The simple secret is this, put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him

Probably the hardest part of a cancer diagnosis is telling your kids.  All of our kids are in their twenties now.  When we got the news, Millie was still 19.  How do you make that phone call?  "Hey guys, I have cancer." I couldn't do it.  Doug called each of them and broke the news to them individually.   Each reacted in a way that we expected.  There were no surprises. Recognizing their individual personalities we knew there was going to be a need for support particularly for our two youngest.  Bret had just returned from a mission.  His tender heart was ill prepared for the devastating news and Millie, my sidekick, was immediately, like me, imagining a world in which I no longer lived.
The days and weeks that followed found me thinking about my kids and the relationship I have with each of them. How different their personalities were.  How unique were the talents and challenges. I worried -had I taught them enough about adult life?  They are all college-aged so each was making their way on their own, but I still heard from them most every day.  Sometimes just to chat but often times to ask for much needed advice or something as simple as a recipe.

My sidekick

Pretty quickly I came to the conclusion that the two oldest kids, Joey and Jenna, would be okay if the worst case scenario were to play out.  Both of them are happily married, confidently starting their own lives, and thankfully keeping the sacred covenants they made in the House of the Lord. And while I love Jenna and our third in line, Bret, with all the love of a biological mother, I recognize they have a loving mother to whom they are bound eternally.  While I know both Jenna and Bret love me deeply and would of course mourn the loss should I die, they would be okay.  Don't get me wrong, none of the kids would be good.  None of them would be unscathed or left without a gaping whole in their life that only I could fill. Of course not.  We are a family and as such we each play an important, no crucial, role in that intricate web.  What I mean to say is each of the three older kids would find a soft landing eventually. The memories of our life would sustain them and of course the knowledge they have of eternal families would buoy them up in times of grief.    That left Millie. Millie knows, as do the others, that our family is forever but she is just 19.  Forever is a long way off when you have your whole life to live.  Millie and I have a close bond, as many mothers and daughters do. We talk several times every day and most big decisions and small decisions she faces involve a chat with mum prior to a verdict.  We do this little thing that started when she was a very small girl.  I reach out and take her hand and give it three small squeezes.  She returns the squeezes adding one more.  For a long time neither of us said anything about it, we just did it whenever I dropped her off at school, or at a friends.  At night before bed it was always the same- three squeezes from me answered with four squeezes by her.  When she was  attending the  middle school at which I taught we would do this if we saw each other during the school day.  We never really discussed it but we both knew, my three little squeezes meant, "I love you."  Her return squeezes meant, "I love you too."  Thinking about Millie trying to navigate all the future has in store for her without me by her side was more than I could bear.  Try as I might to think positive thoughts, the image of her sitting in the bride's chair without me by her side flooded my mind.  My mother died when I was 43 years old and not a day goes by that I don't wish I could talk to her, be with her, hold her hand.  Would Millie  have to live her entire adult life without a mother?   As depressing as these thoughts are a cancer diagnosis makes one think about the reality of mortality and the fact that none of us are guaranteed a tomorrow.    I could list a million similar things that trapsed through my mind late at night.  A million things Millie would have to do on her own; things a mother does with her daughter. I will spare you the agony, because it's agony, I promise.
About two weeks after the first surgery, I went to temple with Kristie. Sitting in the celestial room I had time to think.  Recently in our ward President Johnson had talked about calling down the powers of heaven on our children when we are in the temple.  As I contemplated this I begged God to be with my sweet Millie.  "I am." came the answer. Right there, right then, it was confirmed to me that no matter what was to come, my children, all of my children, would be okay.
In the October 2008 session of general conference,  Elder Joseph Wirthlin gave one of my favorite talks of all time, "Come What May and Love It".  In it he recounts a time in his daughter's life when she was very ill.  He gave her a note that read, "The simple secret is this, put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him."  If that is all I can teach my children during the rest of my life, be it 4 or 40 years, I will have accomplished all I need to accomplish as their mother.