Guys, I don't know how to express this. And I have had a lot of practice expressing myself. But when you love someone as much as I love this woman and you find yourself coming to terms with the reality that her mortal journey is drawing near to its close, the myriad of emotions you face and the rollercoaster you ride through them is just unreal.

Well, I'll recant that statement because it's just not true. It's totally real. And it's nothing new. People go through this every day. People I am close with have dealt with this way more frequently than what seems even close to fair. But it's pretty new for me. It's strange and hard, yet natural and just and beautiful all at the same time. I can't pick one emotion, but they're all here, they're all real, and they're all individually and collectively overwhelming.

I am heartbroken that she is dying. No, I don't think this is the end, but I have loved having her present in my life.  

I miss her already. I've spent a lot of my life missing her since she lives so far away, but this is different. I know I'll be missing her indefinitely.  

I regret not taking more opportunities to get to know her better, especially before her dementia set in.

I fondly remember the times she told me I was the prettiest girl she'd ever seen. (Multiple times in a single 30 minute conversation, of course.)

Then I laugh as I recall a time or two she called me out for getting pudgy. (That was all pre-dementia.)

Then I snort-laugh remembering the time she picked a louse from my 10-year old scalp and threw it on the hot burner, firmly instructing it to "go back to hell where [it] came from."

It makes me giddy to think about her impending reunion with grandpa.

I cry tears of joy thinking that she'll get to reunite with her mother, whom she hasn't seen since she was a small girl, and with her father--"Parley Sunshine Shuler, the sunshine of [her] life." She'll get to hold 3 of her sons again. Perhaps they'll hold her.

I'm humbled by the realization that her old, tired, perfectly worn body will no longer be a burden for her; awed to think that her mind will be restored to its original wit and clarity.

I cherish the above photo--and several others of her and me together--and for the lasting memory I'll have of those clever, twinkling (mischievous?) eyes.

All this when she isn't quite here, but not quite gone. It's all so strange for me. 

But I'm grateful to have had her this long. Grateful I got to grow to love her this much. Grateful to care so much that I don't know how my heart will handle it. Grateful to know that it is precisely because of my heart--the heart I've so tried to model after hers--that I will make it through.

And the best is yet to come.

I sure love my Tookie.

With My By Myself

I don't need a husband.

I've lived my entire life without one, and I don't need one now. Here's why:

• Notwithstanding numerous struggles in most aspects of my life, I can sustain myself pretty well through economic and emotional hardships.
• I work a dynamic, rewarding job that pays well and has potential for progression if I seek it and work for it.
• I live on my own and I pay all my own bills. I might create a few more bills than are 100% necessary, but I make my way.
• My personality and mind are developed well enough that I can learn anything I need to learn to make basic repairs around my home, to my car, or to do anything else stereotypically manly.
• Exhibit A: I assembled my couch,  a job which was intended to be performed by 2-3 people, by myself. I am not afraid to get creative in my problem-solving, so living alone isn't a devastation.
• I can lift heavy things and carry them pretty decent distances. In fact, I much prefer to carry them on my own rather than getting a man's (or anyone else's) help. It's not just to make a feminist statement, either, but because completely  independent of my gender, I have an able body and I enjoy using it to do challenging things. Not to mention it's just much more efficient for me to carry the box all the way instead of having you stop me halfway to transfer it to your arms. Please just go get the next box and let me enjoy using my bulk for something productive.
• Related to the above point, I am no damsel in distress. I can hold my own. However, if I ever am in distress, I will readily request assistance. I'm not that proud. But I sure as hell don't need a man who assumes that any distress I find myself in is a given *because* I am a damsel.
• I also love driving trucks, so you best bet I can haul all kinds of crap all by myself. And I'll love every minute of it.
• Also, I don't need a man because I have a dog whose snuggles are just as satisfying as those from most men I've had the privilege of snuggling.

But now I must add a major disclaimer. I believe that marriage and motherhood will be the crowning achievements of my life, and I greatly anticipate the day when they will become a reality for me.

 

So no, I don't need a man, but I sure do want one. Here's why:

 

• I want an equal partner, someone to share my happiness and success with when I've had a great day at work or a fun day of crafting or perhaps an intellectual revolution.
• I want someone with whom to share emotional and spiritual struggles, thereby cultivating Christlike attributes of charity and longsuffering.
• I want a lasting companionship based on trust, respect, unconditional love, and mutual interest in each other's life.
• I want someone to be a father to my children, not just in biology, but in the ever-stretching and refining role of Daddy. (I.e.; I want to co-parent the crud out of some awesome kids with a patient, gentle, worthy priesthood holder.)
• I want someone to giggle with. Someone who enjoys being silly as much as I do. Someone who won't question my desire to have 50-volume collection of custom karaoke CDs for my car, nor have any qualms about our going on long drives just to sing along to them.
• I want someone to hold hands with because it feels real nice.
• I want someone who will be eager to help me in my physical and intellectual pursuits, not because he thinks I'm fragile or incapable on my own, but because he loves me and wants to ease some of my burdens. Or maybe it's simply because he wants to be next to me while we figure something out together.
• I want a man who will let me help him too, because he understands I've got plenty to offer, and he knows how much I'd really like to be next to him and lighten some if his burdens because I just love him so daggum much, ok?

Realtalk here. My ever-increasing independence has been scaring me lately, as irrational as that fear may be. I think I've been afraid that if I appear too self-sufficient and awesome, I'll become that girl we all hear about who drives guys away because she intimidates them. But, praise be to God, I've learned that hoping for someone to like me for who I am is just a big old waste of time. Because why should I want to be liked for who I am now when I'm still capable of becoming so much more? A good man will like who I am, but a great man will like where I'm going, and he'll be on that same path.

So whoever you are, if you see me out there in the distance (I'll be the thick one carrying all those boxes, maybe even balancing one on my head), I'm just keeping a steady pace toward becoming the best version of myself. Come on up and let's match our strides.

Workin' It

I'm going to start keeping a running post including all the sweet and entertaining compliments I receive from my elderly patients. I'll update it periodically as some good ones come around. There have been some real doozies that I don't want to ever forget. Here goes.

1. "You sure are sweet. Are you single? I have a real nice nephew I'd like to set you up with. Of course, he might be a little old for you. He's 62. What do you think?"

2. "Did you know there's a song out there that I think was written about you? It goes something like, 'Honey, can you please a man the way your body says you can?'"

3. "You remind me of the good Lord Jesus. You wash up people's feet real good!" (This was said by the same guy in number 2. He has also invited me to dinner several times, saying that he hates to think I might be lonely on a Friday night, so if I don't have a boyfriend by the next time he comes in, he'd like to invite me over to have his wife cook for all of us.)

4. "Well, aren't you just plumb cute?" . . . And then later, "You're just so dern cute!" . . . Even later, "You're just the plumb cutest thing I ever saw." (Needless to say, he's my new favorite.)

5. Female patient with severe dementia: "Whoa, I just saw a good-lookin' man!"
    Daughter: "No, I don't think you did . . . Where did he go?"
    Patient: "Right there!" (pointing directly at me.)

6. "I heard your voice on that answerin' machine, and I said, 'Well, that's my sweetheart! I better call her back!'"

It's A Beautiful Life

Today marks 4 years since I graduated from BYU, which means I've now been out of college as long as I was in it. Time passes by so quickly.


Just a 21-year-old (read: baby) Katelyn.

As I was looking back through some of my old pictures and getting a little teary-eyed as I thought about all the people I miss, I also got a little angry with myself. See, when I truly consider it, I am in awe at all I was able to experience in my short time there. The friendships! The temple visits! The pool parties! The hiking! The dancing! The travel! The mud kickball! The picnics! The Alias, Toy Story, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter marathons! The colorful paint and chalk fights! The donut shenanigans and Mustache Mondays and dinner group and midnight bike rides and dollar movies and ice skating and ice blocking and two-story-tall snowmen and roller-coasters and at least a hundred times when I got to laugh till I cried. And oh, for heaven's sake, THE NACHO PARTIES! And to think that, between all that, I even found time to get a degree? Amazing. 

So I really do have countless beautiful memories of those years. Yet (here's where the anger comes in) there were still days I wasted by feeling sorry for myself, thinking I was nothing more than stupid, lazy, and ugly, and therefore doomed for educational, financial, and romantic failure. I see now how utterly and ridiculously dumb that was. My only real failure was giving power to those thoughts and neglecting to see how incredibly full and blessed my life was. I hope to never repeat that same mistake.

When I was checking out those old pictures, I couldn't help but think that I like the way I looked back then. I weighed significantly less than I do now, I had a more defined jaw line, I liked the haircuts I had, and though I didn't necessarily have clothes that were any prettier than those I currently have, I feel like I wore them well since they fit better. I could probably keep going on and on about other external markers of "pretty" that were present before and have been changed since then, but still, as I mentioned before, I was spending a lot of my time feeling ugly and inadequate. Though I'm not immune to such feelings now, I am certain they are less frequent, despite all the changes my body has endured. Why? Because I've finally learned and internalized a little something that I wish I'd have known much sooner, and that is this:

Beautiful is as Beautiful does.

That is to say, when going about the business of increasing your personal beauty, you will find the greatest success in the doing--as opposed to the donning--of beautiful things. 

So now, after all that exposition, let's get down to the nitty-gritty. If you are reading this, chances are that you fall into one of two categories:

1. A Russian spambot that deceptively increases my page views by 200%, or 
2. One of those folks to whom I owe great thanks, as you have shared beautiful moments with me, thus building my beauty, one wonderful memory at a time.

Barring your being the former, I sincerely thank you for helping me during what I consider the formative years of my life. Though I didn't always feel it then, I can see it now when I reminisce. My  brand of beauty is woven from the fabric of life's joyful times, its challenges, both failed and surmounted, and its neverending supply of scary and fun adventures. It is virtually weatherproof, fireproof, age-proof and devil-proof, and it has become a rather cozy home for my soul. 

So, should you ever need help building your own beauty, don't hesitate to call me. You need someone to dance, sing, laugh, cry, shout, whisper, or just be with you? I'll be there. Stretchy pants and all.

Meaning Not To

When I was young and got chastised for accidentally hurting my siblings (whether physically or emotionally), breaking or dropping something, or making a mess or any other sort of careless mistake, my instant complaint was as follows:

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
And to this whiny defense, my mother's response was almost always, "Yes, but you didn't mean not to."

First, I'll say as a side-note that "You didn't mean not to" is second only to "That's not the issue" as my least favorite of mother's disciplinary catch-phrases. But what is the issue in this post is that, to my recollection, this famous rebuttal never failed to put an end to my protesting.

My immediate willingness to throw up the white flag can not be attributed as much to my begrudging acknowledgement of the correctness of her point as much as to my frustration at not actually even understanding what she meant by it. I seriously had no idea what she was saying. Not even a little bit. I even remember thinking one time that I should tell her that what she had said just didn't make any sense. The words "didn't mean not to" registered in my mind as some sort of disjointed, ungrammatical phrase--perhaps not too much unlike what I imagine baby Yoda to have sounded like before he developed his superlative command of syntax.

Recently, however, something a friend said reminded me of this exchange, and since then, I've been contemplating the meaning of mama's implied charge: to mean not to. As oddly phrased as it is, it has changed the way I view my daily interactions with my co-workers, friends, family, and strangers. I've come to the conclusion that to mean not to is about considering how my actions will affect others, then choosing to avoid those actions that will yield negative results.

It's about rejecting my selfish impulses.
It's about being careful, diligent, and wise with my words and deeds.
It's about reducing the pain and heartache that could be inflicted on others, just by putting some extra effort into suppressing any unkind words I'm tempted to speak.
It's about letting go of all the grudges, petty disagreements, and envy that create rifts between my loved ones and me.
It's about choosing patience when impatience is my visceral reaction.
It's about giving up my vanity-inspired pursuit for constant approval and instead offering praise to the unassuming souls who may feel they are not worthy of it.
It's about listening instead of interrupting and forgoing pride in favor of humility--allowing peace and harmony the victory over my need to be proven right.

Really, what it boils down to is that it's about charity. I've spent a lot of my life pondering on what charity truly means and making efforts to embody it, to nurture any instincts I have in the way of loving people. I try to love with action. I try to love with encouraging words, meaningful service, thoughtful gifts, valuable time, and long-lasting, soul-healing hugs. I truly believe that most people in this world try to love on purpose--it comes quite naturally to mean to love. But what could happen if we would also mean not to hurt?