Beware The Eyes of March

March 23, 2023.

  Five years ago today, This family died, and was then slowly murdered. 

    How dare you reduce the legacy of this loss in the universe to a paltry “PAYOUT”. How dare you attempt to justify your choice of a “representative” for a family that, by your inaction, and the actions of the elected, disintegrated. How myopic of you to imagine that any of this has ever been about anything as common as money. 

 Recollections may vary, but mine contains a clear moment in time of pleading with you to take a different path with regards to your chosen representative. Begging my blood to listen to concerns, most of which have rapidly come to complete fruition. Betrayal after betrayal. Insult to injury over, and over, and over again. Your audacity to imagine that our, now dismembered, family would be interested in mingling with our butchers is asinine. 

 Furthermore, pertaining to the so called “Payout” what was said to you was, “you would earn Gratitude” if you gave my children what you were already offering to spend in what you referred to as a “generous fashion”. Clearly you still spectacularly suck at listening. This pattern of behavior calls to my mind the words of one of my favourite philosophers, Marshall Mathers;

 “One More Time, Loud As You Can, How’s It Go?” 

  No. 

 Your repeated disregard for the feelings and position of My House, and the house of My Sister is appalling. It’s baffling that you proclaim yourselves our “family”. We have no interest in your gold. We have our treasure. 

Below is link to the photos from The Last Family reunion. Cast your minds back and enjoy. 

And yes, you will miss us. 

https://photos.app.goo.gl/xYmDhLpUmv4Wa8mN9

~The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut. 

              ~ J.R.R. Tolkien 

Dear Mom,

  Wow.

  Mom, I know that you have been here all along, but wow. Tonight Sara scared us. Well, she didn’t really scare us, she scared herself. She drove Doug The Bug into our truck. She was trying to pull it into the shop, and well, she wrecked it. She was very shaken, and so was Justin. They are both alright physically, but she learned things tonight Mom. And through her collision, she gained some insight that she will clearly need in the future. 

But it scared her. It scared both of them. It scared Scott and me. (Ish) And it jarred me Mom. 

  My babies are growing. All of them. And me too. It’s scary. And it hurts. And there are so many moments when I really, really wish that you and I could talk. Because I still don’t know what I am doing. And I am so scared to mess up. I worry that I didn’t pay attention close enough. And I wonder what your advice would be. And it hurts. I want to share these moments with you. I want your insight. I need you. I miss you so much. I miss sharing these moments with you. 

  I know that you are here, but you know that you really aren’t. And everyday it’s hard in a new and different way. And every day I have to figure out how to do this. How to be Me. How to be a Mom. Without you. Without  you as a sounding board. Without your gentle, kind wisdom. It’s so hard. And it hurts so much. And I am not sure what the hell I am doing Mom. 

Ever. 

 Everyday I wish you were here. Everyday.

 I wasn’t ready.

 Damn near two years on and I am still not ready to be without you. But I am without you. 

We all are. 

And I hate it. Every second. 

I miss you so much. Damnit. So much. 

Full Moon Friday

Dear Nilza,


Happy Friday The Thirteenth,

  Its odd that I like this day so much. All of my recent Friday The Thirteenth's have been pure pain. Today feels different. 

 Nilza, thank you so much for loving my father. Thank you for being willing to change your entire existence to be with him. You struck me as a strong, and genuine woman. I like you. And I could not be more grateful that my Father will be loved and taken care of. That was Moms job. I would like to share a snap shot of Stephanie Danise Winward Evans, My Mom. 

   I suppose the first thing about Mom is that she loved dad. I haven't seen another relationship that looks anything like what theirs looked like. For example, I never heard my parents argue. Ever. I mean, I am sure they had disagreements, but there wasn't ever tension or periods of discord. They laughed a lot, they were gross in the kitchen, kissing all the time. It was beautiful. He was the singular most important part of her universe. She made it explicitly clear that He was Her priority. Always. dad first, everyone else next. 

   Mom had a love for humanity that I didn't inherit. She saw the best in everyone, and She gave of herself with that sight. She was always going out of her way to help others, lightening their burdens in anyway she was able. She took her service of mankind seriously and made a difference in the lives of many. 

  Music was a huge part of Moms soul. Her instrument was the piano. I think it was Her form of meditation. She would always use the little radio in the kitchen. Often I would come visit her in the mornings and find her listening to BYU radio while she did the dishes or her typing. She would swap songs with my kids and dance around the house. She used music everywhere. For talks, for quotes, for fun and eventually for work. To this day Mom is using music to talk to my family. 

   Mom was a very spiritual being.  She had a deep and profound love for her religion. It led her through her life and was what she always had one hand on. For my life, she always had her other hand on my dads. Together they leaned on that faith to endure pain that I can not fathom. When my grandpa died, things changed. I was 15, and I remember the day that I watched death change my mom for the second time.  As an adult, I now have an inkling of how She may have felt, but I won't ever know how hard She cried on my dad. I know that it changed her forever.  Her spiritual vibration became tighter. She was more aware after that. 

Then, Sara died.

   And when its just that sentence, it sounds short. But, it wasn't short at all. It was long. It was scary, and hopeful, and tragic. And my parents held onto each other and to us. And their faith. Watching it as a young adult was horrifying. Seeing my parents agony, being helpless and afraid. And that's just what they allowed me to see. I imagine they shielded us more than I will ever know.  I can't begin to comprehend what kind of damage this did to them. I can only say that again, mortality changed them. Changed all of us. 

   I think Sara's death played a hand in why time stopped at Grandmas House. My Mom Loved being a Grandma. It didn't matter what was going on, if the grandkids came by, the world was put on hold. She made certain that each of them knew how valued and loved they were. She was a safe place, and a warm hug. Often accompanied by chocolate chip cookies. It was heaven on earth for them, and for mom. This role, the role of Grandma is a hole that won't ever be filled. She embodied it. 

  Mom was a rare, selfless human. In every area of her life she sacrificed so that other's could have what they needed. She never thought of herself first, if it all. Her light was bright and infectious. Her words were carefully chosen and to the point. Her love was unconditional. She was an example to me in ways I have yet to learn. 

  She raised us well. She taught me to be better than I often am. 

  On that note, the parts of her that live on in me are grateful knowing dad is being loved. 

  Enjoy the beautiful autumn. It is a stunning time of year around these parts. 

                                                                     Be Well~ 
                                                                                Jill

Dear Twenty One Pilots, (especially Tyler because he was playing the piano)

Dear Twenty One Pilots, 
(Especially Tyler, because he was playing the piano.)

  Driving to out to our local ski hill the other day your Sirius XM concert playing in my car caught me. And it caught me completely off guard.
The piano. The piano was what caught me.
  Tyler, whoever you are, thank you. Thank you for the piano. Thank you for the "Don't Be afraid." Stella told me that title of that song is called Taxi Cab, and that it is her favorite song. (by you.)
Stella is one of my 14 year old twin's.
  Last March, my mom died. She contracted Spinal Meningitis and was gone from our lives in two weeks. My Mom was a music fiend, and a coveted piano teacher in our tiny town. More importantly, she was Stellas piano teacher. Since she was seven years old, Stella had her Grandma teaching her piano. They were bonded by a deep love of music. Both of them fluent in the language that transcends language. And when we lost her, Stella fell apart. We all fell apart. But Stella fell in a way that made her passion for music painful. We are almost at the one year mark of that loss, which also falls days after her birthday. Near a year of mourning, and sorrow. Fear of what was coming, and what we will never have again. It has been hell.
 But, Twenty One Pilots, we believe in ghosts. We know that the dead speak to us. We know that they are familiar with what we hear, and when we pay attention. In this case, it was you. Your concert was playing each time I got into my car. For FIVE DAYS.
No shit.
  Five Days Twenty One Pilots. I could probably repeat the entire concert. The first time I was like 'Wow, this is amazing' and I cried. The second time I was like, 'Wow, this is incredible' and I cried. The third time, I was all like ' ALRIGHT! Alright, I hear you!'
  I too am an advocate for journaling. This part of your concert was for my Baby Sister. She has vacillated between which path she wants to pursue. She has been fearful, and unsure about who she is and what she is supposed to be doing. Then I hear the bit about 'Entertain My Faith.' That is for her. Wow. Thank you for that. For the piano. Entertain my faith. Oh man.
  And just when I am sure I heard everything my Mom was trying to tell me, I hear you, Tyler, talking about the end of the driveway. My Blood. Kids, I love this song. I mean, I loved it the moment it was released. But to hear it as it began, raw. It moved me. I have had to defend my family this past year. "When choices end, you must defend, I'll grab my bat and go with you." This was for me. "Stay with me my blood."
And the piano.
Damn it.
Ok Mom, I hear you.
  Well, obviously Grandma wanted Stella to hear what you were saying in that set. So I tell her we are going to listen to it. 'Mom, I don't want to cry! Please, I can't.'
But I, a magnificent mother, turn it on.
   Twenty One Pilots, (especially Tyler because he was playing the piano) the moment she heard the piano, and the stories behind the music she adores, she relented. Sobbing with sorrow, and joy, and fear she sat down at our piano and played it. For the first time in almost a year. She cried, and her beautiful fingers moved along the places her grandma's once did. And in between those moments of emotional torment and pure peace I watched my darling daughter grow. I watched her struggling, watched her try and ignore the message that you were delivering. I imagine that is what a Pheniox looks like as it is transforming.
  As my mother was lying in the hospital, a dear friend of mine cried with me and said; "The thing about timing, is it's very precise."

Timing is indeed very precise.

Thank you Twenty One Pilots. Thank you for helping my Stella, my Baby Sister, and me to hear what our Ghosts are telling us. "Don't Be Afraid", "Entertain My Faith", and "Stay With Me, My Blood."

Thank you Twenty One Pilots.

Thank you The Powers That Be.

Thank You Mom.

Oh, and Tyler if you need to pick up some extra work, I am in the market for a piano teacher. 

2 AM

"Two am and I'm still awake writing a song. If I get it all down paper,  its no longer inside of me threatening the life it belongs to."

what happened? 

where am I?

Holding my head is getting heavy. 

Holding my heart is getting messy. 

Holding it together is falling apart.

Two am. 

Breathe.

Don't let go. 

Breathe.

 Just breathe. 

Don't Let Go. 

Ladies Don't Start Fights...

The Upside Down~ A place like here, except dark, eerie, and full of A Monster.

Just one Monster.

 That’s how I have been describing the surreality coursing through my life.

I am trying to survive in The Upside Down.

Dear Dad,

I do not anticipate that you will manage to make your way to the end of this journey. If you do, Thanks.

   I love you Dad. I loved you so much. My daughters recently unearthed a time capsule which included a note written by a sixteen year old me. They were surprised to see that I had named you as “The Person You Most Admire.” I shared that note with you mere days later. You made no remarks whatsoevever. You did mention your dating profile though, and how you wanted to practice driving your motorcycle with a passeneger.

 I looked up to you Dad. I worked hard to make you proud. When I felt that I hadn’t met your expectations, it stung me. Your disappointment drove me to be better. Thank you for that.

 Time passed, I grew. We fell away from one another. Then, seven years ago there was a heated exchange in your bedroom. Two requests were made that day. You, Dad asked me to work on building a relationship with my Mom. And in turn you, Dad, were asked to build a relationship with me.

 Today I am so grateful for the different paths you and I chose. Because you asked me Dad, I did build a relationship with Mom. Over the past seven years I was able to take time and get to know My Mother.

As an adult.

One on One.

I was given her undivided attention.

 Those beautiful mornings when I would bring my coffee up and just be with Mom began because YOU asked it of me. The counsel, the humor, the calming constant vibe of My Mother became a vital part of my growth. Cherished, sacred moments that molded me into the woman I Am. Her tender, authentic self. Teaching me, holding me, talking me out of my temper. (Everyone is still alive. Thanks Mom.) How fortunate that I chose to honor your request. I will forever be grateful I made that choice. Precious moments that will now, have to sustain me for the remainder of my life.

 And thank you for the course you chose Father.

 Make no mistake, the first couple of years were painful. Waiting for you to reach out to me. Waiting for a text, a call. I thought since you were driving alone (?) for two, three hours a day, it wouldn’t be a problem. But alas, nothing. Three years after you were  asked to work on Our relationship I built you a ‘Golden Ticket’ for Fathers Day remember? It was pretty. It was a ‘Dad, lets do whatever you want! My treat’ ticket. You have yet to cash it in. The next Father’s Day I picked you up, drove you to a beautiful spot and endeavored to figure out why we still had a disconnect. However, you still didn’t make any motions towards me. Remember when I had that major surgery, and I was in the hospital for five days? I saw you a grand total of ONCE. And you came with Mom.

 After that, I struggled to work with the fact (yes, FACT) that you didn’t chose to build a relationship with me. I missed you. I missed the connection I had with my Dad. Eventually that wound on my heart developed a calice, but the deep pain was still there.

Last fall Mom came to my house and sat in my kitchen.

She cried and asked me, “Jill, you know your Father loves you, right?”  

“Ok, sure Mom. Why can he not say that for himself? He knows how to find me.”

Past the pleasantries, I mean.

Past the passing, placid hug in the kitchen.

Nothing.

 Then, Mom was ripped from our lives. Taken, violently.

 Right as she had begun to live.The fact is Mom had chosen the path of service. She stayed in town to take care of her Mother. She delayed traveling, she waited, she invested, she saved, she sacerficed. Now, fourty years in the making, the fruits of her labor were finally in season. Onward to time with “Her Sweetheart”.

Stolen. Fast and Harshly.

 The day she died was the first time Scott set foot inside that house since the day He requested that You build a relationship with Me. Seven years ago.

That day my hope was renewed. Maybe I would have my dad again…Perhaps here, was a mighty change of heart..

… It was a beautiful, fleeting thought.

 You see Father, you were being very honest with my sisters and I when you told us “This isn't as hard for me as it is for you.”

Clearly, it hasn’t been hard for you at all.

 Watching you in the chapel at your grandson’s baptism as you held and caressed Nilza made me sick Dad. Sick. That you would be so insensitive and disrespectful of Caitlin's family and the sacred occasion of the day was staggering. It was a demonstration that you are spiritually unconscious.

 Yet my sisters and I decided to respond with integrity and grace. We were kind. We extended courtesy. We reached out. When Scott and I had both of you, and Linda and Granny  in our home for Sunday dinner Sara learned to say “I like your shirt.” in Portugese in an attempt to build a bond.

 How was our attitude met? Like this... We, the daughters you know damn well are struggling with the fresh (109 days ago) tragedy of losing our Mother, We get that fatal (group) text. Adding insult to injury and further showing us where your priorities lie.

“Hi My Dears

I love you. I want to tell you that

I am going to ask Nilza to marry me.

I’ve thought about this quite throughly

and it’s what I am going to do.

Again, I love you all very much. (smiley face)”

 But, again I have to say thank you. Because you see Father, after that heartless, cowardly report of what you wanted to tell us, (not discuss, tell) Shit started to fly. Thanks to you. Information. Data. Indiscriminent, and like a fire hose started spewing into my life. Into the lives of my children. Into the lives of my sisters. Into my business. Gems such as how you felt ripped off for having been married to My Mother for forty years. That you never knew joy until you met Nilza. That you are in This One for the long haul.  Or lets touch on the fact that you Father, as a sitting bishop, approached women (womEn) in the ward the week after My Mother died. Asking out women while you prepare the funeral of your wife. I also got to learn that those women haven’t been back to church since.

Dad, this is appalling.

 Now the community whose trust was violated feel that it is fine to air thier grievences about you to me. To my husband. To our family.

 Then there is the campain to present yourself as a victim in this senerio. Villifying some, guilt tripping others, and flat lying or manipulating information to suit your skin. My issue is, I don’t think any of this is new for you. That Sunday dinner we had with Nilza, you told all of us the only word you had learned in Portugese was the word for “I”. (after talking for two months) 
Shocker.

 But that’s who you are.  A selfish, narccisistic man who is finally free.

You better believe I left that book out to be a brat.

You are detracting from the greater tragedy.

You have effectively dismantled the sacred circle you entered into with My Mother.

You have violated trust.

You have poisoned the family she left to sheperd her children.

You have placed people in untenable positions.

You have been malicious.

You have broken my sisters hearts.

You have broken my daughters hearts.

Your desires, your lust, your needs, your turn, your boat, your motorcycle, your happiness, you’re the victim, people are punishing you, you, you.

Fuck You.

 Father, thank you for not chosing me. That choice, proven over the last seven years, and sharpened these past months, has made this insult easier to see. There is a new circle now. And you have chosen to exclude yourself. I now chose to close it. My family doesn’t want to be party to your double  lie/life. I would ask that you not speak further on anything that may involve me. Or my family. I will pay you that same courtesy. I also feel that since you have lit the fires around you with such zeal, you should move.



Dear Everyone Else,

In our future encounters, please suppress the desire to inquire after the relationship between My Father and Myself. If you have questions, feel free to reread.
Love You~

2018

  Monday mornings were when I would check in. When Mom and I would sync our calendars.  Or I could run up after dropping  off the girls to school and visit with her. She and I would sit in the kitchen at the table and talk. Mondays worked out really well because everyone was busy and we could just be. 
  Now, there are no calls. Now I just pick up my phone and cry. Since The Great Campaign of 2018, I don't trust anyone enough. And Granny is gone too. It's an odd feeling. Standing.
Motherless.
 Fatherless. 
Without war. 
Just gone. 
  At least its dark out today.