Journal Brent's Back, Pain, Nursery, "eggies"

 

Journal  Brent’s back, pain, Nursery, “eggies”   15 February 2024

 

Brent went this morning for an epidural shot in his lower back.  I waited for him as they took him in.  We were there by 9am and left before 11am, everything being successfully completed.  He was still woozy, but his restless leg problem set in and he was in such agony just sitting still that they walked him out and I met them in the parking lot.  Tonight he won’t be able to take his Clonazepam (which calms the nerves in his legs so he can sleep) because, after the anesthesia used this morning, he would be put into such a deep sleep that he might not be able to breathe—in other words—he might not wake up.  I’m not looking forward to sleeping with him tonight because when his leg muscles spasm, it causes a lot of pain.

     He’s been in his Lazy Boy (an extra large and comfortable) recliner all day.  So far, it’s almost 10pm, he has been free from pain.  I’ve been with him, bringing him electrolyte water and spare snacks.  That’s about all that I can do for him.  I’m so proud of him.  Over the last month, he’s lost about 25 pounds. 

 

                    Stones are amethysts.

      While we’ve been sitting together today, Brent has brought out some of the jewelry that he got from his dad.  Dallan was as avid a collector of fun stuff he found at antique shops.  

    One of the brooches that Brent came home with turns out to be made by a Swedish silversmith.  His name was Aarvo Saarela.  He began making jewelry in his garage with his wife.  His signature initials on the brooch includes the first initial of his wife.  He lived about 48 km from Stockholm—long and cold winters.  Here are the silversmith marks on the back of the brooch.  Brent had a great time deciphering the different symbols.  I like that we know the history of the piece. Close up of the silver marks:    AMS  C (three crowns) S L9  JP

  AMS: Artists' initials:  C: Enkōping  three crowns: Sweden  S: Silver  L9: 1961    JP: ?

                                                        

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THIS IS FROM A LETTER I WROTE Megan Shurtz (a Leader in Nursery in Jupiter, FL Ward). December 2007—BUT NEVER SENT

Dear Megan,

     I have been reviewing the list of children who are in the nursery or will be coming in this year.  I spoke with Brent about the children who will stay in the class after the 1^st of January—he just let me talk—and I remembered the song you sang with your daughter Olivia and a few others who gathered around you.  It was about some “eggies” in a nest.  You were so very intent as you focused on the young people close to you.  You were sitting in a tiny chair, your whole body curved protectively around the nest that your hands made.  The first part of the song your hands cupping one over the other—at the end, when you uncovered the play dough eggs, joy shown out from.

     I was a brilliant, palpable beaming—the same that surrounds our Prophet . . . the same that must also encircle our Lord.

     You spoke later of Olivia's officious care of the play dough that you’d made at home and given to her.  She would get it out and play with it, then carefully put back into its container and away in the refrigerator.  Then, she would open the refrigerator and get the play dough out to use again.

     In my mind’s eye, I saw her face, serious and enthralled at the freedom and responsibility you had given to her.  It was as if I saw her—20 years from now—bowing over her hands, cupped one over the other, holding 3 “eggies” and singing with magic that same nesting song to the wide-eyed young people gathered around her.

     My son Nathan has worried for you.  As he saw you, so uncomfortable and sore, sitting a tiny nursery chair—he kept patting me softly on the arm.

     “Mom, is she OK?  She looks as if se were going to cry.”    

     Decades ago I had a new-born, and was called to be president of a Primary of about 100 children.  I had just finished my Master’s degree and Brent had a year of law school left.

     When my mother found out, she was appalled.  “What can your Bishop be thinking?  He knows what’s going on in your life!”

     During the time I was president of the Primary, I felt the mantel of responsibility and revelation settle lightly upon my shoulders.  For the first time in my life, I was able to learn and remember the name of each Primary member.

     I also learned the power of teaching by doing.  When I told the story of Christ restoring the sight of a blind man, I had a student come up, cover his eyes with his hands, and then I took mu and spread it upon the fingers that hid his eyes.  He leaned over a basin and rinsed his hands—his eyes uncovered now, he could see!

     When we talked about Christ feeding the 5,000, I brought a round, un-sliced loaf of bread and, as I spoke, I moved through the Primary room—tearing off and handling each child a small piece.

     I also learned to find individual time for each child as they entered the room.  I shook each one’s hand and told him or her that I was so glad they had come to Primary.

     What was my Bishop thinking of?  The Lord knew that I needed to learn how to teach my own children.  He knew my situation and allowed me that time of service as an apprentice to the children in that Primary.

     I do not envy your required load.  I would almost embrace you and apologize for the sacrifice asked of you.  I know that there are young boys and girls who need to see you and feel from you how important they are—and learn from you what testimony is.

     I am grateful that I can be a part of the Nursery during your time of leadership.  I see you tenderly holding them as you did those play dough eggs—focused and brilliant and kind.

     Really, really.    Carolyn