Freedom

My DC girls gave me this jeep to remind me of Ben.
I hung it in my car - because, after all, cars were his "thing".
It now has a place next to the heart I've had hanging in each of my cars
ever since college.  A reminder of love, peace and the promise of the future.

Last night was the first night I've gone out since Ben's funeral.  It was the first time I've felt up to it.  And even then I really had to talk myself into going.  But I knew I needed it.

See, I was meeting up with my DC girls.  And I knew that I'd laugh and cry and come away feeling lighter.

What I didn't expect was the freedom they would grant me to embrace my emotions and the validation they would give me in expressing them.

I've kept my emotions, thoughts and feelings pretty close to my heart in an effort to not be a "downer".  I don't want to be "that girl" that only posts about her loss.  I want people to laugh and smile and feel happy after an encounter with me.

Last night they let me talk about the funeral, my thoughts and my feelings.  Me, who usually laughs and jokes.  Me, who we all thought had no deep emotions {ha ha}.  They gave me the freedom to be whomever I need to be as I go through this process.  And that freedom felt so sweet!

Thank you, once again, my dear friends.

You have no idea how much strength your encouragement gave me.

You have no idea how GOOD it felt to laugh and Google and gossip and talk about mundane every day things.

As always, when I needed you, you were there.

I loved Becky's reminder that at some point all of us will find ourselves on the front row next to the casket of a loved one.  At some point we will all have that moment where we will look into the audience and see  the faces of our dearest friends.  It's humbling to know that no matter what painful roads we may travel, we won't be alone.  And that even if we have a season of heartache and loss, we will still be accepted and loved until we can find our way again.

I want all my friends and family to know how much it meant to me to see your faces in the audience as I spoke at Ben's funeral.  This journey of life would be empty without our fellow travelers.

Thank you for joining me on my journey and for giving me some of your strength on the days when my "soul is on it's knees".

It will be because of you that my brightest days are yet to come!

The Playdate

This afternoon I had a play date with one of my very favorite pals.  My brother.

Ben and I, Christmas morning, 1982

For the 11 days since Ben passed away I have strictly avoided thoughts of the cemetery and his burial plot.  I couldn't think about it, see pictures of it or discuss it.  To admit he had a resting place would mean that it was too real.  More real than I could handle at this point.

And then, today, I realized that it was time to go.

Time to go back to that place where one week ago the only sound was a lone bagpipe playing Amazing Grace.  To the place where one week ago I was surrounded by loved ones, yet felt totally alone.  Where one week ago I watched in quiet reflection as eight of the men in Ben's life lined the muddy path in respectful silence while eight more carried his casket to it's final resting place.

One week doesn't sound like a very long time when I type it out like this.  But I can tell you that this week has been slow as I've tried to ready myself to start down the path to healing and allowing myself to grieve.

And I knew that today was the day for me to start on that path.

And my first feeble footsteps needed to be on the ground where my brother's body rests.

The place that scared me the most.

The Hubs and I loaded up the kids and made the short drive from our home.  The kids were chattering away in the back, having no idea of the stinging in my eyes and the pounding in my heart.

The sky was sunny and there were people walking up and down the streets, out for a Sunday stroll, their lives whizzing past while mine has felt stuck lately.

When we pulled into the cemetery the kids finally quieted down.  The Hubs pulled up to the curb and we sat there for minute.  Then I asked if anyone wanted to get out with me and walk over to Ben's grave.  They all surprised me by saying yes.

The ground was muddy, a remnant of the many footprints from loved ones who made the snowy trek with us last week.

There was a fresh mound of dirt and some flowers on top.

It was quiet.

And then the coolest thing happened as I sat there and stared at the ground.  It began to snow.  Light, fluffy flakes.  Weightless.  Almost too light to even touch down, they danced through the air.  And pretty soon thousands of them joined in the dance.  They stuck to our hair and our coats, but they were so light that their touch couldn't be felt.  Soon we were totally surrounded, sight blurred, yet somehow remaining dry and warm.

"What's happening?" one of the kids giggled as we looked into the sky.  The blue, blue sky with strange dancing flakes coming out of it.

"Uncle Ben is saying hello," I smiled.

And suddenly I felt him there.  Laughing and dancing and smiling with those snowflakes as he said hello.

Tears began to stream down my face and I knew.  He was telling me that he is at peace.  That I will be okay and that he is watching over us.

I looked at Steve and we silently began walking back to the car, somehow with a new rhythm to my step.  Rather than feeble, shaking knees, I walked away knowing that I've left my brother in good hands.  My role as his protector has been handed to another.  One who will do a better job than me.

I can let him go.

I can let him be free.

And even though I will mourn his loss for the rest of my mortal life, I will do so with the knowledge that he is okay.  Even though I will miss him, and cry sometimes, and have to adjust to a new normal, he is smiling down on me, hugging me with snowflakes and wanting me to be happy.

After all those times that I did my best to make him smile, to ease his suffering and to be his friend, it was his turn to give me some comfort.

It was the best play date ever.

The Talk

I'm sure that it comes as no shock that after all my joking about what I'd do if I was asked to speak at Ben's funeral.... I was asked to speak at Ben's funeral. 

I considered it a great honor that Ben wanted me to.  And I felt that it was my own special way of celebrating my brother and friend. 

I had many friends and family comment on how stressful that would be to speak at a loved one's funeral. And at first it was.  I wanted it to be perfect and I wanted people to come away having a better understanding of who Ben was.

In the end, I like to think that Ben was snuggled up in the front row next to his lovely Sara, grinning and shaking his head and chuckling at my antics... just like old times.

It was an honor, Ben, to share our stories and laugh together one more time.

Today I wanted to share a few excerpts from that talk.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A couple months ago I told Ben that if I got to speak at his funeral I was going to roast him.  Without missing a beat he looked at me with a straight face and replied, "Good luck with finding a story that doesn't make you look bad too."

He was right.  I feel that that statement was proof of our friendship over the years.  And I’m grateful for so many adventures shared and memories made.

I was only 2 1/2 when Ben was born, so probably the most important thing I can say is that I don't ever remember being without him.  He was as constant in my life as my parents.  But he was not someone I took for granted. Throughout my entire life I recognized the special bond we shared. 

One day, after we knew Ben wasn't going to survive this cancer battle I was fully engaged in some wallowing while I did housework.  I was angry at God and the world for taking my brother away.  As I vigorously vacuumed my family room I had a sudden peace seep into my heart.  And I knew that this was the plan all along.  God always knew that Ben would be taken earlier than we would like.  And because of that I was given the gift of a strong bond with him from birth.  We didn't waste the time that some siblings waste fighting as children and then becoming friends as adults.  We were always friends, from day one.  And that was just how God meant for it to be. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I have no doubt that Ben made the conscious choice to handle the end of his life with humor and dignity.  He could very easily have chosen the path of bitterness and frustration.  But instead he continued to laugh and smile. 

I have this poem hanging in my house that I found at some point during the past two years.  It reminds me of Ben.  It also serves as a reminder to me of how I want to be as I handle the grief over his loss.

It's by Ella Wheeler Wilcox:

It is easy enough to be pleasant
When life flows by like a song
But the man worthwhile is the one who will smile
When everything goes dead wrong
For the test of the heart is trouble
And it always comes with the years
And the smile that is worth
The praises of earth
Is the smile that shines through the tears.

Toward the end of Ben's life I occasionally felt helpless in easing his burden.  I was unsure of how to help or what to do.  Finally one day I sent him a text expressing my desire to help him and that I felt like I wasn't doing enough.  His response was something along the lines of, "The one thing you can do for me that not many others can is to reminisce about growing up."  So, we began our "remember when" text messages.  We shared many of those during the last month of his life.  I hope it lifted his spirits and made him smile as much as it did me. 

When all is said and done it was truly like the quote by Robert Brault, "Enjoy the little things in life…for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things."

Ben wanted to talk about the family trips we had taken, games we had played as children, and how much happiness he got from looking through family scrapbooks.  His focus was on the people in his life, not the things.  He didn't want to know how our retirement fund was growing or which cruise we were going to try to take next year.  He wanted to know how our kids were doing, how our husbands were dealing with the stresses of work, and then he wanted me to make him some promises.

Promise me you'll spend time as a family with your children.

Promise me you'll not let excuses get in the way of the people in your life.

Promise me you'll take tons of pictures of your kids.

Promise me you'll be a patient and kind mother and wife.

Promise me you'll continue to love and include Sara.

Promise me you'll be slow to be offended or frustrated by family members.  Allow them to feel how they want to feel.  Understand that in the coming weeks they may say things in sadness or anger that they normally wouldn't.  Forgive them for it and be patient.

Promise me that you will never forget that you are living the dream.  Don't take for granted the fact that you have good health, that you have beautiful and healthy children and that you have a long future ahead of you.  Make good use of it.

I have come away from this gut wrenching experience with a new appreciation for family bonds.  They are the most important things we can cultivate during our time on this earth.

Pres.  Thomas S. Monson said: Time passes quickly…We cannot call back time that is past, we cannot stop time that now is, and we cannot experience the future in our present state. Time is a gift, a treasure not to be put aside for the future but to be used wisely in the present.

I know that Ben would want us to take advantage of the time we all have here on earth.  I hope you will all join me in promising Ben that we will treasure our families, that we will be patient and understanding, that we will not judge others but allow them to be who they are and love them regardless, that we will not take our health for granted and that we won't allow things to get in the way of making memories with our loved ones.

When I grow up I want to be just like my little brother.  I want people to think of me as someone who greets challenges with grace and humor.  I want people to feel safe with me and loved by me.  I want my home to feel like a sacred haven from the world.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thank you, Ben, for being not only my brother but my friend. 

I love you.

 

 

Forever Buddies

   To the outside world, we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family grief's and joys. We live outside the touch of time. ~ Carla Ortega    

My brother and I.  Forever buddies.

 

Love

It's just past midnight on the day that we laid my brother to rest.

It's so hard to believe that all around me life is going on as though nothing changed, yet my entire world has been rocked to it's core.

When I have more time, or I'm less tired, I hope to post more about this day.  But maybe not.  Maybe I'll let those thoughts and feelings stew for a while until the right words come and I'm ready.

One thing I do know is that in the future when I look back at this day I will be filled with love and gratitude.

Love for the literally hundreds of people who came to the viewing and funeral.

Love for the family and friends who traveled many miles to be with us.

Love for all the fun stories shared and hugs given.  For tissues passed and strong hands to hold.

 

You can't possibly understand what it meant to me to see your faces and to feel your support.

Your love helped to ease the sting of this day and make it into one of celebration and remembrance.

Thank you!

 

My sweet sis-in-law, Sara, says her final goodbye to Ben. 
A sweet moment never to be forgotten.

Ben's Obituary

Here is my brother's obituary.  I'm happy to say that I had a hand in writing it and I am grateful for having been given the opportunity to do so. It was an honor. In the end there are only so many things you can do to show your love for someone who has passed.  Thank you to Sara, his eternal bride, for letting me be a part of this and so many other things. 

OBITUARY FOR BENJAMIN JOSEPH RIDGES

 

 

DECEMBER 12, 1980 - FEBRUARY 6, 2013

Our beloved husband, son, brother, uncle and grandson, Ben Ridges, age 32, passed away on February 6, 2013 after a long battle with cancer.  It may have taken his body, but Ben's spirit was never taken.  He amazed and inspired us all with his patience, kindness and grace.  We will forever remember his example.

Ben was born to J. Rand and Marla Campbell Ridges on December 12th, 1980 in Bountiful, Utah.  Ben was the second of four children, the only son, and the king of the castle.  He was sealed to his beautiful sweetheart, Sara Jane Falkner Ridges, on November 27, 2002 in the Salt Lake Temple.  Together they moved several times before settling in Centerville, Utah.

Ben loved all things mechanical.  He spent many hours with his dad working on engines and adding horsepower.  He loved big tires, loud engines, and "showing us what this baby can do".  Ben loved both the mountains of northern Utah and the red rock and sand of Southern Utah.  He loved off-roading and horseback riding; whatever could take him off the beaten path and do so with speed.

Known as Uncle Teasy-Pants to his 8 nieces and 2 nephews, visits with him were always fun. During the last months of his life he often requested their visits to brighten his day and make him smile.  His home was plastered with drawings, pictures and cards sent by his earthly angels who prayed for and loved him.  He will be missed by them.  Eliana, Cadence, Joel and Jasec Hadley; Brielle, Claire, Addison and Molly Davis; and Brooklyn and Kennedy Phillips.

Ben is survived by his loving wife, Sara; furry child (boxer), Izzy; parents, J. Rand and Marla Ridges; sisters, Aspen (Steven) Hadley, Camille (Marty) Davis and Emily (David) Phillips; grandparents, Roy and Maxine Campbell; parents-in-law, Trudi and Harold "Short-T" Goode, Dane R. Falkner and Mary Jo Ahlin; brothers-in-law Dane V. (Charlotte) Falkner and Nicholas Falkner along with aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who loved him greatly.

Special thanks to doctors and staff at the University of Utah Hospital and Huntsman Cancer Hospital for the professional and charitable care provided to Ben.  Also to the many friends and neighbors who served and loved Ben during the past two years.  We couldn't have done it without you!

While he will be missed terribly, we imagine Ben joyfully casting off his mortal body.  We hope he will take big, deep breaths.  That he will run and jump and enjoy freedom from pain and suffering.  That he will increase the eternal joy and happiness of others on his eternal mission as he did in his earthly mission.

A funeral service to honor and celebrate his life will be held on Monday, February 11th at 11:00 a.m.  at the Chase Lane LDS Building, 1125 N. 400 West in Centerville.  A viewing will be held Sunday, February 10, from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. at Russon Brothers Mortuary, 295 N. Main in Bountiful and on Monday morning prior to the funeral services from 9:30 to 10:30 a.m. at the church.

In lieu of flowers, those who wish to do so may donate to The Ben Ridges Charitable Fund at any America First Credit Union in order to assist with funeral costs.

The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. The prize belongs to him or her who endures to the end.



   

   

The Little Things...

Earlier this week I received a very kind gift from a sweet friend of mine.  It was a lovely picture with the saying:

"Enjoy the little things in life... for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things" - Robert Brault.

She then wrote me a note saying how she sees me in this quote, that despite all I'm going through I am able to find joy along the way. 

It really touched me.  What a beautiful reminder that we have the power to chose both our actions and our reactions.  And what a powerful reminder that people watch us as we make those choices.

I've been asked a lot lately just how it is that I'm coping so well with the impending death of my brother.  How I remain so cheerful and optimistic.  How I continue to smile and joke and laugh with people.

Yesterday in church we had a beautiful lesson about God's plan for us.  During the lesson one sister said, "It's my biggest fear that someone close to me will die.  I don't want that to happen."

Now, before I continue, I want to give a disclaimer that that did not hurt my feelings, offend or sadden me in any way.

It did make me thoughtful though.

No wonder people continuously comment on my attitude and actions.  I am living some people's worst nightmare.  Heck, I'm living my own worst nightmare.

And I'm trying to do so with some semblance of sanity and gratitude along the way.

As I've thought about how to answer that question I've come up with three things that help make this hard time more bearable and give me reason to continue on in hope:

(1) Wanting peace for my brother.  No one, I mean NO ONE, could see him as he is now and wish for him to stay.  No one could call what he's going through "living".  It makes it a little easier to let go when I know that it means he'll get his eternal REST.  Ben is currently in the "endure" part.  And the word "rest" has never been as meaningful to me as it is now.  I pray for him to be able to rest from his afflictions.

(2) The prayers of others.  I firmly believe that the prayers offered in behalf of Ben, Sara and our family are making this burden feel a little lighter.  In fact, I'm a little bit worried for what will happen when those prayers taper off after his passing!

(3)  By far the most important component is my faith in God and his promises.  God loves us.  God wants happiness for us.  He created a plan where we can see Ben again.  I truly believe that when Ben dies he will go to a happy, beautiful place.  If the world we live on now is beautiful, then I imagine that heaven will be a million times better.

On the days when I feel devastated - because please never fool yourself into believing that I am anything less than DEVASTATED by saying goodbye for now - I imagine him casting off that shell of a body and going to a gorgeous place where his spirit will jump and run and roll in the grass.  I imagine that he'll build himself a "spirit" jeep and he'll haul cheeks down a place even more fabulous than Moab.  I imagine that he'll have his beloved dog, Lady, by his side with her tongue hanging out. 



Ben and his wife, Sara, in their scrambler...
Pounding the sand!

And for the most part, that is what I choose to focus on.  Because when I do allow myself to wallow, and when I imagine all the years here without him, it makes me feel a little bit crazy.  Sometimes it feels like the breath is being pulled from my body and that I won't ever recover from this no matter how many years pass.

And then I think about all the dreams that won't be realized.  Watching each other's children grow, going on cruises together as empty-nesters, him taking care of all the car stuff in Dad's garage for me. 

Each time my kids celebrate another birthday I can't help but think about all the birthdays they'll celebrate without Uncle Ben.  Every time I text him about something that happened that day I think about how I'm losing one of my best friends. 

I think of how I'll miss the joy of watching him shake his head in mock disgust at something stupid I say, or getting an actual real laugh out of him.

But, when the sorrow gets deepest I comfort myself with the belief that he will continue to be engaged in my life and the lives of our other family members.

After all, only the body dies.  Love and relationships live forever.

Ben enjoying God's beautiful earth.

I look forward to meeting up with him again someday.  I can't wait to hear about his heavenly adventures.... and I can't wait to laugh right along with him.