Happy Day, All Is Well.

Today marks the two year anniversary of my lovely Grandpa Gary returning to our Father in Heaven. I remember the ending of his life like it was yesterday; those far-too-short two months when we began to realize his journey here on Earth was almost through.

I remember the call we got, leaving Mexico after Christmas, informing my unsuspecting family that he was diagnosed with cancer. They didn't know where it came from, how long it had been fighting his body, or how they were going to help it; they just knew he had it, that they would try to fix it, and that we should trust everything would be okay.

This time was extremely difficult. Some days I wondered how we were still moving, still trudging on. Our best friend was leaving us, which would never be okay. Yes, those two months were some of the most difficult in my life; but when I look back, I don't think of the chemotherapy sessions, nauseousness, pain medications, constant negative information, or clumps of hair in his hand. No. I think of the man at the top of this page; the one soaking up the sun in a little town in France, the one who never gave up, the man who loved people and loved life.

My Grandpa Gary was an amazing man; a man with a quiet disposition and a pure heart. He loved Santa Cruz, and I can still recall vividly him lying on the beach for hours despite the cold wind and his attire. I think back to our times on the Santa Cruz roller coaster, slipping down the highest water slides in Idaho, the millions of RMP notepads he let me stash in my desk because I was going to become a businesswoman. He played water soccer with the grandkids in the backyard pool, grilled hamburgers in--and only in--his Hawaiian button-up, and yelled at the TV when the referees made a bad call. He was true to his faith, at all times, in all things, and in all places. No matter what. He would never, ever deny what he knew. He stood as firm as a rock. He fought with everything he had; until he closed his eyes and took his final breath, he never ceased his fight. Cancer may have taken him away from us, but oh, did he beat cancer.

I hate cancer with all my heart, but it can't erase those last two, sweet months. It can't erase the time he put his arm around me and told me I was perfect, it can't make me forget holding his hand and his silent, gripping promise that he would be at my wedding no matter what, it can't take away the sweet, precious moments I had with my wonderful and loving grandfather. Cancer took his life, cancer couldn't take away his spirit.

Today is not a bitter day. It's a day that once again proves to me that God is real, and that he is loving. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will be with my sweet Grandpa Gary again. I know he's up there, I know he loves us, and I know our family is eternal. He will be at my wedding because he promised he would be. I feel him with us, I feel him with me. I think of the hand squeezing, the silly, low-voiced "I love Brittani, she's a nice little girl" and know that my Grandpa is up there, and that he'll hug me when my time is finished, too.

"And should we die, before our journey's through, happy day, all is well."

The Truth.

The world is interesting. It tells you to do this and it tells you to do that and it says to you that the only way to happiness is having the perfectly parted, curled hair and the perfect lips for lipstick.  You have to be the one classily holding that drink filled with that alcohol at that special party to be happy, recognized, somebody. You have to have a boyfriend that does the same. You have to be wild. You can't care about your future, or your dreams, or reality. You have to fit in and be the exact same as the perfectly parted, curled, mixed drink holding, insecure girl next to you.

It looks fun. They look happy. When she's kissing that boy on the couch - even if they won't remember it in the morning - it looks like they have the life. The carefree life. The life that makes you happy. Sometimes we taste that life, and you know what? It's not how it looks. It's bitter, and empty, and lonely. It hurts you and changes you; it makes you hate yourself and it makes you hate your life.

I understand that it's blunt, but that's how life is: blunt. If you do this, you get that. If you do that, you get this. It's how it goes. Life develops from our actions. No matter how much fun that girl looks like she's having, she'll wake up in the morning with that drunkenly "perfect" boy with emptiness in her heart and a headache. You do this, you get that. It's how it goes.

Here's the happy part; the good part of the truth. It swings the other way, too. There is good, and happy, and wonderful in the world. A lot of it. I see it every day. They don't show true happiness in the commercials or the Cosmopolitan on the coffee table, but it's there. It's everywhere. True happiness is being with someone that makes you happy, confident, and makes you a better person. Eternal happiness is striving each day to make a difference in somebody's life, to make the world a little bit easier to bear for someone else, to lift someone's spirits and make them feel important, even if they are down and lonely and afraid.

From August to December of twenty-twelve I was completely, totally unhappy. I know why, too. I wasn't putting myself in good places, I wasn't putting myself in situations that would lead me to my goals and dreams in life. I was literally making it impossible for myself to be happy. Sunday, sitting cross-legged on her bed, my momma told me my light had come back. I am so far from perfect, it's not even funny. But I'm trying. Each and every day I am trying my hardest to be the best person I can be. I'm striving to put myself in good places, places where I can be who I want to be and places where I can live along with my beliefs. And you know what? I'm happy. As I sit here writing this post, I am completely happy. I am confident that good decisions and good surroundings will make you truly, eternally, incandescently happy. You just have to step away from the crowd and remember, always, always remember, who you are and what you stand for.

So here's the moral of this oh-so-long-and-a-little-bit-harsh post:
a) Remember your goals, and put yourself on the road to get there. No exceptions.
b) Hang in holy places, like papa says. You can only be good if you are surrounded by good.
c) It's never too late. No matter how far behind you think you are, no matter how bad you've been, there's still time to be the best person you can be! The world hasn't ended yet, now has it?
d) Love. As cliche sounding as that is, it helps everything. Love people, love everyone. Don't be afraid to help others and give them all the love you have inside you. Serve them, change them. The more you involve yourself in the service of your brothers and sisters, the less you dwell on yourself. The less you dwell on yourself, the happier you become.
e) Trust God. Really. And know that he loves you perfectly. He has plans for everyone. He wants to bless you. He wants to forgive you. He wants you happy.

I think this post was mostly for myself, but hey, I might have some pretty good advice in there. Lolz. Just kidding, I didn't just say that.

Closing thought:
We're worth it.

Sixteen.

My Nathan turned sixteen years old this week. I remember when I would climb up his closet shelves to get him diapers when he was a baby, when we would play in our treehouse in the backyard. We would walk outside on summer mornings with snow boots and shorts on so we could be explorers, or bug collectors, or professional rollerbladers/scooterists. We left sliced tomatoes outside so we could catch the leprechauns, we studied and wrote essays about endangered animals (my little animal-lover), and every other week, we were spies on a secret mission. We would read in each other's beds at night and drive my barbie jeep in the front driveway.  We've been through everything and every phase of life together: our pogo-stick phase, our throw-your-tennis-ball-at-the-house phase, our go-to-the-bathroom-in-the-neighbor's-yard phase (yikes), our hipster music phase, our motorcycling phase, and every little phase in between. As far back as I can remember, this boy right here has been my best friend.

As I spied out the front window while he opened the car door for his first date, I realized how quickly time is moving. My little white-haired boy sitting in the boat with his six chins resting on his life jacket has turned into my handsome six feet, six inch man; a man that I look up to and admire more than he could ever know. His attitude of service, his kindness, his tenderness, and his loving heart have always been such an amazing example to me. I look at him and realize that no girl on this earth will ever deserve him. He is amazing in every single way. He loves life, and everyone loves my Nathan.

Na-bo, you're my best friend in the whole entire world. I wish you could see how absolutely incredible you are. You amaze me, every single day you amaze me. Thank you for always loving me, even when I'm not very lovable, and for being the best brother I could ever wish for. I'm so, so thankful you chose to come to our family.

Happy sixteen years, handsome.
I love you to infinity and beyond.