3 sisters and 3 brothers
JULY 03, 2014
I am the 5th child and the youngest girl. My first 7 years were spent in a 900-square foot home that never seemed too small. My siblings and I were always on top of each other and in each other’s business. I’m not really sure how my mom did it. When we moved to a much larger home, she expected us (wanted us) to go off to our rooms and be out of each other’s hair. That never seemed to happen.
Being an only child, it was very important to my mom that we as siblings get along and even like each other. Of course we had to love each other, but the liking bit was also essential to her. We probably fought as much as we helped each other, but somewhere along the way, we became an inseparable force. For weeks after my mom’s diagnosis, we held weekly or bi-weekly Google Hangouts so that we could plan and coordinate everything that needed to be done. We created schedules and provided updates. We cried and we laughed. In an increasingly desperate situation, my brothers and sisters rallied to support not only my mom and dad but also each other.
The day my mom decided to come home from the hospital on hospice was one of the hardest days of my life. I watched my siblings come up to the hospital to hear my mom tell them of her decision. We sat in solidarity, believing that our collective strength would be enough to sustain the onslaught of looming loss. At times we individually faltered: my brother crumbled in tears, his body reacting to the heaviness of what it would mean to lose her. My sister cried so violently that her body fought the very air that would give her relief.
We sat there with her, the woman who dared to rear 7 headstrong children. She calmed us as she always had. She soothed our fears, and she pushed us forward. It was as if we could finally see the vast void that we would soon fall into. We’d been unknowingly traveling towards it for months without seeing the edge. Now we were there, and the undercurrent of anticipated pain tossed us about relentlessly.
Right on cue, we each began to play our parts in the large, ongoing drama of the Grover family. One brother cracked a joke that spilt laughter into the void, and we broke free from the tumbling sorrow. We cried, but we also laughed. We gathered in our love and strength to simply be together. As I watched my siblings love my mom I began to see them not just as brothers and sisters but as part of her. I knew that she would continue to live on in them, and collectively we could keep her with us by sharing who she had helped us become.
Whenever I see Alisa read to her children, I will see my mom reading to us...taking us to the library and letting us fill our cards with books.
Whenever Nathan shares a church talk, I will be reminded of my mom’s relentless pursuit of faith.
Whenever Thomas organizes an event or orchestrates a family meeting, I will see my mom’s organized filing system and job charts from my youth.
Whenever Amelia shows compassion for a friend or neighbor, I will see my mom quietly but intentionally going about doing good.
Whenever Samuel cheers for BYU, I will hear her singing the fight song.
Whenever Emily calls to check on us, I will hear my mom wondering about the details of our lives...loving us individually.
The concept of family is much stronger than I’d ever realized. It creates a powerful connectedness in which to grow and learn, but it also links us irrevocably. She will always be part of us, which means she will never be completely gone from us.
Enjoy your family this holiday weekend, whatever shape and form that takes. Take a moment to really look at them and see who they are. Keep them close and enjoy them.