Angels, Changes, and Priority Lists...

It's been 6 months and a little under three weeks since Ammon was diagnosed with cancer. In looking back, I am amazed at what we have experienced and that we've made it this far. I mean that in a good way. I always knew Ammon would make it to this point. I always knew the rest of us, including his family, friends, and neighbors would make it as well. I guess at the beginning, despite the best assurances, I just wasn't able to picture this far down the path.

Like all significant challenges, cancer changes people, in eternal ways. I hope I've accepted all the good changes that come from these experiences, and paid less heed to the negatives. There is one change that I wanted to share with you about Ammon specifically. I usually hesitate to describe someone as special as Ammon by using a lot of can'ts, but the reality is that Ammon can't walk, or run, or talk the way you and I do. Because of these things, though Ammon has received so much love and attention throughout his life, there are still times when he is at the mercy of those around him to simply be noticed, loved, and played with. When times get really quiet and we are busy about doing things, instead of going outside to play with friends, Ammon can also get very quiet sitting in his wheelchair, laying on his bean bag, or just looking at the Christmas lights above his bed. I'm sure when it becomes unbearable, with effort, he'll give us a shout out as if to say, "I just need someone to be with me for a while." As parents, because Ammon simply can't run outside to play with his friends, we've thought often about Ammon's social well being and general happiness. One of the many miracles and changes that have happened through this cancer journey is that Ammon has found even more people to love, and that love him in return. People that aren't reluctant to knock on our door just to see Ammon and how he is doing. In many regards, Ammon's angels have multiplied and have come home. Allowing these additional people into Ammon's life, and ours, has been a very comforting and joyful change for this particular parent.

A story was told in the most recent General Conference of simply diving in to help those in need as if the individual were drowning, without asking for permission or uttering the common phrase "Please let me know if there is anything I can do." Sometimes, it takes a lot of courage and inspiration to jump from the edge of the water to rescue a suffering child of God. And sometimes, it takes a lot of courage and inspiration to see the rescuer coming and allow them to dive in and perform the miracle.

The people along the waters edge are really angels, sent to perform miracles and bring God's love. Yet how often have we lacked the courage or the spiritual insight to let them dive in and save us and our families. Sometimes, in years past, we occasionally have turned people away at the door, and haven’t allowed them to fulfill their calling or inspiration. We've been known to say (sometimes not out loud), “All is well…we got this…please don’t worry about us…and disregard the inspiration you thought to fulfill and the love and friendship you thought to kindle through your service…” It’s not with malice that we all turn anyone away, in fact, at times we might feel more correct in so doing, because surely this service was meant for others in an even greater need, we are simply being self-reliant both physically and spiritually…right? Perhaps at times by doing this we have discouraged the friend at our door, and made them question if they ever should have knocked, or if similarly prompted in the future if they should return and knock again.

It took some time, but we have learned through these cancer experiences to never turn away an angel, no matter the immediate circumstances. Sometimes, the house has been in disarray despite our best efforts, the laundry remains unfolded, the dinner dishes from the night before remain in the sink while the current night dinner remains uncooked, and our own physical appearances betray our exhaustion from another waking night with the unfulfilling promise of more to come. Knocks have even come at almost the precise moment when a day’s worth of food and medicine have painfully just come up or another chemo filled diaper has just exploded, and I’m sure that some of these people would have appreciated the turning away phrase, “All is well…we got this…” But we are so grateful for the immediate strong stomachs and determined hearts these particular people have been blessed with, and with little or no trepidation have literally jumped right in. Please don’t think these extreme events are the norm, and in fact this is usually so very far from the norm, but there have surely been times when the constant care and attention of a fragile loved one not only tops the priority list, he truly is the only item on the list.

It’s at these times we have learned that when there is an angelic knock at the door that you put the feelings of embarrassment at a messy home aside, and you refrain from saying aloud the confident self-reliant phrase “All is well…we got this...” and instead with the warmest smile you can muster you welcome them into your home.

Multiple times over these 6 months I have come home late in the evening from a full day at work, or arrived in the morning from a night at the hospital and found the lawn mowed and the edges trimmed, the house cleaned and a warm meal waiting, the children played with and ready for bed, and even the laundry perfectly folded and stacked ready to be put in the drawer. It’s at these times that I realize that miracles have been performed, and those performing the miracles are being blessed as only Heavenly Father can for the service they performed on His behalf. In every regard, for each of us, is it not the Savior patiently knocking at the door. I can’t imagine ever closing the door on Him, knowing that He has come to serve, to love, and to bless our family, and right before the door closes, quietly and rather reluctantly saying, “We got this…maybe another time would be better…”

Thank you again to each of Ammon's angels, particularly those whose who haven't been able to be with him in person, but have loved him through treasured thoughts and answered prayers. Cancer will forever be a muddy weary road to travel, but it's always easier to travel with friends. We just hope that if you ever find one of us knocking on your door that you don't turn us away despite any immediate circumstances, but instead let us come in so we can serve you in a way that you have so diligently served Ammon.

Happy Easter!

Our whole family made it to sacrament meeting at church today. It was so nice to be together and think about Christ's atonement and resurrection, as we are trying to heal and get back to some what normal. Coleson and I have had horrible coughs all week, so that's why I say we.


Ammon had chemo on Monday, had a few rough days, but tonight seems to be in better spirits. I have been praying all week that he would not catch what I had. I wore a mask and did my best to hand wash. I felt so bad just leaving him in his beanbag half the day, but he was healing too. So far he hasn't caught it. Brian was my hero this week and worked from home a few days to help. I am still very sleep deprived, but I'm hoping to catch up this week. Coleson said I ruined his spring break, like I could stop myself and him from getting sick. At least he got extra TV time! The thing is, I don't go hardly anywhere, so I can narrow down pretty fast where i might have caught something: Coleson's school, take out food from a Thai restaurant, or walking outside to get the mail.





The kids had fun at their grandparent's house for their annual egg hunt.



On Friday it snowed, after our last experience, the kids were out before breakfast. Sure enough it melted by lunch.

We had a great conference weekend. We were glad to not be in the hospital and enjoy all the sessions from the comfort of our couch. Our heart goes out to all the other parents with special needs children who have amazing spirits. We are truly blessed.