I weakly walked into the room. I'd been in a wheelchair since arriving at the hospital hours earlier, unable to muster the energy to move my limbs, the limbs that fed and clothed and reached after and cared for my daughter. She was lifeless and so were they.
Vic had been by her side from the moment he could. For me, it took some time to be able to face it head on like that. As I approached her bed and let out a stifled sob while trying to catch my breath, there was a beautiful blond nurse tending to her on her right side. Vic sat stoically to Lucy's left, holding her hand, caressing her face and hair, heavy with the weight of a father wanting to protect and save his precious daughter. We spoke softly to one another, calling Lucy by name, and trying to make sense of the situation. The nurse kept staring at me. She seemed to be moving very quietly, almost suspiciously as she worked. Finally she looked up and said, "Your daughter's name is Lucy?" "Yes. Lucia, actually, but we call her Lucy."
Vic and I continued speaking through our tears. He then said my name aloud as well, "Molly...its going to be ok."
Again the nurse froze.
When I heard the words she spoke next, I once again sobbed and felt an immersion in God's love.
"When your daughter arrived she was just labeled as a number. A case. An emergency with numbers and letters. She seemed so familiar to me. I even said out loud that I felt like I knew this little girl. I've never met you. I've never met her...but I have a daughter named Lucia. We call her Lucy... she is blond and beautiful and lively and it is rare to meet another Caucasian named Lucia. And...and...
and my name is Molly..."
I knew God was aware of me. Now, three years later, as I struggle to find meaning in the incident and process the intensity of what took place, I always go back to Molly. The first nurse to lovingly care for my Lucy. I can't deny I was being watched over. When it came to light that Lucy would be taken off life support, we asked for our nurse, Molly, to be the one who worked the last shift and assisted me in saying goodbye. What are the chances in all the universe that our nurse would be named Molly with a daughter named Lucy? I have to cling to this. The heavenly hand played in this event cannot be denied.
As I've rediscovered myself since that day of choosing to stand on my feet and face the gravity of the situation, I have faltered again and again. I've gone back to that wheelchair. I have felt either too weak, or too different, too overwhelmed, confused, or battered to stand. But each time I do, each time I open my eyes, I see another manifestation of God's love for me--His specific care and concern for me as an individual.
Molly and Lucy. Molly and Lucy.
I may not be "the best" Mormon in the world. The best mother or wife. But I'm trying to be a great human being who is authentically connected to the truth around her.
I will never forget my Molly. My earth angel and my beginning of seeing beauty amid the ashes.
To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning,the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, that they might be called trees of righteousness..." Isaiah 61:3
I took this photo in my backyard a few weeks ago. It is so glorious in Park City right now it nearly brings me to tears everyday. Really. Winter into summer...beauty for ashes.