mormon missionaries would tell about strange things that had happened when they were on a mission in a foreign land. Those stories are fascinating.

When my grandfather on my mother’s side was close to death, he freaked my mother out my sitting straight up and talking to dead people as if he could see them in the room. He called them by name.

So, when Jeanne said this was not possible, I wasn’t sure that to think.

After the drive back from Sacramento to Redwood City, I was tired and dozed off. I was awakened by a text from my son Michael.  He said I’d sent him a message that he couldn’t read. He said it was just a dot or a button but when he pushed it, nothing happened. I said, “I didn’t send you a message.”

He said that was weird.

I said maybe it was a message from Joy. I was not serious but kind of having fun with him.

Michael said, “It just shows up as a download button.”

There are many things we don’t understand. Maybe someday, we will each of us experience something from the other side and then we’ll know.

Life is full of mystery.

It’s just a month before Joy could’ve cast another vote for Donald Trump. She was a staunch Trump supporter. She was deeply involved with campaigns to get the word out to people in the Sacramento area. She had been hoping to meet Donald Trump someday.

Good-bye, Joy, to a favorite cousin. I’ll miss you. We all had a nice time at your service today.

Don’t worry, I’ll vote for Donald and pray the democrats don’t steal the election.