It Wasn’t Supposed to Happen This Way…
The following are remarks the author gave at the funeral of his young daughter.
To read more from Jacob, visit his blog: Publish Peace.
I married a remarkable woman. I’ve never met anyone with more faith than Monique. But her most hidden gift is her wicked sense of humor. As we tacked through a few more of the decisions to make before today, Monique said a few nights ago, “All this planning feels like a wedding – except you’re brain-dead and really don’t want to do it.”
Monique is often so strong. I’ve told friends over the years that if our family was forced to cross the plains like our ancestors did – and I happened to get sick, Monique would just toss me on the back of a handcart, and lead our kids to Utah – no problem.
She has seems more of a “pioneer woman” – resolute, unconquerable and tough.
Not this week, though…
Our boys have cycled in and out of their own tears for Emma this week – but more than a few have been for their mother. “I’ve never seen Mom like this” they keep whispering to me.
Yet in the very moment when my sweetheart and I have felt like we’re teetering on the edge of an abyss…here you come.
You, our dear friends and family.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way…
That’s what I told our Bishop Aaron as he held Monique and I on both of his shoulders sobbing in his arms at the hospital. Bishop, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
Of course, Monique and I aren’t the only ones here who have grappled with this same thought. In fact, there’s probably no one in this room who hasn’t said the same thing – “No, this is not how this is supposed to turn out….” with so many different hard situations you’ve faced in your own lives.
I want you to know, our dearest friends and family that I don’t know the meaning of all these things we have experienced as a family, but there are some important things I do know. And though it’s not typical for a parent to speak at their children’s funeral, I felt compelled like my father before me at my brother’s funeral to share some of what Monique and I have felt in recent days.
You’ll forgive my reading these remarks. I want to get this right – even with a mind that’s mush.
Last Thursday morning, our life veered quickly into nightmare territory when Monique rushed to the car holding our breathless daughter Emma who was still warm. I’d given her some water only 30 minutes before. As I drove towards the Painter’s, our wonderful EMT neighbors, Monique gave Emma a few of her own panicked breaths.
This wasn’t the first time Monique had done anything she could to pour her own life into this precious little girl. But as we were surrounded in a surreal swarm of emergency professionals, it began to dawn on us that we might be entering a new chapter.
We prayed and we cried and we prayed some more. The most vivid memory for me was feeling someone’s hand gently on my back – looking behind to see my friend and neighbor Matt stroking my back trying to console me.
Especially at times everything else seems in chaos, I’m amazed at the power of touch. We tease our boys sometimes that our family isn’t getting the 8 hugs per day supposedly everyone needs. Well, whatever deficit we may have had, this week we’ve been overdosing on hugs like junkies. We just can’t get enough.
Touch was one of the main ways we shared our love with Emma. One of my favorite moments was placing her head right under my chin – hand around her cheek, and just nuzzling her close.
Emma’s brain injury led her limbs to be crossed, her hands most often clenched, and her teeth sometimes grinding. From the beginning, caring professionals weren’t able to give us much hope about her life prospects – sending us home with only a few limited tools.
So, we did what parents do – scouring the globe for anything that could lead our Emma to a better life. After learning how much environmental variables can impact seizures, we tried to get rid of some mold discovered in the home and replace old carpet with cleaner materials. I’ll never forget so many of you converging on our home that bleak December to put the new floor down – with the Bangerters walking out the door in a mess at 11 one evening, pretending that they’d just been on a fun date.
Emma had super heroic hearing – and would react to any loud noise. So, we found a wonderful new home for our puppy, moved the piano downstairs and the boys agreed to never fight or get too loud and crazy.
Hold on now…scratch that last one from the public record. I must be misremembering…
The truth is, Emma was almost always the best behaved on any road trip.
We discovered that shutting off our WIFI at night made a noticeable improvement in Emma’s sleep – and ours too. (Try it one night!)
We learned that gentle physical adjustments could relieve some of her tension – and are grateful to Dr. Brandon Wilson for such tender care locally and the Doman Clinic in Philadelphia for providing so much guidance and hope.
We also learned that a strict keto diet could reduce seizures – so during the first two years of Emma’s life, Monique let go, as I put it, of “any food that is pleasurable” – only eating what would help her daughter. As Emma started eating solid foods, Monique spent hours preparing blended vegetable mixes of beets, carrots, cauliflower and so forth, alongside different kinds of protein, vitamins, oils and seeds to help her digestion.
The combination of all these life adjustments and professional supports reduced Emma’s seizures to virtually nothing, except when she became sick, when that inflamed immune system would escalate everything.
We were reminded of how much these little adjustments helped when Dad made mistakes like blending up all the fish cubes for her dinner – thinking they were squash – or let her suck on a peach once, and we saw her symptoms escalate. To my knowledge, that was the only sweet thing Emma ever enjoyed.
We used to talk as a family about a miracle that would allow Emma to see, talk, walk, and of course, finally be able to eat brownies and ice cream. Maybe that’s all finally come to pass – because certainly, whatever theological differences may exist among various believers, they can all agree that it wouldn’t be worthy of the name heaven, if they didn’t serve ice cream.
Even at her best, though, Emma was still a cute Raggedy Ann doll in our arms – unable to hold her head up or move much at all. And she could see only very little. In the New Testament miracles, you see children and adults unable to walk, speak, see, enduring palsy and painful tremors. Here, in this one small body, we witnessed Emma experiencing seemingly all of those afflictions at the same time.
I did see Emma smile once, but not since then. Her countenance was often bright and beautiful, but most always labored – a miniature prisoner in a kind of solitary confinement.
We all know what it’s like to hurt after doing something dumb in our life. But it’s a whole other thing to see perfect innocence suffering – a kind of sacred witness to something similar in ancient Gethsemane.
We suffered with her and cried with her – while trying to find ways to bring her a little sweetness. We tickled her arms and back, whispered to her constantly how much we loved her, and sometimes told her stories. I liked to sometimes sing Broadway to her, “I see your face, I feel your heartbeat, one look in those eyes, how wise they seem.”
When Emma was really upset, Monique would dance with her to help her calm down. Although my good wife was never fully convinced, I’m persuaded Emma had a secret thing for Adele – because her mighty voice seemed to calm her little heart down so well.
The times when Emma would drift off for a nap, or finally fall asleep were my personal favorite – I got in the habit of taking snapshots of her peaceful face sleeping – when she was in the most peace…you’ll see some of my favorites in a video that my wonderful brother Dan made. In those droopy-cute moments right before drifting off she had a kind of adorable sheep dog look with her wonderfully wild hair.
Kathy Thatcher – one of many dear neighbors who would hold Emma so Monique could have her hands free for an hour, called her a “sweet thing with the cutest mop of lovely hair.”
After a year, we learned of a specialty clinic in Philadelphia with a long history of working with brain injured children – and a track record of helping to stimulate development. For months, Monique spent hours a day working intensively with her, while juggling her other four, low-maintenance children. Hafen and his children built this awesome ramp that was part of the protocol to spur brain growth.
But after 6 months, we saw no discernible impact. We were exhausted. We had done everything we could do that we felt peaceful and right about.
At this point, a distinct impression came – stop. In sacred experiences both Monique and I had, the guidance that came was, in essence, “Let me handle this.”
So, we paused our search for yet another way to help her, while continuing everything we knew that had already helped her have an improved quality of life.
It’s easy for any of us – maybe especially those of us who are parents – to think, you know, as long as that OTHER person changes, heals, gets fixed, then I’ll be okay. And so, we ignore the exhaustion, pain, and frustration in our own souls. It turns out there was a lot of work to be done in our own hearts.
We had long assumed like so many parents that the #1 thing that mattered in the universe – and certainly to God – was getting rid of Emma’s struggle and improving her condition.
But it became clear that however much that mattered to all of us, there was something even more important to God. And while praying without ceasing for additional miracles and guidance for Emma, we began to notice something else…
Our marriage started growing. And our faith too.
Over the last years, Monique and I have never experienced more peace, more joy and more love than ever in our entire lives. That’s been the irony and paradox of this all.
Our children also grew and developed in wonderful ways – and I mean more than just in starting to make their 3-pointers.
All this may sound great – but what about prayers not answered?
This weekend, I read about innocent soul who was “exceeding sorrowful” and pleaded for escape – “Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me.”
It didn’t happen. Not for him. And not for so many of us – including you wonderful friends and family, fighting many of your own hard battles.
As this man’s own dearest family and friends stood before the cross, I’m pretty sure that same thought crossed their minds: “It wasn’t supposed to end this way.”
We’ve been learning as a family again about what a scary finality death can feel like – Micaela Hess told us “your arms are going to feel empty for a while.”
One of our favorite things was to nudge our fingers into one of her tightly clenched palms. “I’ll miss doing that and kissing her nose, Jacob,” Monique told me a few nights ago. “I wanted to hold her one last time” Sam said.
Me too, Sam. As my kind and wise neighbor Jim Morris said about his own daughter’s death years ago, this is the “hole we get to work around now.”
But here’s the thing. We don’t believe these holes will be permanent. And I don’t believe that will be the last time Monique kisses her button nose – and the last time you hold your sister, boys.
A few weeks back, I started singing to Emma a song from the Musical Annie that my angel Mother sent us all during some of her darkest days battling cancer – “the sun will come out tomorrow…bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun.”
“Just thinking about tomorrow, clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow….when you’re stuck with a day that’s grey and lonely, I just stick out my chin and grin and say.”
The sun….will come out…. tomorrow.
There’s a lot of sappy things we might tell ourselves on a day like today – just to get by. “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise” from Les Mis.
But brothers and sisters, please hear my heart. We really believe this. Great things lie ahead for all of us.
That doesn’t always feel enough to face the details of the day, of course. And that brings me back to all y’all – as they say in the South. In the very moment when my wife and I haven’t been able to feel anything – numb from trauma and exhaustion, I’ve marveled at what you’ve been for us.
When Jesus faced his own most agonizing moment, he knew others couldn’t take away the pain, but he told those who loved him most to do exactly what you’ve done for us: “Stay here and stay awake and keep watch with Me.”
We haven’t suffered alone. And each hug and note has seemed to lighten our load.
There’s a loneliness epidemic in America today. But not here. Not in Paradise – at least not in our neighborhood and family. We are surrounded by love – our cup runneth over.
Texts, emails, meals, flowers, and hug overdoses. Three of you have written songs for Emma. We’ve had a drive by lawn mowing, boxes of fruit taken and returned all cut up, and more emojis and tender notes than we can count. One of you even insisted on shining my shoes this morning.
I find myself wondering – what do others do when they have to grapple with grief like this, but without you?
The love, the sweetness, the kindness has been relentless and overwhelmingly beautiful – like a sunset that takes your breath away. We’ve been so in awe of it all, that I’ve been telling some of my friends the last few days:
THIS – all of you showing up today – cannot be merely the product of random, evolutionary forces that ended up generating kinship relationships that, across millennia, orient you to certain behavioral patterns like this for your own best interest – you know, so we can survive more than others.
There’s something far grander going on here. It is our witness, precious friends and family – both me and Monique – that there is something divine in all this. And that the sweetness and preciousness of relationships that we’ve felt with you, and with our dear Emma, are not meant to end.
Not. Ever.
Listen to this quote from someone that buried more than a few of his own children: “If I had no expectation of seeing my Father, Mother, Brothers, Sisters, and friends again, my heart would burst in a moment, and I should go down to my grave. The expectation of seeing my friends in the [glorious future] cheers my soul, and makes me bear up against the [difficulties] of life; it is like they’re taking a long journey, and on their return, we meet them with increased joy.”
Joseph Smith said that – a man we consider a true prophet, and who I know was a good man.
And here’s one thing that’s hit me this week: So much of grieving a death in our culture is premised on the idea that this departed loved one has gone to a place very far away….if they even “exist” at all.
After my 21-year old brother died, I would have the kindest classmates at the University of Illinois come up to me and say things like “I’m sure he’ll live on in your memory. You’ll always carry him in your heart.”
However wonderful and sweet these friends were, their words didn’t feel right.
Emma doesn’t simply live on in my memories – or in my heart. She lives on….in another glorious state.
I know many of you may believe, differently. And that’s okay. But when I said it just now, how did it feel to you? In my experience, the sure sign of something true is peace – and sometimes even a sweetness or joy. As Joseph added once, “truth tastes good.”
False ideas have the opposite sense – kind of like rotten food going down…you know, like “something’s off about this.”
Trust the peace, my dearest friends and family. And follow it. Follow the peace wherever it takes you.
I will tell you what the peace has been telling me this week. All is well. Emma, like my mother and brother – are not far off in some distant realm.
They are close. If that’s true, what are they doing? What has Emma’s experience been like?
If we were to believe our silly American culture, you arrive in heaven and it’s like, “here’s a harp – have fun playing it.”
Soon after my brother Sam passed away, I found this research study of some man who had gathered all the near- death experiences in existence to discover their patterns. And there were two things everything came back saying they experienced: (1) Profound joy and (2) Seeing people they knew and loved.
That’s quite a contrast to all the creepy movies about ghosts we see, right? But unlike those unsettling movies, once again these truths taste good to me.
And it gets even better than this – because we usually imagine heaven to be a place those angels are spending time in – cloistered off, in some undisclosed location, like some exclusive country club in a galaxy far, far away.
But if we are to take the words of prophets seriously, we have to rethink all of this.
1. Not far from us. Indulge me for a moment – and think about someone you have lost, who you love dearly. Now, pay attention to how you feel as I read the following:
● First, those who die are “not far from us and know and understand our thoughts and feelings and notions and are often pained” by what we’re going through. (Joseph Smith)
● Second, these departed loved ones “are as deeply interested in our welfare today, if not with greater capacity, with far more interest….than they were in the flesh.” (Joseph F. Smith)
● Third, “they are more interested in us than we are in ourselves, ten thousand times, but we do not know it.” (John Taylor)
How does that feel to you – like rotten food or a ripe peach? Have you ever felt that interest from one of your own departed loved ones?
2. Part of our lives. It gets better. These loved ones are also doing more than sitting around “thinking about us.” They also want to be a part of our lives – two more.
● “Angels are our associates; they are with us and round about us, and watch over us, and take care of us, and lead us, and guide us, and administer to our wants.” (Heber C. Kimball)
● “We do not walk alone in mortality because the Lord’s angels frequently visit our sphere of existence, spend time among us, and bless our lives in a variety of ways.” (Donald Parry)
And those angels, by the way, are almost always our family members – which is a teaching of our faith. [quote] “When messengers are sent to minister to the inhabitants of this earth, they are not strangers, but from the ranks of our [family and] friends.” (Joseph F. Smith)
If this is true, it changes everything. William, Sam, Joseph and Joshua – this means that Emma has not gone away to a very far place. She’s close and more aware of us than she ever was before.
She also has an ability to be a part of our lives that she never had before. Our friend David Gourley shared a few days ago his feeling that Emma would help our family “so much now that she can feel, sing, dance and rejoice over her father and mother and brothers.”
Is Emma still struggling with tension in her body and having a hard time seeing, boys?
My friend Geno said in a tender note that God had received Emma “with the most loving and comforting embrace” and that she can “finally experience peace throughout her entire being and existence.”
If this is all true, you can appreciate how, as Wendy Watson Nelson said, “those on the other side of the veil are very much alive, and not all that cheerful about being called ‘dead.’”
And so let’s say not just that “we loved Emma” – but in the present tense “we love her still today.”
Instead of “one day you will be part of our lives again,” we can rejoice today as if she had already joined us again.
By the way, that’s also what sacred scripture says about Jesus – “whosoever should believe that Christ should come, the same might receive remission of their sins (which means past mistakes no longer bother or trouble you) and rejoice with exceedingly great joy, even as though he had already come among them.”
What would it be like to live like that – as if he was already here. And Emma too.
All is well. All is well today, my dear family, neighbors and friends.
And tomorrow gets even better. Our secret poet neighbor Jocelyn Bangerter penned these beautiful lines, “Our beautiful blue eyed Emma girl, we look forward to the day when we will hold your smiling face. We will run and dance and laugh, we’ll talk the night away. Never again will we say goodbye.”
We have so much to look forward to! This is what I want to say to all my friends who are worried and uncertain about the future in America today.
God is over all. He’s got us. He really does.
Especially when we’re facing something that’s just too much – the stuff that it feels like can never get better – and never stop hurting.
Look around in this country. So many people are angry, so many are addicted, and fearful, and despairing.
But we don’t have to be. That’s why the Lord came. He knew this was going to be hard – and we were all going to struggle and anguish and even fall on our faces.
He knew it. It’s why he came – and it’s why he’s going to come again.
Monique asked me to share this:
Emma’s life was much shorter than I ever expected or wanted, but in this brief time, she brought me closer to my Savior than I ever was before. So, I feel like I must share what I know of Him to appropriately honor my beautiful daughter today.
Our Savior, Jesus Christ, is not a distant mystical entity somewhere. He can and wants to be a very real presence in our lives. From the beginning of my time with Emma, we have felt of peace and comfort, strength and joy, when it didn’t make sense to feel these things.
Even this week, I was in the temple and again felt deep, real peace-the kind you can’t explain, that doesn’t make sense, and that you know can only come from God. I don’t have answers to all my questions about why it all happened this way.
But I have come to know for myself that it is okay and she is okay and I will see her again and all will be made right. This is all because we have a true, real, living Savior. He knows all because He suffered all, so He can be there for us like no one else can.
As my brother in law John told us in a sweet text: “Jesus will see you through, I know He will. He has done it so so many times for me.”
This is how I feel too.
Even though I don’t know how I’m going to get through right now, I know I won’t be alone and just like many times before, I know He’ll be with me.
As Paul has said, God is “the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
That’s been our experience this week-comfort from God and comfort from those who have been comforted by Him.
I’m grateful Emma is with our God of comfort now and I hope she’s getting lots of His hugs, because there can’t be anything better than that.
We didn’t get the miracle we wanted most. But other miracles came that we needed even more.
“Behold, I will show unto you a God of miracles, even the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob and Monique.”
This family’s faith is not dependent on getting what we want. We will place our trust not in a certain outcome – but in the Living, Mighty God – who can part the red sea, stop the sun, teach people how to build a boat.
And who can take life….and give it back too. This is the God who has walked with us this whole way, and sure isn’t going to stop now.
And no matter how much today might hurt, this Prince of Peace has promised to one day make “all things new” and will “wipe away all tears” – “every tear” – from their eyes and faces.
You see, Annie was right after all: “The sun will come out tomorrow.
So ya gotta hang on ‘Til tomorrow come what may
Tomorrow, tomorrow I love you tomorrow
You’re always, a day away
I do love tomorrow. And I’m going to do my best to love today too.
Because if we really see what’s coming, we really don’t have to wait for tomorrow to rejoice.
That’s the message of the song Sam played. And it’s my witness and testimony to you, our dearest of friends and family gathered together.
And I share it in the name of Jesus Christ, who will make all things right in the end. Amen