“Your Son Needs You!”

Fay Hansen died on a warm June night in 1980.

He was recovering from his second coronary bypass when he had a fatal reaction to the morphine administered to him for pain. He felt his heart go wild, then collapse in on itself. One minute he was struggling vainly to quiet his racing heart, panicked and afraid; the next moment, overwhelming peace and relief wiped away the terror. One minute doctors and nurses were fussing and fretting, trying to stabilize him; the next, the room was full of old friends and relatives in white.

Fay saw his father first, smiling in the warm, loving way he always had. Fay realized then that he had died in the frantic moments that his heart was out of control, because his father had departed life nearly a half century before.

"You've come for me," Fay thought as he recognized familiar faces of friends and family who had died many years before. "I am through with this life." It was an overwhelming peace that enveloped Fay, a wonderful relief from the pain that was his constant companion.

"Are you ready to go?" Fay's father asked him.

The thought of leaving the pain, the struggles behind seemed so inviting that Fay wanted with all his heart to say "Yes." But something nagged at him. There was something that was not yet done.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Fay's father asked gently. Fleeting thoughts of all seven of his children raced through his mind. Six were married with families of their own. His youngest daughter, Ann, although unmarried, was doing well and was active in the Church.

With instant clarity, a nagging feeling of what was left undone overwhelmed Fay. If he left the earth at this moment, what would happen to his youngest son? This son had been given the name of his grandfather, the big, kindly man standing before Fay. Will was a good man, but he had become estranged in a subtle way from the rest of the family.

"Will is not very close to the family." Fay told his father. "I can't do any more to reach him." Fay looked in vain among the crowd for the wife who had died nearly twenty years before. He could see old friends from half a century before, his brother, his cousin. However, he could not see his first wife among the individuals in white.

"Your son needs you," Fay's father gently reminded him.

Fay thought of this youngest son, who was so like the grandfather whom he had been named after. He was kind, thoughtful, reserved, and very friendly. There was no outright break from the family, but ever since Fay had married (a second time) to Donna, who had eight children of her own, Will had gone his own way.

"Are you really ready to leave this earth?" Fay's father asked him, his eyes searing Fay to the soul. "Are you ready to leave things as they are at this moment?" As much as Fay wanted to shrug off the pain, sorrow, and struggles that had been his life, he knew that he'd be leaving work undone. And Fay was not one to shirk away from duty.

"But what can I do to unite my family?" Fay asked. "What more can I do that I have not already done?" Fay's thoughts bubbled up like a pot boiling over, but as they struck the tall man facing him, they fizzled and evaporated. Would Fay be happy if he left things as they were that day? No. He knew—as tempting as the prospect appeared—it wasn't right.

"Can I have more time? Can I try again to find the way to strengthen my family?" The thoughts came unbidden to Fay's mind as his father smiled back at him with a joy that filled the room. Suddenly the room full of people dressed in white vanished.

Overwhelming pain enveloped Fay like a damp, heavy cloth, smothering the peace he'd felt so recently. Voices and noises scattered the lingering remnants.

"I have a heartbeat," a woman's voice cried triumphantly.

Fay tried in vain to capture again the fleeting image of his father smiling in the old familiar way, but it was gone.

"Fay, you old rascal," he recognized the intensive care doctor calling to him from afar. "You sure gave us a good scare that time." Reluctantly Fay opened his eyes to the familiar hospital room.

"We almost lost you that time," the nurse said, smiling, her stethoscope pressed against his aching chest. "Your heart became arrhythmic and went out of control. But you're back."

The constant pain shrouded Fay until he prayed for the oblivion of sleep. But he couldn't lose the urgency that there was something important he needed to do. Something he couldn't forget again. Several times during the recovery which had been only temporarily halted by his anaphylactic reaction to the morphine, Fay almost forgot what he still had to do.

Several times when he felt it had slipped away from him, he'd open his eyes and see two white figures standing by the window. They would smile at him, and again he would feel their love reach across the room to him. He would then remember his son, Will, and know that he, too, must reach out in love to him.

When his wife, Donna, arrived and heard about the incident wherein Fay had died, she clucked over him like a mother hen. Fay then shared with her what had happened to him during the frantic few minutes he had been clinically "dead."

"There is something important I need to do," Fay explained. "We haven't been all together as a family for years. It is important that we do so." Two months later Fay's seven children and their families gathered together in Mueller Park for a short reunion. Will and Lois laughed with the others and the family drew closer than they had for a long time.

Surprisingly, that was not the end of the story. There was another chapter that did not come out until 12 years later at another family reunion—this one at Fish Lake in Southern Utah.

At a family testimony meeting Fay and Donna testified of our ancestors love for all the family. The story was told of the night Grandpa William Hansen came and reminded Fay that his “son” that needed him.

Then Dale, (Donna’s youngest son) asked if he could tell his side of the same story. Tears shown in his eyes as he explained that at the time of Fay's “death,” Dale was serving as a missionary in Argentina. Donna's younger children had accepted Fay with open hearts when he had married her. Surprisingly, Dale had grown closer to Fay than to his own father.

When Dale left on his mission, he had been concerned about Fay’s health, which wasn’t very good. Donna had promised to keep him informed of any problems. Soon afterward, Fay underwent his first coronary by-pass, and Donna had sent a telegram to Dale. The message about Fay's surgery and recovery took so long to reach Dale that when the second coronary by-pass was scheduled, Donna decided not to worry Dale until it was all over.

Dale, however, didn't need a letter or telegram to know that Fay was very ill and that he might die. The same day Fay had his surgery, Dale had awoke from a vivid dream wherein he saw Jenny, Fay's deceased first wife, and others waiting to welcome Fay into the spirit world. Dale recognized Jenny though he had never met her in this life, and knew that she was eagerly awaiting Fay’s arrival.

The fear that Fay would die upset Dale so much that he asked his missionary companion to join him in a special fast and prayer. Dale pleaded with the Lord to spare Fay. He explained that he had just learned to appreciate Fay as the father he'd never had before then. He cried that he still had many activities—fishing, hunting—that he wanted to do with Fay. During a long, anxious day Dale and his companion worried and prayed. That night Dale received a confirmation of the spirit, that the Lord had heard his plea and that Fay would be spared. He felt peace that Fay would be fine.

It was very late that evening, (not weeks later, as before) when Dale received a telegram that told him that Fay had had another coronary surgery. Donna explained in the telegram that although there had been some problems, Fay was recovering. Dale was never told that Fay had died after the surgery, or that he had experienced a visit from his father while he was clinically dead.

On that starlit night around a campfire in 1992, tears flowed as Dale recalled the experience he had endured at the time of Fay’s “death.” He shared his immense feeling of gratitude that his prayer had been answered; that Fay had been spared because “his son” needed him.

Which son needed Fay that night when his heart stopped? Perhaps both. Only Fay’s father knows—and he can’t tell us.

Incident in the South China Sea--1971

A Veteran's Day Experience told by Edward, Major, Retired, U.S.A. Army

How are we influenced and are we really listening when our Heavenly Father is talking to us? Who is directing us during this time frame? While I was in Vietnam I had several experiences when I knew I was being prompted by our Heavenly Father. One took place when I was Operations Officer at Chu Lai in April 1971.

Since I was an Instructor Pilot, I’d been given a mission to give a checkride one day. In Vietnam checkrides were given every six months or whenever a pilot was made an aircraft commander. What you did on a checkride was to take the pilot through all the emergency procedures, all routine procedures, make sure they were able to handle the aircraft, see if their judgment was good, and if they were capable of flying the missions they were assigned to fly.

When we got out to the aircraft that morning, the aircraft that I was originally assigned to give the checkride in was restricted from doing running landings which was normally one of our procedures. However, as an I.P. (Instructor Pilot) I could wave that particular portion of the checkride if I wanted to. But I felt, “No, I want to give this particular individual the running landing.”

So I talked to another aircrew that was getting ready to go out on a regular mission that day, and their aircraft was okay for running landings, so we coordinated with maintenance officer to see if there was any problem with swapping aircrafts. He consented to letting us go ahead and swap aircraft.

We took off on the checkride, and everything was perfectly normal—no problems whatsoever. The airfield where I gave the checkride was located right next to South China Sea, and as we were downwind over the sea, all of a sudden there was a loud bang and the aircraft swung violently to the right. I thought initially, we had had a midair collision with an aircraft coming up off the airfield who had taken off and hit us in the back of the aircraft. In my mind, I visualized the aircraft on fire, falling into the ocean and exploding. I grabbed the controls from the young pilot and headed the aircraft for the beach.


Now, normally when you have things like this happen, emergency procedures are to reduce the throttle and make an auto rotation down. However, this time, for some reason, I did not do this. I did the exact opposite. I did not reduce the throttle—I kept it full open. I kept all the power that I had, that the engine could produce, applied to the rotor system. Why I did this I don’t know. I just did it. I can’t say that I was told to do it, or directed to do it. It was just one of those things that for some reason, I did. I kept the full throttle applied.



We made the beach. When we landed, I turned aircraft to land on a steep slope—a 25 degree slope. Usually you can't make a landing on a 25 degree slope in that particular aircraft. How I did it, I don’t have any idea. I just know I did. One skid was in the water, the other skid on the beach. That’s how close it came to going in the water. When the collective pitch was reduced, as the skids touched the beach, the rotor blades came to an immediate stop. Fortunately because of where we were and my extraordinary actions, both the other pilot and I were safe.


When maintenance checked the engine, they discovered that transmission oil was lost due to blown seals, resulting in internal failure of the transmission. The pieces of the transmission were ground into small magnetized metal, pieces of which I still have.
href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yjun0Zxwp2iUGG9UFK78qTz01X1Tq_KUQtt1zmMMwYeMDRRgSxwde30N02Keqre1vELQIwq18iqyD6MV-XCT_1kNT__vLqAkacR2eKpE0IbP9YfDnyPn3YcrEqhc6AYBVylXeLQI0_Y/s1600/helicopter+report2+%2528Medium%2529.bmp">Now, if this aircraft, originally scheduled for another mission had gone on its original mission, there’s a very good possibility that the 10 to 14 people aboard (it would have been a loaded aircraft) would not have been as fortunate as we had been. If that aircraft had gone out flying out over the mountains, in very rough terrain, with virtually no landing areas available for them, when the transmission had seized up, there is little chance that they could have landed safely.

Maybe I was just a tool in the hand of our Heavenly Father; if we had not swapped aircraft most likely everybody on that other aircraft would have been killed. By swapping aircraft, I was very fortunate in being exactly where I was in the situation where I was in, to land the aircraft safely.

Our Father in Heaven does give guidance to us. We may not recognize that guidance comes from our Father in Heaven. At the time that this occurrence happened, I would not have said that I had had a vision like Moses did with the burning bush or that I heard a voice like Moses heard coming out of the bush telling him to do this or not to do this. But looking back on it, I know the promptings of the spirit were coming to me. I know that I was being given guidance and direction on what to do. I know that I was being looked after by our Father in Heaven. I know that our Father in Heaven guides us and directs us, and helps us in these things.

"Trailing Clouds of Glory . . . and Eternal Friendships"

Have you ever met someone and felt like you knew them already? Started talking to someone and felt like you were best friends?

Recently my daughter Diana and her husband Jason adopted a son Aedyn. As they get to know and enjoy his special personality, I wonder at the miracle of children and if we knew our children in the pre-existent world.

As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe in the Plan of Salvation—that our eternal experience can be divided into three main parts: premortal life, mortal life, and life after death.i In our premortal life or the pre-existence, we were spiritual beings with talents and abilities who chose to come to earth to be tested. Like today on earth, we had friends who we were closer to than others. Did we want to come to earth in families with those who we were close to in the pre-existence? I don’t know, but some things make me wonder.

When I had my second child 18 months after my first, she was as different as night from day as my first born child. Athena was a fussy eater, and would nurse for a minute, wiggle and look around, eventually get back to nursing and wiggle again. She wouldn’t cry; she just wasn’t interested in eating. She was hyperactive and didn’t sleep much and she was never still. Holding her was like holding a pack of monkeys.

She was the cutest, adorable little baby, but she drove me crazy. I had imagined a sweet, doll-like daughter to dress up who would coo at me, and I had a fidgety, squirming bundle of nerves who was never still. Getting her dressed was a 20-minute gymnastic trick and laying still and cooing was something she may have done in her sleep—if she ever slept. She didn’t nurse well, and when she did, she threw up everything—projectile vomiting. For the first year, I smelled like sour milk and I didn’t dare try to feed her any solid food.

One day in Mineral Wells, Texas where we were living, my older toddler son was playing happily and my daughter was going 100 miles per hour. Exhausted, I put Athena in the playpen, and sat down on the couch and broke down in tears. Suddenly I could see my deceased mother standing across the room by my daughter.

“Oh, Beth, I knew Athena’s special spirit before she came to earth! I knew how difficult it would be for you to understand her,” I felt my mother say.

I jerked my head up and stared at the playpen. There was no one, especially my long-deceased mother, standing by the playpen where my daughter was trying to climb out, as I had thought I had seen. I was sure I was going crazy. Not only was I a bad mother, now I was crazy, besides. I put my head in my hands and began to cry harder.

With my eyes closed, I saw my mother’s smile—she was almost laughing as she gazed at the baby. “Your daughter is such a special spirit, Beth. She and I were good friends in the pre-existence. When I knew you were going to be her mother, I knew it would be like it was between us—you two would struggle to understand each other, because you are both so different in personality. Just as we often struggled to understand each other—I often wondered if you were from Mars because we were so different. But just as we loved each other, you and Athena will love each other and learn from each other!”

I jerked my eyes open and although I couldn’t see my mother with my human eyes, I could feel her love and her laughter. I knew she was there in the room with me, comforting me and playing with my tiny daughter. I cried more, but it wasn’t tears of discouragement, but of happiness and love, as I picked up my squirming daughter. I looked around the room and wondered just where my mother was as Athena kept trying to crawl over my shoulder and reach something behind me, then would turn around and almost leap out of my arms grasping for something in front of me.

I thought of that incident over the years when I became discouraged or worried. I didn’t consciously think of my mother being there watching over me; but I knew she understood how I loved and tried to understand a daughter who was so different from me.

Years later we were living in Vicenza, Italy, and Athena and her younger brother, Marc, were receiving their patriarchal blessings from a Patriarch from Frankfurt Germany Serviceman’s Stake. As Brother Peter Mourik, the patriarch, was giving Athena the blessing (which was recorded, typed and given to her), he paused and added, “You are greatly loved by several wonderful friends who have gone to a glorious world. Forefathers and relatives are mindful of you; you have given them joy by the way you live. You do not live for yourself alone.” As he said these words, I felt so strongly that he spoke of my mother who was there in the room with us, who had been a friend to Athena in the pre-existence. I felt my mother’s love for Athena and for me so strongly that I could almost see her.ii

While Ed and I were in our forties and living in Italy, we had thought our child-bearing days were over—I had had nephritis, breast cancer, bilateral modified mastectomies, and many other medical problems. Then one night I “saw” a tall young man’s spirit standing by the side of our bed; he told me he was our son and he would be coming to our family. In January 1987 Bryan Mikele was born in Vicenza, Italy; he is over six feet tall, and very musical.

My daughter Diana loved music from the time she was born. She would calm and “listen” whenever music played. It was so noticeable that I wrote about it in her and in my journal, and then totally forgot about it. When she was a teen-ager, she “discovered” her musical abilities, became a vocalist and became my most musically talented child. She had beautiful blue eyes (my only blue-eyed child out of five children).

Diana and her husband Jason were disappointed twice when they almost adopted a baby, and then it fell through. Once the birth mother changed her mind and decided to keep the baby the day before they were to get the baby. So when they heard there was the possibility of a baby to adopt, they were afraid to hope it could be theirs. But they flew to Utah to check on the possible baby to adopt. The five-month-old boy’s name was “Aedyn,” and the birth mother did not want it to be changed; the only name Diana and Jason had ever planned on for a boy was “Aiden.”

The blue-eyed boy looked so much like Diana and Jason that he could have been their own genetic child. The birth mother said Aedyn's most prominent characteristic was that he loved music and would calm down and “listen” to it whenever he heard it. When the birth mother met with Diana and Jason and let them hold Aedyn, the baby laughed and smiled and was so excited the whole time they had him. The mother took that to mean they were to be his parents and immediately wanted to sign the papers giving him to them. Later she located the birth father and brought him in sign over his rights, fill out his medical history and write a letter to be given to Aedyn explaining why he gave him up to Diana and Jason—so Aedyn could have a better life.

I think Aedyn is Diana and Jason’s baby as much as if he were their own flesh and blood, and not just because he looks like them. If he were black or Hispanic, he would still be theirs—I am sure they were supposed to be a family, and when they are sealed in the temple, they will be an eternal family.

I am sure that if the veils were taken from our eyes and we could see all the pre-existent connections we had on earth today, we would be amazed. Did we give Marc his father’s name as a middle name because of a premortal connection? Are Diana’s musical talents (and her rheumatoid arthritis) a connection to Ed’s grandmother Viola Dayley who also had rheumatoid arthritis and was known for her musical talents all over Southern Idaho?

The next time you meet someone with whom you an instant rapport, is it just coincidence? Or could it be because you were close friends in the premortal life? Wouldn’t you like to know? Someday you will know!

William Wordsworth said it in a beautiful poem,

“Ode:iii
Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”

“Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:”

_______________________________________________

i http://lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?index=16&locale=0&sourceId=45af9daac5d98010VgnVCM1000004d82620a____&vgnextoid=bbd508f54922d010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD
ii “Patriarchal blessings are given to worthy members of the Church by ordained patriarchs. Patriarchal blessings include a declaration of a person's lineage in the house of Israel and contain personal counsel from the Lord. As a person studies his or her patriarchal blessing and follows the counsel it contains, it will provide guidance, comfort, and protection.”
http://lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?index=16&locale=0&sourceId=17517c2fc20b8010VgnVCM1000004d82620a____&vgnextoid=bbd508f54922d010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD

iii http://www.bartleby.com/101/536.html , Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250-1900. William Wordsworth. 1770-1850.

New Technology

I can remember a high school assembly I went to (approximately 1960, or 50 years ago) where someone came and talked about all the technology we would see come to pass in our lifetime. He talked about what was to become the microwave; he told us Dick Tracey’s video wrist watch radio would some be a reality; and he told us about many other technological miracles that would soon become commonplace. I especially remember he talked about a machine they were working on that would transport us from place to place electronically. We would go into a booth-like mechanism, dial our destination, and it would break us down into electrons that could be transported instantly through wires and reassembled on the other end. He said they had already transported a rabbit from room to room. However, he didn’t say if they had done it successfully or not.

To put things in perspective for younger people, in 1960 computers were room-like machines that communicated with punch cards as input/output devices; color TVs were just becoming common. I thought I lived pretty advanced technologically because we had had TV since 1950-1951 (my father was an early adopter of technology), whereas my husband who grew up in rural Southern Idaho, remembers seeing his first black and white TV show as a teenager. In 1963, I worked with computers as a key punch operator (and Ed worked with the Zion’s First Bank’s main frame computer), so we were always interested in technology.



In 1968 we went to the San Antonio Texas World Fair and saw the Future House, with the working video phone, plants growing in water, robot vacuum cleaner and solar heating. Most of these quickly came into use, except the video phone, which is only now becoming widespread with Skype and computer instant messaging. Who would have thought it would have taken 50 years for something that was technically possible (but probably prohibitably expensive, and would need universal technology installed) to become even common.

Other things we didn’t have that I love now, are automatic transmissions and air conditioning in cars. I learned to drive on a stick shift and I remember I had to have an automatic transmission when we got married—we only had one car! Air conditioning was not standard on cars, and I can remember Ed and I driving across Nevada in the summer and put ice on the floor of the car and then turned the lower vent on to blow across the ice to cool us. It worked pretty well until the ice melted!

We were going through flight school in Alabama in 1966, and the only way you could get any television reception was through cable, so we had cable TV way back then. It was very inexpensive there and it later became part of the Turner Broadcasting System (TBS) and when we moved back to Alabama in 1980, we were just in time to see the beginning of CNN.

One of the biggest advances that have made such a difference in my life involved the personal computer or PC, which is called that because it is operated directly by an end user without an intervening computer operator. In researching this, I was amazed to realize that “The first true Personal Computer was the Sphere 1 computer, created in Bountiful, Utah in 1975 by computer pioneer Michael D. Wise.” (Wikipedia, the History of Personal Computers).


Even before I got a PC, I recall taking a DOS programming class in college in the early 1980s, and we purchased our first PC, which was actually an Apple IIE, in Italy in 1985. The computer had no hard disk, and my son Marlowe bought a game for it which went to a book series that he had left in storage back in the states. So he hacked into the operating system, read the answers to the questions that he couldn’t remember the answers to play the game. The first “cheat sheets.”

We bought our first PC running MS Windows 3.1 in 1990, and computers have been a major part of my life ever since. I began using the internet and using email when I was working with the Liahona magazine at Church Office Building in 1993. I was coordinating the magazine work between the editorial and art and production departments of the magazine so I often had to get things from the internet (Church News), as well as to and from the translators throughout the world. I think I was one of the first church office workers who had the internet on my computer, although it was limited. I can’t even imagine life without email!

Ed and I had the internet at home very early, and found it fascinating. In 2000 when I changed jobs and began working for the school district as a school technology specialist, my job was learning how to use all technology available, from Ipods, projectors, Smartboards, and much more. Ed and I got our first cell phones while working there in 2000; Ed had said he didn’t see any reason to get a cell phone before then because if someone couldn’t get in touch with him on the regular phone, they didn’t need to. Now he can’t imagine not having a cell phone, with email, the internet and apps running on it.

I have never gotten into instant messaging, except for their video messaging to see and talk to my grandchildren. That is something I love!!!!! I have Skype on my computer, but most people I talk to don’t have it, so I haven’t used it yet. My phone works through the internet so I can call anywhere in the country without long distance, which I like. I never would have taken up Facebook, except that is the only place where my children post photos of my grandchildren, so if I want to get pictures, that is where I have to go. But I only have 15 “friends” on Facebook, and they are all family members—children, siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews. I have learned a little about some of my long-distance nieces though which has been nice. Athena helped me post my first “E-vite” on Facebook when we invited people to an Open House for Diana and Jason and their new baby for this past Saturday afternoon. People can rsvp on Facebook, and it sends them a reminder. However, I have no use for Twitter.


Even simple things like calculators that we never even think about now, were once so expensive that it blows your mind. I recall when Ed was going through his military Air Defense Artillery advanced course in El Paso in 1974 and they were using slide rulers to calculate the effects of nuclear weapons. Ed purchased a new calculator which could do the same thing as the slide rule, except it had memory and could save the information as well as process it. It cost $135.00 (about $1,000 in today’ money) and we thought it was miraculous, but you get the same thing today for $3.00.

The most personally important technology that we have now is the technology that has saved Ed’s life, prolonged it, and has given him a quality of life he hasn’t had in years—organ transplants, specifically, a lung transplant. This is something we couldn’t even imagine when I was growing up, and has personally affected our life.
[Below, Ed a year ago, before a lung transplant; Ed last May after a lung transplant]

Pioneer Day

I’ve always celebrated Pioneer Day—the day the Mormon Pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley. Of course I grew up in Utah, where it is a state holiday and EVERYONE celebrates it. Even when we joined the army and moved to Texas, I still celebrated it with the children because to me it was more than a state or civic holiday—it celebrated my pioneer heritage!

I remember dressing my children in pioneer outfits on July 24 and having them march around the block in Killeen, Texas, pretending they were crossing the plains, coming to the “promised land,” Utah.

I even remember in Hawaii on Pioneer Day, crossing the saddle between Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa over to the Kona side of the mountain. There we went to a beach with picnic tables and we made pancakes. Eating our breakfast with sand blowing in our faces, I talked about pioneers and the hardships they’d faced crossing the plains.

There were many Pioneer Day celebrations in many places, but when we retired from the military and came back to Centerville, Utah, I again celebrated Pioneer Day in the traditional way—with parades, fireworks, picnics. There were also rodeos, but I never did those.

This past July 23, I celebrated Pioneer Day in the most authentic way ever—I hiked a “moderately strenuous” three-mile hike at Yellowstone Park with my daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren. I really felt like a pioneer as I struggled up that mountain side.

First I felt prepared for the hike. I’d been walking approximately three miles a day in Los Angeles, so I felt fit. I was actually looking forward to the hike with my family. Whenever I think of mountain hikes I think of my mother and how much she loved the mountains, and how we used to hike in Mueller Park above Bountiful when I was growing up.

The first part of the hike went well, and I enjoyed it. We reached our scenic point—a beautiful waterfall that was worth the hike. There were even some wild raspberries there along the trail.

Then there was dissention; my 12-year-old granddaughter Jenni wanted to be in the lead of the group and her mother wanted her to stay with us. My 15-year-old grandson James had gone on ahead of us; Jenni became angry and went back alone. She broke the cardinal rule of hiking: everyone stay together.

We decided to continue on the more difficult part of the trail. Whereas the first part of the trail was easy, this part was the “strenuous” part; it was loopbacks straight up the mountain, across and down the other side. I discovered how really unfit I was. I really struggled to keep up with Athena and seven-year-old Emma. (I might try to claim that we were at 10,000 feet elevation and I had not become totally acclimatized to the altitude, but I don’t think it would wash; I just wasn’t as fit as I thought.)

Athena was patient and kept waiting for me as I stopped to rest, and I thought of the pioneers crossing the mountains; my hearts went out to them. But I knew I had to go on—there was no going back. Even when Emma got tired, she could still run rings around me!

Finally we reached the point where we could see the parking lot down below, and I realized I might make it. Athena was still worried about Jenni, and if she’d met up with James and Dirk at the meeting point. I felt bad that I was holding Athena back so much, but I knew at my old age and decrepit stage of fitness, there was nothing I could do.

But we weren’t through. There was one place on the trail where huge trees had fallen across the trail and we had to crawl across them. Finally we made it back to the trailhead where Jenni had indeed waited for James. We were all together again and we drove to Old Faithful where Ed was waiting patiently for us.

It was an interesting pioneer day exercise with a lot of interesting parallels. Mainly I was glad to make it through and go home. I was glad that I wasn’t the least bit sore the next day; at least I was that fit! I was especially grateful that I’d done it with my family, who were tolerant and understanding.

Plus Athena could say the next month when she took her young women on that hike as part of the young women camp, that if an old 66-year-old lady and a seven-year-old kid could make it, they could, too.

Moving--I Hate It!

One of my most dreaded chores is moving! Despite (or maybe because of) the many years of moving in our 23 years in the military, I dread the actual move!

I hate the preparation for the move, when I go through everything in the house and get rid of half of the stuff because we’ve outgrown it, we don’t need it anymore, it won’t fit in our new location, or just because we can’t take it with us. Moving means major downsizing because everything you move costs twice what it is worth to move, so you must be very sure it is worth it to move it!

--All grocery items automatically go—to neighbors, friends, whoever can use it. It doesn’t matter if you just bought it yesterday, it can’t go with you!

--All kitchen utensils go to a thrift shop too. This move, because we came with only what fit in our car, we had to buy a lot of essentials, toasters, mixers, cake pans, etc. Since I already have duplicates at home, I didn’t need to bring any of that home, so away they went to the nearby thrift store along with the sheets, comforter, plates, glasses, silverware, etc. that we had needed to live with for eight months.

I have to organize everything so when I arrive at the next location, everything is organized, instead of all mixed up like it is in the junk drawer before the move. This is helpful on the other end of the move, but it takes forever, on the “pre-move” end. It takes weeks, and I pack each box, carefully, resenting doing it every minute. Even when the movers packed, I’d go through everything in the house and had it all organized, so they could pack it all exactly like I wanted it—organized. This move, though I packed everything. I am a lot older and slower, so it took a lot longer.

It is painful to say “goodbye” to all the friends we’ve made during our eight-month stay in Los Angeles. We have made some close friends in a short time, but then just like in the military, it isn’t the length of time you are at a place, but the people, that make the difference, and we met some wonderful people—at church, at the hospital, at our apartment, at the lung clinic. As we left friends behind, even knowing we’ll be back in six weeks to see them, the same “leaving forever—nothing will ever be the same” thoughts of our previous moves hit me hard. This part of our life is over; as enjoyable as the next phase of our life will be, it won’t be our time in L. A.

It is hard to leave Los Angeles because we have truly enjoyed the area and our time there; Ed would love to find a condo where we could spend the winter there each year. Many people in Utah have asked us how we liked living in Los Angeles, as though they expected us to relate the perils of living in the big wicked city, fighting gangs, being attacked by movie smut as we walked the streets, inhaling the depraved, smoggy air of Sin City. But our time in the Westwood Area of Los Angeles (one mile south of the Los Angeles Temple) was a memorable one and we enjoyed visiting the local sights—the Getty Villa, La Brea Tar Pits, the Queen Mary at Long Beach, Santa Monica Beach, the Natural History Museum at USC, and much more.

The first part of our move is over, and we’re back home—waiting for our stuff to arrive, so I guess the worst part is over. But I hope I never have to go through that again! But despite everything, the trip was worth it; Ed has a new lung and is a new man, so I can go through a lot more than a move to achieve that!

A Tale of Two Men

This is a tale of two men named Ed. Both were slim, attractive, and white-haired.

The one Ed was a world-famous, wealthy Hollywood agent, who controlled the lives of many famous movie stars. He cared personally for each of his clients; he inspired loyalty as he worked for them personally through good times and bad; he made their careers soar. He taught many young Hollywood professionals to be good agents, and left a heritage of excellence as well as integrity behind as well as wealth and fame.

The other Ed is an average person of no particular renown. A retired military officer who served two tours in Vietnam, he was a military aviator. He has been married for 47 years, and is a father of five children. After he retired from the military, he was a school technology specialist, teaching teachers how to use technology. He is a loving father, a witty man, a caring friend, a charming person who truly enjoyed others. He has kindly led and taught many people over the years.

In January 2010, both men were doing respiratory therapy together at Cedar-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. During the months they worked together they shared a little of their lives and histories. They were approximately the same age, with advanced lung disease, emphysema.

Recently one Ed--the famous one’s--obituary was in the Los Angeles Times; the same day the ordinary Ed was on a day-and-a half deep-sea fishing trip off the coast of San Diego, California.

No one knows why one person dies and the other lives; that is in God’s hands. For a while last year, the ordinary Ed was so sick with pneumonia and his lung function so restricted that many truly thought his destiny would be limited and his life short-lived. He was on oxygen all the time, but his face was gray, his lips were tinged blue, and he couldn’t say a complete sentence without taking multiple breaths.

The doctors’ options seemed non-existent, and the second time Ed got pneumonia after flying in a commercial plane, he insisted he would never fly in an airplane again—not even to visit family. Going to the store became a major undertaking. When his two granddaughters came over to visit, they began to run into the bedroom and lay on the bed with him and watch “Cash Cab” or “How it is Made” on TV to be with him. The doctors still had no solutions except to keep trying the pulmonary therapy. In three months of therapy, Ed was where they had tried to start him when he began. He had lost 30 pounds.

One small thing changed the situation—a priesthood blessing given Ed by his oldest son, Marlowe in April 2009. In the blessing, Ed was told he had “many more things to do in this life.” He was told that he was to actively seek out treatments that would improve his health. He was told he must “persevere, and keep after the doctors to find a solution to his medical problems.” He was reminded it wouldn’t be easy, but that he must keep looking for treatments that would allow him to recover his health and do the things that he had still had left to do in his life.

The “solution” that changed Ed’s life was a lung transplant, which wasn’t easy or immediate. It couldn’t be done in Utah because of his age—the nearby University of Utah Medical Center did not do transplants on patients over 65 years, and Ed was 68 years-old. However, Ed’s pulmonary specialist did his training at Cedar-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles, and recommended Ed to Cedar-Sinai where they evaluated him for a lung transplant (they transplant lung patients until the age of 70 years).

Ed finally passed all the hurdles, rented an apartment in Los Angeles, and moved to California to be eligible to get a transplant. Finally at the end of April, Ed received the lung of a 20-year-old and began his long journey to recovery. It has had its difficulties, including two bronchoscopies, and one time when they had to drain his lung, but in July, he was able to go deep-sea fishing and wrestle the 30 pound albacore tuna into the ship. It was something that he could not have dreamed of doing a year earlier.

What are some of the “many more things” Ed has to do in this life? Who knows? Maybe they are no more than enjoying his children and grandchildren and making memories with them. Maybe it is visiting them wherever they live, watching their activities, and sharing their dreams. However, what a valuable use of the years he now has left to him? Maybe his legacy and obituary won’t be as memorable as that of the famous Ed, but to his family, they are far more precious, more valuable, and of far greater worth than the items listed in famous Ed’s obituary.

Ordinary Ed's monetary wealth will never compare to famous Ed's monetary wealth. But to ordinary Ed's family, his worth in memories is priceless. The one Ed’s memorial will be telecast around the world; The ordinary Ed's memorial will live only in the hearts and in the lives of his friends and family.

"Every individual matters. Every individual has a role to play.

Every individual makes a difference."

Jane Goodall