There is probably no other place besides a blogging conference that you can have a deep theology discussion wearing a red McDonald’s Snuggie, a McDonald’s hat and drinking wine from a plastic cup.

And that is EXACTLY what I did with some lovely, beautiful women in Houston at Mom 2.0.

We each have WILDLY different beliefs.

(I was totally tempted to title this post “A Mormon, Catholic, Protestant, Atheist, and a Jew walked into a bar…”)

Lindsay, Catherine, Julie, Devra and I are like “The Blogging Super Best Friends” of religious backgrounds.

We all respect and like each other.

And today?

We are all going to address the same topic.

Together.

How do we, with our different experiences, talk about death with our children? (I also *finally* answer why I am not a practicing Mormon any longer.)

I have linked to their blog posts at the bottom of the page and deeply hope you go and read them. They are amazing.

You might have read the title of this post and had a negative reaction. And that is ok. It’s just…discussion about death at my house might not be quite the same as they are at yours.

For us, death is a horrible, hard, morbid and terrible reality that manifested in the cruelest of all ways. As many of you know, my beautiful baby boy, Matthew, passed away on September 23, 2003 of SIDS at the age of (almost) 4 months. SIDS stands for SUDDEN Infant Death Syndrome. We had no warning. No time to prepare for the onslaught of hell that was about to devastate and affect our lives for years and years to come.

My other children were 7 and 4 at the time. I was not there when they were told that their baby brother had died, and while I wish so much they could have had their mother with them during that experience, I am thankful that that is not yet another devastating moment that I have to relive in my head.

They were not prepared.

Not really.

NONE of us were.

We had mentioned what happens when someone dies here and there before that day in September, but never to any great detail. We did talk to the kids, but nothing formal, discussed beforehand. And honestly, we thought they were doing ok and “got it” for the most part. We absolutely talked to them about it afterwards, but they weren’t huge on the questions for a long time. I assumed they were just being reliant kids and just figured it out to their satisfaction.

I should have known never to assume anything when it comes to children. It came to bite me in the ass when I was driving my kids around on errands after Matthew passed away and Christopher suddenly, jarringly, piped up from the back seat.

“Mom? Is Matthew going to be a zombie now?”

“NO. He is NOT going to be a zombie. EVER.”

(Seriously, I LOVE HOW THESE QUESTIONS ALWAYS HAPPEN WHEN I AM TRYING TO OPERATE A VEHICLE)

“Well…if he isn’t going to be a zombie, can we dig him up to play with him?”

(Did I mention that I WAS TRYING TO DRIVE IN RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC?)

“…..No. You….Cannot….dig up your brother and play with him. I know you really want to but you can’t ever do that again. It’s hard and we all miss him and I’m so sorry because I know he loved it when you played together.”

“So…we can’t dig him up?”

“NO”.

Things got VERY quiet because I was REELING and Christopher was sad. Then I heard James whisper, “Don’t worry, Christopher. I know where Mom and Dad keep the shovels. They’re in the shed.”

Sigh.

(It’s ok. You can recoil or  laugh. Or both. You have no idea how morbid the topics gets when someone close to you dies and how if you DIDN’T laugh? It would kill you. It almost killed me anyway and I laugh all the time.)

It was obvious that we needed to further address the issue of death and what happens when we die with our kids.

We picked a great analogy that was popular in our religion to explain physical death and souls to children. You take a glove and illustrate that as it is…it’s just a glove. Then you put it on your hand and move it around. Without your hand the glove is useless but when it covers the hand the two work beautifully together, just as it should. Then take the glove off. Once the glove is discarded and separated from the hand it is useless once again. But while the glove is useless, the hand can still move and exist without it.

It’s actually pretty snazzy and accurate to many faiths.

We made it clear that Matthew still existed as a spirit. That he was with Heavenly Father. That he still loved us and we still loved him. That he is ok.

A dear, long-time friend of mine looked physically pained during a conversation about this post when he told me that he believes when we die, we are just dead.

Period.

The End.

He didn’t want to hurt me. He cares about me and knows that losing a child is enough pain for someone without telling a grieving mother that her son is nowhere but in the dirt, in their opinion. But, no…he doesn’t believe we exist past this life.

Much as I adore him to bits and am truly respectful and supportive of him being comfortable with what he believes, I have to disagree for myself.

I believe in souls. I believe there is something in us that existed before we had a physical body and I believe that we will continue to exist once that body dies.  No one can give me an acceptable scientific explanation for where that animation and beauty that is humanity comes from or where it goes. To me it is not explainable other than there has got to be something more than just this life.

The explanation at the time worked really well and the whole subject wasn’t as tough THEN as it would become.

Because THEN I was still a practicing, active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

A Mormon.

(Donny Osmond? Mitt Romney?? Ricky “The Ricker” Schroeder???)

Right now, while my name remains on church records, I do not attend nor adhere to any of the principles or the LDS faith.

I NEED TO BE CLEAR I AM NO REPRESENTATIVE OF MORMONISM.

I get asked why I left the Mormon Church more than just about ANYTHING about me (Besides, “Um..excuse me, but HOW DID SOMEONE LIKE YOU BECOME A 3-TERM PTA PRESIDENT!?”).

So, I thought I would FINALLY give you some insight today and cross my fingers that I can somehow condense issues and things that could well take up 6 volumes into one tiny blog post.

I am rather protective of Mormonism.  While I am not active it IS my background. If I ever returned to religious practice, it would be that one. It is highly controversial and evokes the most face-melting hatred in some factions. I’m not interested at all in bashing it or hearing others bash or hate on  it. There are like, elventyhundred other places to do that online, but this is not one of them. I’ve heard all the arguments and don’t mind discussing things AT ALL AS LONG AS YOU ARE RESPECTFUL IN YOUR DISSENT.  (The delete key is my friend, yo.)

I’ve never had strong faith.

As far back as I can remember, church just wasn’t a great place to be. I WANTED it to be. Oh, MY the times that I would sit in church and wonder what was wrong with me that I didn’t seem to take as much…awesome comfort in it as everyone else. And people TRULY do. My brother, Rhett, is one of the most faithful people I know and the church gives him a true, deep happiness that I envy.

I deeply envy the comfort that it can be to people going through horrible trial.

I find that my issues (for the most part) were much more focused on God than The Mormon Church. (Though, do we have HUGE disagreements on many things. A post and discussion for another day.)

My faith in God was never awesome. I am not one to consider praying for help. I HAVE prayed, but it is not natural to me and usually it is on behalf of others. My childhood was hard and kind of lonely. I had a lot of things really screw with my head as a teenager and yet another thing ripped my faith into more pieces in my young adulthood than I could manage to put back together.

Matthew dying was the last nail in the coffin, I’m afraid.

God and I have been in a fight ever since.

And I don’t even know how I look at God or what his role and makeup is anymore.

Or Christ for that matter.

When Matthew died, every single thing I thought I knew about EVERYTHING was dumped on the floor in a mess and it may take more years than I have left to figure out what to do with them. I believe in some form of higher power, I’m just not sure WHAT, exactly.

I also know that when my little bug passed away I was initially VERY comforted. And I felt SPIRITUALLY comforted, even though that feeling would not only desert me but I would be left with my life in such tatters I would be looking UP to see hell. For a time, though it helped me.

And I am grateful for that.

Mormons deal with death as a whole in a very positive manner. There is crying and grief at funerals and about death, but not usually a general feeling of dispair. No veils or all black worn at funerals. There is huge, great, shiny hope in the after life and what it will mean to people.  That we will all see each other again and the separation is temporary.The family is the primary focus. Temple marriages survive past the bonds of death, Families are eternal. If you go through the temple and are sealed, you are bound together for eternity as are your children. You will see your loved ones again if you live worthily and to prescribed standards. (And they are some pretty high standards. But again…that is a topic for another day.)

When children under 8 die, there is no test. They are exalted. Perfect, pure, innocents that automatically go straight back into the arms of Heavenly Father. The rest of the family will join them later and the temple-endowed parents of lost little ones will have a chance to raise them again after the resurrection of Christ.

Sounds lovely, no?

Here is the problem.

For many different reasons that are really none of your business, Jonathan and I are not sealed in the Temple.

Meaning…I am not sealed to Matthew.

There was little that was going to change that.

And when all was said and done, it was probably the primary reason I had to walk away from the Mormon faith.

I couldn’t take it.

Could not, could not, COULD NOT TAKE IT.

Could not take the thought of sitting there week after week hearing “families are forever” and knowing there was nothing I could do to make that happen. (Again. Long story.) and that my son was just…out there. HE was fine but what would happen to our family?

You have no idea the pressure, stress, worry, sorrow and fear.

Yes, I could have gone on my own but I honestly think it would have ripped my marriage apart even more than it ended up being in the end.

I couldn’t live like that.

And for that and soooooooooooooooooooo many more reasons, I became inactive.

If I had a lifetime of strong testimony and faith and comfort in it? I would probably still be there. But the truth of the matter is that being a practicing Mormon stresses me the hell out.  I DO struggle with some aspects of not practicing, but over all I feel a lot more comfortable in my own skin. (Hey, SOMEONE has to go to the  Middle Kingdom. And I am pretty ok with that as things go.)

I STRONGLY believe that this is what I need to do right now. I have had several attempts to return to church. It hasn’t worked out for more reasons than even I know.

I make sure my children go, though.

It was a decision made by all of us. They wanted to go and I am a believer that if you truly want to give your children a choice regarding religion and if they practice it, they need exposure to religion when they are children. I want to give faith a fighting chance with them. I don’t want my issues to be their issues. (And I realize MANY disagree with this, and that is ok, too.) Like, I said- I know plenty of truly happy LDS people that aren’t asshats. If my kids can pull that off and love it and be happy? I am for that. IF they are more like me and it’s not a great fit? Fine. But I want them to know that judging others for their beliefs and how they live is not ok. That seeing someone with a cup of coffee, cigarette, beer or wearing a tank top does not mean they are evil or unhappy with how they choose to live.

That is important to me.

They have many great examples of strong, faithful Mormons around them. Like their grandparents that take them to services every other week. They also have examples of people who are very different and not practicing that fiercely love them and have that love returned. Like their mother and father who make sure that they are able to go.

My children ask me all the time if I am going back to church. I tell them I love them. That I am ok. They are ok. That we will all be ok and that I truly believe that. I am supportive of them being religious. I tell them I support whatever they want to do with church. That I will make sure they go every week, that I send them to youth camps, that I will pay for their 2-year missionary service at 19 if they are worthy and want to serve. If they want to pray (and they usually do) we pray. I never stop anything they want to do religiously.

I have told my children that no matter what they discover about themselves and grow into: religious, non-religious, conservative, liberal, straight, gay, purple or alien that more than anything in this world, I want them to just be happy and comfortable with who they are deep at their core. Whatever path serves that is the one I hope they follow.

But.

As for me returning to church I will not be pushed faster and more than I want to/can walk in the area of faith.

I will go to church for no one but myself. Because I have done that and done that and it only serves to make me feel inadequate and miserable a huge portion of the time.

And right now?

I can’t. It’s not where I am at. I don’t know if it ever will be again.

And because Mormonism isn’t simply a religion but a culture and is such a huge part of my daily life, part of that makes me sad.

But not enough to change it.

I feel good.

Just as I am.

Happy.

Finally.

So?

For now?

The only thing that I really know for certain is that I don’t know a damn thing for certain.

But what I utterly believe with my heart and soul is that my son keeps existing. If I did not, I would break into a thousand more pieces than I could ever put back together again.

And?

I also believe that he  is ok.

Beyond that, all I can hope is that after trying to wade through hell to get through a life on earth without him in it?

I will be ok, too.

**

Please take some time to explore the sister posts on this subject by my fellow “Super Best Friends”, and truly beautiful women, at their blogs below:

SUBURBAN TURMOIL (This was Lindsay’s brain child)

HER BAD MOTHER

PARENTOPIA

MOMSLANT

When I was 15-years-old, I was a hard-core “Thespian”.  Which basically meant I was a tool that wore black and crystals, enjoyed misery, took my big freaking tome of The Complete Works of Shakespeare with me everywhere and read interpretaive poetry about my pain aloud in front of mirrors backlit by candles and set to music like “Gloomy Renaissance nose-flute quartet: The Greatest Hits” in my bedroom.

(Dork.)

I was also a gifted singer, but while I was in 2 choirs, lessons, and did musicals,  it was not my primary focus as a teenager. I wouldn’t realize that that was my true, god-given gift and how rare it was until a few years later.

(FYI people, those of you who hear me dork-sing at conferences or with a radio HAVE NOT REALLY HEARD ME SING. My kind of singing is in a gown in front of an orchestra or in a choir, not doing karaoke. My “for the masses singing” is ok, but nothing to write home about. But I’m good. Promise.)

Theater was my focus and my love.

And I did a shitload of it.

At my highest point of “busy” I was involved in one aspect or the other of 11 different productions and projects. One of my gigs was with a Shakespearean troop and I was excused from school once a week to go around to different schools around the valley and introduce kids to The Bard.

I loved it.

On the advice and referral of one of the directors I worked with, I went and saw a couple of agents. Before you do that you have to get head shots. The photographer was good humored, but said he was having a hard time getting a good shot. That I had to die down my expressions because when I laughed or smiled too hard, my nose scrunched and made me look like a gargoyl. So, at times he would say, ‘Gargoyl nose, Loralee!”, and that would be my cue to cute back on the grin.

Even though he was funny, I was young and never forgot it.

Then I went and met with the agent.

I took my plus-sized-shape self into his office with my head shots and resume.

He looked at them, took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a handkerchief as he leaned back in his chair.

“I’ll be honest with you, Miss Mitchell. I respect the man who sent you here and if he says you have talent, I believe him, but you need to know we work primarily in print and commercial casting and I will never use you for any kind of print or film work. You have much too prominent, harsh features for it. You have a “far away face” that needs to stay on the stage and far off to be pretty.”

All I could do was sit there, listen, and try to not to let the burning feeling in my chest and eyes spill over into humiliating tears.

It was not even close to the last time I would hear similar things and have similar reactions.

The audition process over years can be really shitty for your self-esteem. For every chance you have to shine and be a star (WHICH IS AWESOME), there are usually dozens and dozens of rejections. People can say horrifyingly blunt things to you. One of my college professors told me I was moving across the stage like a fat truck driver AND I WAS PAYING THEM TO BE THERE.

It’s just the way it is.

I’ve never told anyone that story. Not my parents, not my best friends, no one.

Then came Houston.

When I went to Mom 2.0, I attended a panel on incorporating vlogging (video blogging) into your website . (I’m the one on the laptop sporting the Flashdance look.)

Not only was one of the most truly wonderful Internet people I know moderating, but I was very interested in the subject.

I have been told so many times that I should get into vlogging because my personality is awesome.

But…I have a Far Away Face.

I couldn’t vlog.

Could, I?

So, I went to this particular panel that featured the staggeringly beautiful and talented  Chookoloonks, Girls Gone Child, and Rob Morhaim of Deca TV. I wanted to know if me having this unfriendly-on-film-face would be too much for people to watch.

How important was being photogenic on film in vlogging?

I raised my hand and took the microphone

To give a quick background, I told the story. I thought it would just be a quick reference and I’d get to my main question.

No biggie, right?

WRONG.

There was a huge gasp behind me. I think Karen (Chookoloonks) physically recoiled. Many were like, “WTF IS A FAR AWAY FACE?”

People had SUCH an issue with it.

I told people that I didn’t think (and I don’t) that I need to wear a bag over my face but I am horribly self-conscious of how I appear in photos and on camera. It’s tough for me to watch. I feel I am really hard to photograph, but good pictures of me are GOOD. I just have to work hard, the photographer has to be really talented and the camera has to be good.

I said as much to Karen when we talked after the panel.

“Oh, EFF THAT! Now I’m mad. Get your ass over here. We’re going to go shoot by the pool.”

So, we did.

And I bit my tongue from saying things like, “BUT MY HAIR! MY MAKEUP! I AM A SWEATY, TOUSLED MESS! SHOOT ME FROM THE LEFT SIDE!!!!!”

(If you had gotten a raised eyebrow “I AM WARNING YOU” look from Karen you would have totally done the same thing. She is awesomely, kindly, fierce, people. It just made me like her more.)

I just tried my best to let it go and have fun.

And it was awesome.

I know I am utterly extroverted but that and inner peace about yourself do not go hand in hand. Karen told me that she just didn’t understand where all of this negative crap about myself was coming from. Once I told her that I hit my highest weight of almost 300 lbs at 20 before undergoing gastric bypass surgery, and that I had not had the most awesome experiences in my life, she understood a lot more.  She is seriously one of the most beautiful people inside and out. I want to be her when I grow up and I will treasure getting to know her.

As we talked by the pool when she was photographing me I was taking everything in.

Analyzing.

Thinking.

Why had I been so genuinely surprised that people thought the term “Far Away Face Girl” was horrible?

How did I not REALIZE THAT MYSELF?!

Before the age of 35??

Was I really that used to that kind of label being stuck all over myself?

It made me sad.

I do not think I have hideous self-esteem but I am far harder on myself than I would EVER allow anyone to be on someone I love. I have times I think that I can truly be staggeringly pretty but somewhere in my head it is due to the lights, costume, make up, hair and photographer and camera. I feel that they (or I) have to work very hard to make it so.

I struggle to take a compliment without deflecting it with an insult to myself. Singing helped that. I realized that I was backhanding and disrespecting the opinion of the person giving it. Still…you can shut off what comes out of your mouth but what goes on in your head is much harder to reign in.

In a conversation with a dear friend that I think the world of I told them how I am really struggling with a few posts that I have committed to writing. How ashamed I am of things that have happened in my life and how embarrassed I can be at how damaged I am by things that I have gone through in my life. They said something that I won’t ever forget. “Loralee,  I don’t see you as being damaged. I see you as being HUMAN.”

I have amazing friends, no?

After Karen finished photographing me by the pool, she showed blogger after blogger (many who I admire more than I can tell you) her favorite photo she took of me.

I felt something shift inside me.

I am not a young, obese teenager anymore.

I have many flaws. I make SO many big, huge, (and at times truly, truly horrible) mistakes. But really…I have GOT to stop seeing those things as the dominant feature in my makeup.

I am a damn accomplished woman. I have been through more in 35 years than many people would see in two life times and yet? I am still here.

Beautiful.

Strong.

Funny.

Talented.

Compassionate.

Flawed.

HUMAN.

It’s not that I didn’t know these things before, but somehow…it just meant so much more to me when I flew out of Texas than when I flew into it. Having a “Gargoyle nose” simply means that I have done an awful lot of smiling and laughing in my life.

And laughing is one of my favorite things on the planet.

Will I lose all my issues and self-doubt because of this?

NO.

But…

I feel stronger. Happier. Wiser.

Brave.

That I could tell a story I had never shared with anyone and realize how it simply isn’t and never was true is amazing to me.

Will I ever be a movie star?

No.

But I can be a pretty beautiful soul in whatever medium I’m captured.

I love her for the gift she gave me that day. That everyone in that room gave me.

A deeper appreciation for the character that formed the wrinkles, bumps, and beauty that is me.

Hi.

I am Far Away Face Girl.

And I am just a little bit proud of that.

Photos courtesy of Karen Walrond.