Today was JeNeal's funeral and burial.
Closer up view - family photos, some of the crafts and sewing things she made, her missionary tag from their service mission at Welfare Square, crocheted hot pads -
Crocheted dolls, wash clothes, and Isaac's lego display of the family that he made her for her birthday.
Speaking of Birthdays, today is Owen's happy 8th birthday. Not the most fun way to celebrate it, by burying your grandma, but what can you do. Wayne tried to arrange it asap before Melodie and Abi left for Vienna, which was happening tonight at 9. So Owen got a funeral on his birthday.
Opening his Lego gift (Boba Fett's starship)
He was able to start building it but had to finish it later after we got back from the funeral. The viewing was last night. This morning the viewing continued for 2 hours before the funeral services. Melodie whipped out this painting for Wayne - of little JeNeal running free in heaven.
The baby photos of JeNeal made me cry - she's so cute! She's like my little Katharine! What a beautiful baby! I guess that's where my babies get it from!
Our niece Jordyn looked through all those photos and put them together in a video. Ethan took the video and put it to music (updating this a week after). It was just the video at the funeral, but here is the video Ethan made.
Here's the program front cover. I won't type up the rest of the program.
My dad has asked me to share some memories I have of JeNeal showing her love for the Lord and for her family.
At the age of fourteen I was told that I came from noble parentage and was admonished to appreciate the great heritage I was born into. At the time, I wasn’t so sure if that was totally true – which is probably why I needed to hear it. But today I am completely convinced. I’m grateful for the opportunity today to publicly honor my parents, especially my mom, and I hope my own kids will recognize the nobility of her character in what I say. As mom entered her final few days, my strongest emotions were of gratitude both for having me and for the abundant life that she gave me.
I’ve grouped remembrances by these key words: daddy, dignity, family, testimony, and the phrase “you owe your children more than birth".
Daddy
Whenever my mother would use the word “daddy”, she was venerating her father. Her use of the word was so tender, so personal, it was as if nobody else in the world was ever referred to by that title. I only have a few first-hand memories of my maternal grandfather, but many more second-hand ones were given by the loving stories or moments my mother would retell. I’ve realized that if my daughters talked about me the way JeNeal talks about her daddy, I would consider myself a successful parent. The last words she said that I understood was when she cried out in pain saying “daddy!”
Dignity
I remember as a boy being hyper-aware in public that my mom drew stares as she walked with her braces and crutches. She insisted on as little help as possible and took her time. I would canvas the room to stare down anyone I thought gazed too long. She never seemed to let her disability interfere, but also didn’t apologize for taking longer to get somewhere or needing some accommodation to do so. JeNeal has dignity; she has class. Sometimes it seemed ironic to me that – after all the logistics necessary to help my mom get into position for a family picture – that she would insist on putting her crutches out of view. It was easy to assume the effects of polio as being a major part of her identity – but she didn’t see herself that way. Standing without her crutches, mom’s hands then turned into grappling hooks as she steadied her balance with whoever was nearby – sometimes shouting commands in a whisper as she smiled brightly for the camera.
A couple of years ago I was working at my parent’s house when a nurse came over to see my mom – someone who I had known in high-school. My mom went into the other room to be alone with the nurse for about half an hour. During their visit I could hear my mom crying for some reason. She came back out composed and we never discussed it. She never sought to draw attention to herself – her sense of privacy came from quiet dignity.
JeNeal didn’t just attend family gatherings, she would come prepared with a thoughtful gift, flowers, candy, or a cash bonus for teenagers to celebrate the event or their accomplishments. A couple of weeks ago mom was under heavy medication and awake just enough to let me know she was worrying about what to get my daughter Natalie for her 10th birthday. She would be upset if today’s services interfere with Owen’s birthday today.
Years ago our extended family had a discount white elephant gift exchange. I remember distinctly that most of the gifts were one laugh away from the trashcan. In contrast, my parent’s contribution was the digital restoration of an old photograph of my paternal grandmother that had previously been torn. Instantly the gift exchange felt personal, meaningful. Her thoughtfulness was consistent while never becoming commonplace. My mom’s sense of dignity was such that my sister Nancy has persuaded us that after only one day in hospice – with friends and family seeing her at her most vulnerable – she thought it perhaps a good time to move on. She passed the next morning privately before anyone else would come.
“You owe your children more than birth”
My mom worked as a public schoolteacher, which sometimes included teaching underprivileged students with difficult situations at home. On a bad day at school, she would gush with gratitude when she got home for our being such good kids. As she spoke of the difficult environments some students came from, she would assert “you should need a license to breed”. Or putting it more delicately, she would frequently say: “you owe your children more than birth.” I think of that counsel often and strive to give my kids the same opportunities and blessing that my parents have given me. My mother kept investing in me, something which eventually would give me a great deal of self-confidence. I have always known that my mother was the source of my confidence, but it was only recently that I learned it was deliberate on her part. In an informal interview in 1995 she said “Corey’s a lovable kid, and I made him that way. I tickled him and played dolls with him…He was the last kid. I had the time and I know I spoiled him rotten. He has all the confidence in the world”. She was right. I played T-ball, baseball, soccer, took swimming lessons, tennis lessons, piano lessons, saxophone lessons, and flute lessons – and felt comfortable sitting on her lap well into high-school. We spent a lot of time together. I remember we would sing made-up songs while driving in the car, and she’d often pick me up after school to help her run errands.
She just kept giving me opportunities to learn and I don’t think she ever criticized me when I fell short. After piano lessons, my teacher would often follow me outside to the car and tell my mother (right in front of me) that she was wasting her money on me – I wasn’t getting any better. Mom would deflect her comments and suggest perhaps next week would go better. Eventually I did progress with music, which has been a blessing to my own children.
One Saturday morning during eighth grade, my mom had (what she knew) was a brilliant idea for an election skit. I had decided to run for student body president of my Junior High School and the stakes seemed very high. My sister and I were gathered around mom’s bed that morning as we brainstormed ideas. Excitedly, my mom waved her arms singing made-up lyrics to my new election soundtrack: The Micky Mouse Club theme song. In between excited of cries of “Yes!, Yes!” she choreographed a dance that culminated with mouse-eared devotees chanting my name. My first reaction was that her idea was social suicide, but her enthusiasm was such that I knew it was inevitable. To my great relief, the election skit was a great success.
Although managing the effects of polio, my mom was well-traveled. I feel like my character was shaped by trips to Florida, New York City, Washington DC, New Zealand, Australia, Chile, and Argentina. My testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was born on a road trip to the east coast when we visited church history sites and listened to what we called “church tapes” – firesides or lectures about the restored gospel. My testimony born from those tapes felt personal and spontaneous. I hadn’t realized my parents had been deliberate in what was available to listened to. I’ve sought to recreate these formative events in the lives of my own children.
Family
Family was the center of my mom’s world; modeling family life on the idyllic circumstances of her own childhood with extended family often nearby. During a particularly bad day some weeks ago, my mother was in a care facility under the impression that she was alone and that nobody had come to visit her. My sister was in the room and heard her complain to the nurse: “where is my family….I’m nothing without my family”. JeNeal’s grandson Hyrum is currently serving an LDS mission in San Diego. He will finish next month and recently shared with me some thoughts about his grandmother’s passing.
I have fond memories of Grandma Wride. I always knew she was a strong woman. She hasn't been able to walk most of her life and yet did so much including living a life in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, getting married and beginning a family. She died a mother of 3 kids, and a grandmother of 18.
She was the backbone of family fun and get-togethers and it was her favorite thing to do. Me and any of my siblings could talk about trips to Park City, California, or activities at Grandma and Grandpa's house. We also got together for Christmas and birthdays. Throughout Junior High and High School, I would sometimes go to their house after school because they lived very close. I would go there to talk with Grandma, watch a show, or do some yard work, but I don't think I ever left their house without being given some kind of treat. I always loved going to their house.
As I got ready for my mission, Grandma Wride was one of my primary supporters. She helped me prepare by getting me a lot of missionary attire, hygiene products, or other items on the packing list. When I got set apart, I had 1 week of online MTC at Grandma and Grandpa Wride’s house as well (My parents house has too many kids and noises for effective Home MTC learning). I am now very grateful for the time that I had to be there. In between classes I would normally hang out with Grandma and Grandpa, grab a bite to eat, or play piano. One of my favorite memories of being at Grandma and Grandpa's house during the Home MTC was the prayers before going to bed.
During my mission my Grandma has also been one of my best supporters. She was the only person to email me every week until she went into the hospital….She would give a little update of life at home, share different uplifting quotes or memes, and would usually end it with "Hugs for now!" On the mission I also had 2 Christmas's and Grandma Wride won first place [in being festive]. Both years, a week or so in advance, a package would arrive that had a mini Christmas tree and lights, ornaments and individually wrapped gifts.
Since Grandma's passing, she has been very much on my mind. Different memories or thoughts of her have played through my head over the past few days. I wish I could've seen her again. I miss her very much now, and I will miss her always.
As Hyrum has said, the grandkids were frequent visitors to their grandma’s house – because of its proximity to school that was sometimes multiple times a week. They said that grandma would always offer them something to eat, sometimes saying things like: “are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich or something”….and then turn her attention to my dad and say “Wayne, go make them a sandwich”. My dad was usually the hands, but my mom has always been at the heart of the family.
Testimony
I’ve never heard my mother doubt her faith or her testimony of the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. My early memories include her standing erect up in the middle of our church congregation to bear her testimony from the pews. I also remember her serving in the primary when I was young. She’s been with family members at every church talk or ordinance – from recording my baby blessing to attending the temple with her grandson Seth who just left for a mission. That recent temple trip, unfortunately, ended with the accident that ultimately ended her life; but she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. My parents traveled far to pick me and Mark up from our missionary service and both my parents have worked as church service missionaries. In recent years my mother became more and more vocal to me about her earnest belief that the gospel was “the only way to live”. She would reflect on what the gospel has done for her life from her youth and expressed a hope that the legacy of faith in God will permeate her family for years to come. Allusions to her testimony of the gospel came up during most visits I had with her the past several years and in tender moments when she suffered, she was always quick to ask for another priesthood blessing.
(Gospel Centered Message)
While once attending a class on marriage, I was struck when one of the participants asked the presenter how it might be possible to truly love somebody, but to do so in a way that avoids being vulnerable to getting hurt by them. The answer stunned me: he simply said you can’t. You cannot truly love someone without being vulnerable. And likewise, if you help someone who is at their most vulnerable, their love for you will be all the greater. That reality has proven itself to me on multiple occasions. For instance, I put my young family in a vulnerable position years ago by moving to South America for a business venture. The car I borrowed money to purchase broke yet again in a freeway accident – this time beyond my ability to repair. I felt trapped, isolated, scared, and extremely vulnerable. Only hours later a friend spontaneously contacted me. He said he was thinking about me, wanted to see how I was doing, and asked if I wanted to borrow his extra car while we were in Brazil. I was unspeakably grateful for what Marcos did for my family that I sort of pledged that I would find Marcos at the final judgement before God – pleading on his behalf in case it might help. Since then, I’ve kept a mental list of people who have reached out and helped me when I (or those I love) have been most vulnerable. Many of those cherished loved ones are here today.
With that context in mind, it was such a pleasure for me to be with my mom in some of her final, most vulnerable moments. Between delirium and pain medications there would be moments of recognition and a smile that I was there at her side. I’m so grateful I was there, and yet it hurt so much to be there.
But of course, JeNeal – more than anyone else – was with me during the most vulnerable moments of my life – most of which go back before I can remember clearly. But I do remember enough to know I was hard on her. I remember ignoring her requests to stop arguing with her. She often called me “bull-headed”.
I think I made her cry most nights for months at a time during my last year of high-school. I also remember one particular time when she was so upset with me (I was maybe 10) that she tried to chase me around the house – threatening to beat me with a kitchen spatula. I thought the whole thing was hilarious and couldn’t contain my laughter. My mom was hop’n mad as we came to an impasse on opposite ends of the kitchen table. I offered to let her catch me if she promised not to hit me with the spatula. To be clear, I don’t think she ever even spanked me – though she definitely threatened. I also remember that my mom cried a lot at big events – a phenomenon that gave me a calloused strength. I felt like I never had to cry myself because she did more than enough for the both of us. By the time she finally let go on the last hug before I left to serve a mission, I was so emboldened I’m not sure I even looked back for fear I might get entangled again.
Mom, I’m sorry for all the times that I hurt you, but I’m so grateful you made yourself vulnerable enough to let me. I love you. And now I’m the one feeling vulnerable with your passing.
Mom once shared with me an experience she had as a little girl shortly after her grandfather died. She was sleeping at his house when she woke up spontaneously in the middle of the night to see his spirit standing nearby – not saying a word – but making his presence and the reality of the after-life known to her. That was the first evidence of many to come, that this life is not the end, and our departed family members live on. I have no doubt about my mother’s current happy state – and while I’ll surely miss her physical presence in the days ahead, I’m joyful about the beautiful legacy she’s left for the rest of us to treasure.
I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
_______________________________
Flowers from her casket.
Photo of the kids - We love you Grandma!
And there was a nice luncheon after provided by the Relief Society for us.
I was late getting to that, cause I had to leave the graveside to take Sophi to Boondocks in Draper for a birthday party. Kinda bad timing, but she wanted to go, and they rescheduled it so Sophi could go, since it was originally planned during Bear Lake, so I did it only a little resentfully, trying to channel my inner-JeNeal who always gave of her time for her family. I'll try to be more like here. There are so many things that JeNeal did that I want to do as a grandmother. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with what I anticipate being a very large number of grandchildren, but I will do my best. JeNeal had 18 grandkids, I'm going to have atleast 60 I'm sure. (The kids are already making plans, and have joked that if they all have 10, then I'll have 130 grandkids!! Wow.)
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