CPR Parenting

This post was written as a guest blogger for Fruitland Home, but I thought I would post it here as well. It was posted on our personal family blog when I meant to post it here, so forgive me if you've gotten it twice!

Most of the time, I feel like a terrible parent. My kids fall victim to the “too much” Syndrome: too much tv, too much fighting, too much sugar, too much entitlement, too much in the toybox.  They have too much going on and it is too much for me.

Shortly after my youngest child was born, I was holding her and thinking about how it was so easy to remember to hold and cuddle her, because she demanded it, but how I forget to hold and cuddle my oldest child, although she still needs it. I’m really good at reading to my oldest, because she asks, and she enjoys it, but I’m terrible at remembering to read to my son, because he doesn’t like to slow down long enough to listen. On the other hand, he is excellent at getting me to play with him because he petitions me for playtime all day long.

I’m decently good at giving each of my children something, but I fall short in something else.  Above all else in life, I want us to have balance because I believe that balance leads to peace and happiness, even if “quiet” is rarely part of that equation.

So, I came up with something I call “CPR Parenting,” which allows me to simplify my mothering obligations into three meaningful activities that I strive to do with each of my three children daily: Cuddle, Play, and Read.  

I am a task-oriented person. There is a to-do list for every day, even when I don’t get anything on said list done. I can’t always keep track of every need my children have, and inevitably at the end of the day I will remember that I didn’t practice piano with her or go outside with him or read to the baby, whose brain is developing faster than the alarming rate at which I’m losing brain cells.  I can remember CPR though, and I feel like if I’ve done these most basic of basic childcare tasks, I have also done something meaningful with my day.

Cuddling gives them a sense of security in my arms and a chance to calm down and be still, even if that cuddle time only lasts two minutes. Each child has different needs, but a princess once told me that “everyone needs another hug.” Children need affectionate, safe touches. Some days they will need you more physically than others. That’s okay.

Playtime allows me to spend time with my child’s imagination. I have one child whose imagination knows no bounds---forks and spoons make families, balloons are a common mode of transport, and nothing is what it seems (is that a orange crayon? Why no, it’s clearly a dinosaur). I have another child who, although she is not as creative when it comes to coming up with plots and storylines, is amazing at creating things. Playtime with her usually means an art project, which usually means a mess, but I spent her whole toddlerhood convincing her that it was okay to be messy. Now she is the one who often reminds me, “if we’re messy it means we are having fun, Mom!” Playtime helps me to relax and have fun with them. I give myself bonus points if I can resist the urge to clean and organize the playroom while we’re doing what Maria Montessori referred to as “the work of the child.”

Reading is my outlet; I cannot survive without it. There is not a day that goes by when I don’t read something. I feel guilty sometimes that my reading becomes more important than reading to my children. I know that I am setting an example when my kids see me with a book in my hands, and that is important, but my silent reading doesn’t do much for their cognitive development. My mother, early childhood expert extraordinaire, told me that according to the research she’s done (along with 30 years of teaching preschool and kindergarten), it takes a thousand hours of “lap time” to prepare a child for kindergarten. By the time they reach the age of five, children have lived somewhere around 1,825 days. If you read to your child 20 minutes a day for each of those days, you’ll be at 608 hours. In other words, children need to be read to EVERY CHANCE you get or you’re already behind. Along with the academic benefits, reading is something that children can come to associate with love, adventure, and stress-relief.

I figure that If I can take time out of each day to give my children specialized, meaningful, separate time with me, then all the moments when I fail them will at least have something to counter balance the scale. 

Scholarship

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by the English department at my alma mater. They were seeking a "where are you now?" follow-up on me so that they could pass it along to the sponsor of a scholarship I received during my university education.

I had been contacted once before, as a follow-up to a different scholarship I had been awarded earlier in my college career. Ashamed that I had nothing significant to report, I selfishly and cowardishly never responded. Still carrying the guilt of that decision, I determined that this time I would reply to the email.

I still had nothing significant to report. In the past six years since I graduated with my two BS degrees, I haven't had a job. I haven't been published. I haven't written anything on a consistent basis, and even the few times I sat down and wrote something that I intended to share with the world, the documents never made it past being saved on my hard drive.

For a day or two, I mulled over what I could say, and then I forgot all about the assignment until I was contacted a second time with a reminder that they still hadn't heard from me. This time I immediately sat down and typed out a reply.

I was surprised in the words that came, because they were an awakening for me.

Dear Mr. Smith,

I was a recipient of the Ralph Jennings Smith Scholarship during my last year at Utah State University. The scholarship blessed my life in many ways, as it allowed me to finish not just my Professional and Technical Writing degree, but also to obtain a second Bachelor's degree in American Studies, where my true passion is. I am a ongoing student of American history and creative writing and I hope to someday combine both interests and write historical fiction novels for young adults.

At the moment, my opportunities to sit down and get lost in the sound of my fingers typing are few and far between. One of the major blessings of obtaining this scholarship was that it allowed me to graduate from USU without any student debt. Because of this, I have been able to live my dream of being a stay-at-home mom. If I was carrying the burden of student debt, I wouldn't be able to spend my days as I do with my three children. My oldest daughter, who was born a few months after I graduated, has recently started kindergarten. She and I like to read together at night, and some of our favorite books have been about girls throughout history.

Although there are days that I long for more time to write, I understand that there are seasons in our lives. In no way do I feel that I am wasting this season of my life--I am exactly where I want to be! That said, I very much look forward to the day when I can send my children to school and spend my days writing. Until then, I try and keep my skills sharp by editing term papers, resumes, personal statements, and advertising flyers for family members and friends, keeping a family blog, writing personal essays, and jotting down ideas for children's books on whatever scrap of paper is handy! When I was at Utah State, my mother read one of my personal essays and made the comment that my writing would take me many places, but in the end it would always bring me back home. As I've spent the past nearly six years at home, I realize that home is the best place for me to live my dreams.

Thank you for your generosity, which has helped me in my path as a writer, mother, student, and historian.

Sincerely, Marinda Burningham Fowler

Utah State University 2011

On the days when I might wonder what my college education was worth, this is what I want to remember. I may not have my name in print or get a bi-monthly paycheck at my dream job, but I am where I want to be. The skills that I spent five years in college developing sneak into my current life in the most curious ways: helping my husband plan the MBA data analytics course he will soon be teaching. Editing a dear high school friend's personal statement so she can apply to medical school. Giving my little brother tips on the online advertising campaign he is creating. Planning Sunday school lessons twice a month. Participating in monthly book club meetings. Keeping up with current events. Teaching my son's joy school class every five weeks. Giving suggestions on nonfiction books for a neighbor kid's upcoming book report. Helping my nephews with their History Fair entries. Teaching my daughter how vowels work as she learns to sound out words. Doing family history research. Creating a record of our family, here and now. Gleefully searching through tubs of  Scott's grandmother's old books with my mother-in-law.  Problem-solving with my children. Planning our future.

And so many other ways. 

FHE Payday

Last week my mom and I taught a lesson about Family Home Evening (FHE) to a few of the women in my church congregation. Family Home Evening is something that was started by a 100 years ago, and something that has really blessed my life. 

According to President Joseph F. Smith, a man I believe to have been a prophet, the purpose of family home evening is to take an evening out of the week and spent time as a family, strengthening each other spiritually. These were and are his instructions:

"Families were to take time to PRAY and SING together, READ the scriptures, TEACH the gospel to one another, and PARTICIPATE in other activities that would build family unity."

My parents did a pretty good job of having consistent FHE when I was a child, and their resolve strengthened as my siblings and I entered adolescence. My friends started calling my mom the "FHE Nazi" when I turned down invitations to Monday night activities (although almost all of my friends were the same religion as me). I may have been bitter about those missed activities at first, but I am now so grateful. Because of my parents, FHE was a habit, and Scott and I were able to start our marriage off with weekly FHE. We haven't always been awesome at it, but for the past five years, we've worked our tails off to make sure FHE happens. Our children don't know any different.

Does that mean they listen? Rarely. Does it mean that we always feel the spirit and no one ever goes to bed without refreshments? Haha. Our nights are chaotic; I don't expect that to change much as they get older.

Occasionally, however, we have a moment during FHE that helps me realize that these efforts of ours are making a difference for our children. We had one of those experiences tonight. I've known the topic of the lesson for three weeks now, but I just wasn't coming up with anything. I felt like a fraud. I spent an hour last week preaching to my neighbors about how important FHE is and how planning a lesson is so easy, you can do it in five minutes or less. After all, this is something God wants us to do, so we are entitled to his help, right?

Yeah, I seem to have forgotten that last part. My inspiration came less than an hour before we sat down together on the family room floor and started in on a off-key, off-lyric version of "Book of Mormon Stories."

But the idea that God gave me worked so much better than I would have expected. Wherefore didst thou doubt, oh ye of little faith?

Our family theme for the year is a scripture found in Doctrine and Covenants 19:23:

I made word strips with each of the three phrases and told the kids that we were going to have a treasure hunt and if they found the three pieces to the puzzle, then they would find a wonderful promise. They found the clues rather quickly: "Learn of me" on the portrait of Christ, "Listen to my words" on the piano, "Walk in the meekness of my Spirit" under Daddy's shoes. They fit the three pieces together and I gave them a whole paper that said, "You shall have peace in me."

At this point, since the treasure hunt was over, Sly went back to being more interested in his legos than the lesson and Birdie (trying out new code names for #3. She has a killer bird call trilling sound) rolled, lunged, and pivoted all over in an effort to take away Sly's legos. Luckily, Kevin was still mostly listening, so I asked her, "Do you know what peace means?"

At first she got a confused look on her face. I was about to jump in with the answer, but I was restrained. Within a few seconds she said, "it's....a good feeling."

"When did you feel that feeling?"

"Yesterday."

Yesterday, while Scott and I were tag-teaming feeding Sophie and making dinner, Kevin completely took us by surprise by picking up the living room without being asked, told, or begged. She didn't get mad at her brother for not helping. She simply left the toys he was playing with alone and cleaned the rest of the room up.

I walked into the room to tell Sly and Kevin that it was time for dinner. The carpet seemed to sparkle. I could actually see it. Even the glorious scene before me couldn't compare to the smile on my daughter's face when she saw my reaction. I was nearly in tears. I am always begging and pleading for help cleaning up, dragging the kids along as I try to teach by example how to take care of our possessions and our home. Most of the time, it falls on me. Homemaking and homekeeping have proven exhausting for me, and here was a light--there was help! There was hope!

You may think I am being over-dramatic, but this small experience means the world to me. That night, as I was tucking her into bed, I asked her how she felt after cleaning up. She told me she had a good feeling, and that she was happy. She explained that her church teachers had taught her about the things Jesus would do, and that she thought she would give it a try.

Apparently her experiment was a success.  And when she brought up her experience in family home evening, I knew that she was getting it. And I  learned that this verse is a formula for obtaining peace. This verse was an example of the if/then principle often found in scripture when Christ is speaking: if you do this, then I will do this.

Together, we talked about how she came to feel that peace. First, she learned of Christ. She went to church to learn about Jesus. Secondly, she listened to his words. She paid attention to what her teachers were saying and internalized this knowledge of the Savior. Third, and perhaps most importantly, she walked in the meekness of his Spirit. She acted on what she'd learned and listened to. She had Christ's spirit as she meekly tested his words and followed his example.

And not only did she find peace--her parents found it too.

2017 Wrap-Up

I sure hope my husband loves me enough to forgive me for eating the last half of the discount chocolate orange we busted out last night. At the very least, I'm helping him keep our resolution to be healthier this year, right?

Five days into 2018 and 2017 already seems like a million years ago. I feel like I was a different person then. How is that even possible? It's only been five days! But already I see our lives changing, in positive ways and just-plain-hard ways. It'll be interesting to see where we are 365 days from now, because I know one thing is for sure: I won't be the same person then that I am today.

So before 2017's Rinda is a distant memory, I wanted to take a minute to jot down a couple of my favorite things from last year, both trivial and monumental.

Favorite TV Shows
2017 wasn't an awesome movie year for us. We only went to a few movies in the theater, and only made it through a few new ones at home (most of those took two or three nights to get through). Oddly enough, however, 2017 was a great year for TV. Here are some of the shows I spent far too much time watching, in order of my favorites:

• MacGyver
• Bull
• Victoria
• Timeless
• This is Us
• Wisdom of the Crowd
• Great British Baking Show (seasons 2-4, mostly binge-watched while in labor)
• Anne with an E
• Mercy Street (I'm kind of relieved that this one didn't get renewed, as it got harder and harder to watch)
• Crimson Field (an old PBS series I found on Amazon, worth watching even though it was cancelled after one season)
• Poldark (I had a love-hate relationship with this one and found myself doing A LOT of fast-forwarding)

Five-Star Books Read in 2017

I read somewhere around 75 books last year, not including the hundreds of children's books read to and with my children. Few of the novels I read were ground-breaking, but I still managed to read several that I rated five stars on Goodreads.

• The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
• Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary
• Jackaby and Beastly Bones by William Ritter (the third and fourth books were disappointing)
• The Ghost and Mrs. Muir by Josephine Leslie
• Sixteen Brides by Stephanie Grace Whitson
• Greenglass House by Kate Milford
• Genevieve's War by Patricia Reilly Giff
• George Washington's Secret Six by Brian Kilmeade
• The Girl from the Train by Irma Joubert
• The Thirteenth Princess by Diane Zahler
• The Girl Who Came Home by Hazel Gaynor
• Wedded to War  by Jocelyn Green
• Wonder by RJ Palacio
• The Apprentices (The Apothecary Trilogy) by Maile Meloy

Honorable Mentions go to:

• Sorcery and Cecelia by Patricia Wrede (The sequel was highly disappointing)
• Out of the Easy by Ruta Septys (never though I'd enjoy a book about a brothel, but this one was excellent)
• The Innkeeper of Ivy Hill and The Ladies of  Ivy Cottage by Julie Klassen
• Romancing Miss Bronte by Juliet Gael
• To the Farthest Shores, From This Moment and Beyond All Dreams by Elizabeth Camden

Kevin's Bedtime Stories for 2017

Kevin and I made it through several books this year, and Sly even joined us for a few. Some were enjoyable and some were not. We gave up on The BFG because she said it was getting too scary for her. Here are the books we finished: 

• The Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder
• Runny Babbit: A Billy Sook by Shel Silverstein
• Nancy Clancy, Secret Admirer by Jane O'Connor
• The Princess Test and The Fairy's Mistake by Gail Carson Levine
• Felicity's Surprise by Valerie Tripp
• Ramona The Pest and Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary
• The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo
• Eloise and Eloise in Paris by Kay Thompson
• The Milly-Molly-Mandy Storybook by Joyce L Brisley

Meals I Made The Most in 2017

Haha. I mostly made Scotty cook, which means we had a lot of pasta and tacos and turkey steaks and breakfast-for-dinner. You can be jealous. My husband cooks AND gets up with the baby at night. He's the best ever.

I do want to list here that I accomplished the feat of being assigned to bring homemade rolls for holiday dinners. It's a BIG deal.

Random Cool Things That Happened to Me in 2017

• I got to go to NYC for a weekend in September. No kids, just me and three other women (my bff, my sis-in-law, and a complete stranger). We saw three Broadway musicals, walked through Castle Gardens National Park, took pictures by the fierce little girl statue, ate cheesecake, walked all over, happened upon a labor parade and Race for the Cure run, saw Alexander Hamilton's grave, visited the place where George Washington took the oath of office, and ended it all with a black & white shake at JFK international airport. 
• A woodpecker visited our backyard not once but twice,
• I dragged my husband and kids all over the backroads of Iowa and it was the highlight of our Nauvoo vacation and my summer (for me, not so much for them). 
• I visited all of these states: Utah (drove to St George by myself, a first), Idaho, Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Missouri, and New York.
• I had a baby. She's amazing. If you meet her, you will smile. 
• I managed to potty train my son. That's probably the biggest accomplishment of the year. 

Bring it on, 2018.

Christmas Joys

Is there anything sweeter than holding a sleeping baby at Christmastime? The pause and the peace and the gentle rocking of the recliner relaxes me and fills me with more happiness than I think I have ever known. I count her long, dark eyelashes. I admire the smoothness of her slightly chubby cheeks. I watch her mouth move as she breathes and dreams and relaxes into my arms.

Was this how Mary felt? Sometimes I wonder how much of our perfectly placed nativities actually resemble that original night in Bethlehem. Somehow the stable dung piles never get painted into those heavenly-lit scenes, though I am sure they were copious. After having children, it is harder to forget the pain of childbirth that was real for Mary that night. Despite her divine infant, and perhaps because of Him, I don't think she was spared the pain. But neither was she spared the joy.

I think of the moments that make my Christmases special, and how my favorite things have changed over the years. I used to love eating the treats given to us by neighbors, but now the best part is leaving cookies on doorsteps and the worst part is all the houses we drive by that I wish we could fit into our budget, because they do fit into our hearts.

I used to love attending the endless parties with family and friends, and now I find the joy in planning the gatherings. I loved listening to Christmas music for weeks and weeks, but even the best of Kurt Bestor and Anne Murray cannot compare to the slightly off-key choir that is our family of five, singing a song about Jesus each evening before bed.

I used to love the anticipation of opening gifts early on Christmas morning; that wait has turned into something so much harder as I wait for my loved ones to open the gifts I spent hours making or carefully choosing. I love to find and give the perfect thing. I hate it when I can't find anything good enough to express my feelings, gratitude, and love.

I used to love waking up in the wee hours of Christmas morning to see the family room lit only by the lights on the tree, stockings overflowing and mountains of gifts blocking walkways. Now, those scenes can't compare to the feelings I have as I stay up late with my husband, smiling and whispering as we assemble our family's Christmas. There may be less gifts, but there is no shortage of love!

I loved listening to my mom read "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" every night and watching "Elf" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" with my siblings, wrapped in a blanket. Now I delight in the sparkly picture books my children beg me to read on repeat. I've even learned to love Trolls Holiday, despite watching it more than a dozen times with a three-year-old cuddled on my lap.

My holidays were wonderful as a child, but...nothing compares to holidays now. Every moment is special, even my husband's eye rolls as I spend another evening with Shutterfly while he watches basketball on TV. Although my distractions annoy him, he knows how important every single detail is to me, and because he loves me, he goes along for the sleigh ride. He even puts up Christmas lights at the beginning of November because who knows how long the pristine fall weather is going to last along the Wasatch Front.

I climb into bed happily exhausted every single night, because creating magic takes a lot of energy. I try to ignore the piled up cookie sheets and crusted loaf pans, because time is always short and it is more important to make all the things than clean up all the messes. I mourn over the service I can't do and the charities I can't donate to. I wish there were more of me to go around. I rub lotion into my cracked hands, because I've spent my days changing diapers, making bottles, and helping a little boy go potty and the repeated hot water washings have done a number on my hands.

This is my life right now. This is my best Christmas pageant ever. It looks nothing like I thought it would, just like the scene at Jesus' birth was probably nothing like Mary anticipated. And yet, like Mary, I am grateful for the craziness and chaos and the crowds because I hold in my arms a precious gift from God.

Although the world spins around us, we are in our own little bubble, just me and a baby who will grow up too fast.

The Last Day

"I'm so excited!" She giggled and wiggled as I tucked her into bed with her threadbare fleece blanket and Fancy Nancy storybook. Her sparkling eyes spoke volumes, as they have since she was born: this is it! they seemed to say. The big day is FINALLY here!

I smiled, though I felt like sighing. Yup, that day is here. "You need to go to sleep, you have a big day tomorrow" I told her three more times as I sent her back to bed. What is Disneyland compared to Kindergarten? The excitement was more than her little body could stand. Finally, after her brother and sister had been asleep for an hour and her Dad headed to the gym, I decided to put the matter in God's hands.

"Should we say a prayer to help you sleep?" I asked, and she nodded. We said a little prayer, I kissed her forehead, she headed up the stairs, and for the hundredth time today, the same phrase went through my head.

It's the Last Day.

Kevin has always had a hard time handling anticipation. When she was about three, we started using the phrase, "it's the Last Day!" to let her know that her wait was about to be over. Every Monday she'd wake up asking, "is it the Last Day?" and I'd have to carefully break it to her that we had several days to go to make it to the Last Day. Somehow Friday always arrived and I loved to start her day with, "Guess what sweetheart? Today's the Last Day! Daddy doesn't have to go to work today!" or "it's the Last Day! Tomorrow we go to Papa's House!" or "It's the Last Day! Tomorrow is your birthday!"

There was no need for that conversation today, but my brain still reminded me.

I was reminded as I watched her sleepily walk down the stairs, realizing that tomorrow she'll have to be out the door by this time.

I was reminded as she came up from the playroom to find me, telling me, "I just thought, 'I miss my Mom,' so I thought I would come up and see what you are doing."

I was reminded as I gave in to her brilliant idea to paint our fingernails, surprising her by painting my nails to match hers. It's like the Kissing Hand, I thought. "Tomorrow," I told her (and myself), "If you are missing me, you can look at your fingernails and remember that ours are the same and you'll be fine."

I was reminded when painting our nails turned into playing paper dolls, her standard request whenever her sister is sleeping and her brother is watching his shows. I looked at her and realized:

It's the Last Day.

My last full day with her at home. Our last day before we start the grade school era of our lives, which will be followed by middle school, high school, college, missions, marriage, grandchildren...

I wonder, have I done enough to prepare her? Have I read a thousand books to her? Did I spend enough time teaching her letters? Practicing counting? Mixing colors and recognizing shapes? Did I model enough appropriate social behaviors? Did I teach her to be unfailingly kind? Will she know how to make new friends? How long will it take for her teacher to correct her habit of starting at the bottom instead of the top when she writes her letters? Did I instill enough confidence? Humility? The child is not resilient. I know that much. I tried. Oh, I've tried.

It feels like the end. The timer is about to beep. My time is up.

And then I remembered this quote that my mom shares in her kindergarten readiness parent workshops:

"Children’s first and most influential teachers are their parents/family. They play an important foundational role in the child’s learning and achievement. When parents, educators, and caregivers work together in the education and well-being of a child, a partnership is formed that will influence the best possible learning outcomes for the learner" (Utah's Early Childhood Standards, p. 4).

 I may be her first teacher, but I will not be her last. 

After all, tomorrow is the First Day. 

Two People

Last night I watched my husband hold another woman, and my heart broke.

I saw the look she gave him as we walked into her sparsely furnished bedroom, the way the tears heightened the despair, grief, and sadness in her eyes. The room was full of people, her family and her friends, but it was when she saw him that something in her changed.

I pushed him forward and he sat next to her on the bed, which was nothing more than a full-size mattress on the floor. He put his hand on hers, and she cried. After a minute or so, he looked up at me. This kind of situation is not his forte. I don't think it is anyone's forte. What do you say to someone who has just lost their entire world?

"Hold her," I mouthed more than whispered. I left the room to silence my cell phone. I watched from the doorway as he put his arm around her and pulled her close.

My husband doesn't have sisters and his mother is not prone to tears. When I am sad, I retreat or I get angry. I get quiet and I want to be left alone and there have only been a few times when I've sobbed in his arms.

He cries even less than I do. In our entire marriage, I've seen him cry three times (I'm not including the times where we watch sports movies, because his eyes always seem to leak during those. Pass the hat for Eddie! *I'm not crying, you're crying.) The last of those times were happy tears as he called Kevin early in the morning to tell her she had a long-awaited sister.

But yesterday morning, he cried again.

I knew something was wrong when I picked up my phone after leaving it on the counter for ten minutes and there were two missed calls, a text and an email. My stomach dropped because I thought he'd been in an accident. I figured if he was calling, he would be okay, but I was still worried. The voice on the other end of the phone was not the one I usually hear. "Hi, are you okay?" I said in one rushed breath. "I'm fine," he answered slowly. "I'm fine."

Then he was silent for a moment before he went on, "Do you remember hearing about that drowning accident at Deer Creek Reservoir?"

"Maybe?" I answered.

"The one where the husband drowned and the wife was barely saved?"

Suddenly my mind flashed back. I had seen the headline on facebook. It occurred to me as sad, but I didn't read the article and I kept scrolling.

"That was Anshul and her husband."

"No," I whispered. "No. No. No."

I've only met Anshul a handful of times, but I've heard my husband talk about her nearly every day for the last year when he comes home from work. She has been a helpful addition to his team and I'm grateful that she's been able to shoulder some of his workload. He'd tell me about conversations they'd had about religion, culture, finances, cars, everything. She loves our little ones, especially Sly, and is always excited to see them when we visit Dad at work.  Their relationship was more brother-sister than coworker, and I was grateful for that. I remember him commenting on Thursday of last week about how excited Anshul was that her husband was flying in for the weekend. "She's seemed sad and lonely lately. Today she was almost giddy because he's flying in tonight."

Anshul and I come from different worlds. She and her husband are from India and their marriage was arranged, although they had a courtship and very much agreed to the match. He was finishing up a research and advanced degree in Illinois and she was working in Utah. Their plan was for him to join her in a few months when he finished. In the meantime, they lived apart, flying back and forth to see each other once a month, staying in contact through emails and chats and video messaging. The very concept of a long-distance marriage absolutely threw Scott and I when we first met her. The two of us can barely survive an eight-hour workday away from each other. We came to realize, quickly, that their love wasn't any less real than ours.

Anuj would order her lunch. Sometimes he would add a cookie to the order for Scott. He would take care of his wife from a distance. We'd heard much about him and were planning on going on a double date one of these days when he was in Utah to visit. We were looking forward to meeting him at the company party last Friday, and were both impressed by his warmth, friendliness, and intelligence. He came over and struck up conversations with us more than once. And Anshul? She was practically glowing to have him finally by her side.

I knew all these things about her. And I'm sure she knew more things about me. And even though she is more my husband's friend than mine, my heart ached for her.

But my heart also ached for him.

"I'm sick about it," Scott told me. I could practically hear his mind trying to wrap itself around the tragedy. "She tried to contact me on Saturday. I got this email saying 'URGENT, emergency, call this number.' I thought she'd been hacked, so I didn't respond."

It felt like he was the last coworker to know, when he really should have been one of the first. A couple of people from work tried to call and text him, but nothing ever came through on his phone. And selfishly, I knew this was a tender mercy for me. Yesterday was Sly's birthday. Saturday and Sunday were spent cleaning up and getting ready for the party and then hosting a party. Had Scott known, we wouldn't have had his full attention, and I didn't know we needed it until I realized that there was a reason we didn't find out about the accident until yesterday morning.

Our minds spun in circles all day long. Scott met us after swimming lessons. We took the kids to McDonald's for Sly's birthday. He told me about the news article and how mean people were, commenting on how "they should have been wearing their life jackets."  "100% Avoidable." "Why would you not wear your life jacket if you don't know how to swim?' People think they know so much...but they don't know Anshul, and they didn't know Anuj. He told me how his coworker pointed out that there was one comment, longer than the others, from the girl who helped pull Anshul from the water. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he told me about this merciful woman, gently and kindly reminding people that these were two people, people with friends and families:

"My brother and I were the ones who saved the wife, and weren't able to find her husband. 
First of all let me remind everyone that these are two human beings, one who lost his life and one who had to go home without her husband. I spent over two hours with her yesterday, and I cannot even begin to fathom the hell she is living through. Please have some compassion. 
Second it is terrifying how fast this all happened. From the time we saw them in the water, to barely seconds later realizing they were in trouble, (We were less than 200 yards from the couple, our boat already idling, we sped there as fast as possible, and we dove in before the boat even stopped.) and still just before we got there the husband went under and didn't resurface. This all happened in a matter of seconds. The wife had taken what looked like her last breath and was under water when my brother got to her, he handed her to me and started diving for the husband. As others from our boat and nearby boats we waved down started diving as well. 
You always imagine someone who's drowning to be splashing, waving their arms, etc.. they don't have the energy for that, at first glance it looked like they were just swimming. If you ever see someone in the water, take a second look, and go check on them! Although we know we gave it our all, the regret and frustration we both feel in not being able to find him will be with us forever. If we had hesitated, they would both be gone. How would that feel, knowing we "could have"? A life is always worth it. 
Be prepared, wear a life jacket, wear your seat belt, don't hesitate to help, and be considerate. My heart goes out to this sweet woman, I pray that she can find peace. Sweetie if you see this, I love you. I truly do."

When Scott and I arrived at Anshul's apartment last night, her friends thought we were the rescuers. Granted, we were the only caucasians around, it was an easy mistake for them to make: a tall man with brown hair, a shorter woman with brown hair. "If she sees you, she'll have to relive it all over again," her friend said as she walked us to the other side of the apartment building. We could barely understand her, so we just went with it. Imagine our surprise at waiting in a random woman's apartment alone for a few minutes, only to be joined later by half a dozen of Anshul's Indian friends and four very white people. The older woman asked Scott how he knew Anshul, no doubt surprised to see us in the midst of Anshul's friends. It wasn't until Anshul's brother in law entered the apartment and started talking to them that we realized: these were Anshul's rescuers.

I felt like an imposter, witnessing that meeting, listening to them share their stories with one another. Anshul's brother-in-law had arrived that afternoon, the only member of her family with a valid visa because he visited the United States often for work. Emergency visas were unobtainable because of a weekend followed by a national holiday. He shared more details from Anshul's side of the story: how they had been wearing their life jackets, but when they went back to shore they found they still had 15 minutes on their kayak rental, so they decided to get back in and stay close to the shore and Anshul kept telling Anuj they needed to put the flotation devices back on, but he waved it off, thinking that they'd be fine since they weren't going to be in the water long and they were close to shore.

And then the Rescue Family started to speak, humbly and yet confidently sharing their side of the story. It was supposed to just be the parents on the boat that day, but due to irregular circumstances, they somehow convinced their two children, both grown and married, to join them on the lake. How the parents weren't strong enough swimmers to have gotten to Anshul and Anuj in time. How the dad had been watching the kayak, and when it tipped, he noticed that something was wrong. How minutes before, wave runners and boats had sped (too fast) past the no-wake zone, creating waves that may or may not have tipped the kayak. How the son, who got to her first, didn't know that there was another. "I never saw him," he said, "And if I had, my natural instinct would have been to go after him first and we would have lost both of them."

Detail after detail. Miracle after miracle.
People like this family---they are rare. They had such love, such compassion, such sorrow for not being able to rescue both. Their lives will forever be marked by their experience.

As I put my arms around the daughter, the one who served as Anshul's guardian and protector and comforter for hours on Saturday afternoon, I whispered, "You did a good job." It was all I could get out through my tears. I wish I could have found the words then, when I had the chance, to tell her how grateful I was that God placed her in Anshul's path that day. How much I admire her for compassion and love. And how extremely grateful we are for the way that she stepped up, once again, and shielded Anshul from an onslaught of people who think they know better than her just because they weren't the ones not wearing life jackets that day.

Anshul is not the same woman she was on Friday. All the wishes in the world won't take her back to that person, and yet that glowing, happy, woman-in-love is still inside her somewhere. More than one friend remarked to us, "she will have to move past this. We will help."

And though our options to help seem so very small and insignificant, sometimes simply being there to hold someone and cry and not talk and offer quiet prayers from the heart are the only things we can do.

Anshul's friends have set up a gofundme account to help with funeral costs (including the astronmical task of sending her husband's body back to India). If you can, donate a little.

If you can't, please say a prayer for my husband's friend.