No Place Like Home

Dear Jared Jonathan (aka JJ, Jdog, jigglejiggle, jollyJ),

          You won’t remember a think about last week—so, this letter is for you.  Aaron might recall bits and pieces (notably the scene he created in church when his father had to drag him kicking and screaming from the pulpit).  But you, my jolly little JJ, will never really remember the week we found our future.  Let me tell you.

          The week began with an email from the wizards of the medical match.  It said, “Congratulations! You matched.”  And, that was all that we needed to know—at least all we needed to know to make it until Friday.  There was an awesome calm that came with that announcement.  We knew we had a job.  We had no idea where, but we were grateful.   And, your momma wasn’t distracted by finding an awesome place to build our new nest.  It was just nice to know.  So—we threw a party!  You and Aaron (whom you have begun calling “Aunnee) drew a sign, threw up a few streamers and helped me cook a fajita platter.  Too bad the seasoning spoiled.  At least the seven layer dip was yummy.

          The next couple of days blur together.  We visited the library; momma got a hair cut; and then we went to Spanish Fork for a doctor’s appointment.  Before we could wink an eye, it was Friday.  I had a hard time going to sleep the night before—my stomach felt like it was filled with a bottle of butterflies.  I hadn’t felt so nervous since that fateful night I kissed your father in high school.  I woke up early on Friday morning and went running with my good friend, Mandy Halverson.  She is a fabulous running buddy—especially talented at feeding my mind with all sorts of wonderful ideas.  After our run, I hiked up a small hill on the Shoreline trail behind our apartment complex.  There I said a prayer and watched the morning light wake up the world.  All the while I wondered where the sunrise would find our family in the next few years.

          The next few hours flashed by.  Dada and I got dressed, dropped you off at Mandy’s home (you were not happy), took Aaron to school at the JCC and then made our way to the parking lot for the Match Day shuttle.  When we arrived we saw a lot of familiar faces: the Jones family, the DeMill family, the Kogleshotts famile, etc.  The air was buzzing with anticipation.  We arrived at Libby Gardner Hall at the University of Utah campus around 9:30am.  I forced your father to take a few pictures, and then we went inside.  The formal reception hall was filled with fourth year medical students and their supporters.  Some wore ties.  Others wore scrubs.  One wore a gray tuxedo and a top hat.  All were fixated on the rows of envelopes forming lines behind the red ribbon at the front of the room.

          Almost every minute we checked the time on our cell phones, watching for 10:00.  The numbers changed about as fast as Aaron changes out of his pajamas (not very fast).  Finally, Dr. Junkins (the man with the awesome name who didn’t look at all like what I expected) made his way to the microphone to say a few words.  I’m sure no one remembers what he said.  At least, up until he asked one of Dada’s classmates to begin the countdown to 10:00.  And, then we counted down: 10…9…8…and the ribbon was cut.

          I watched as Dad meandered to the table amidst his classmates.  He found his envelope and retuned quickly.  It was in his hands.  He was smiling with his fake, eye-brows raised, adorable grin that bundles a thousand words into one expression.  When he reached my side he said, “You open it,” just as he told me he would.  But, there was no way I would dare.  “It’s all yours,” I said.  And, that was that.  He fumbled with the envelope for what seemed like a few minutes.  Finally he ripped open the side and unfolded the papers within.  Written were the words: Spartanburg Regional Hospital, SC (Transitional Year), and on the next line, “Huntsman Cancer Institute, UT.”

          “We’re in Utah.”  Jonny said with a surprised lilt in his voice.  “Utah?!” I repeated, mirroring his surprise.  It wasn’t what we expected.  We paused for a few moments, waiting for the words written on the page to actually sink in.  It took more than a few moments.  I repeated the words in my mind: one year in South Carolina and then back to Utah.  For two years I geared to have a big family adventure out of state.  Staying here wasn’t really an option (we thought) since there was only one spot.  But the Huntsman Cancer Center saw all that is good in Jonny and ranked him near (if not at) the top.  And, there we were, with the letter in our hands—a bit shocked that it wasn’t as life-changing as we expected—but wonderful, nonetheless.  My heart filled with assurance and my eyes filled with tears as I saw the faces of you and your brother in my mind.  We are supposed to be in Utah.

          The news started to feel real as we called family.  Nana broke out into sobs.  Grandpa Isaac said, “I knew you would.  Good job.”  Grand patty said prayers of thanks that we wouldn’t be taking you from her for too long.  And, Grandpappy started brainstorming about job prospects.  All were elated.  Hearing the joy in the voices of those we love made us all the more excited—with the exception of Uncle Stevie, Aunt Libby and their other halves.  There was a chance we would be within an hour of either and it was bitter-sweet that the chips fell as they did.  But, as dada and I process the match, our gratitude grows.  So much will happen in our family in the next few years—more than we can anticipate, to be sure.

          The remainder of the weekend is pretty much a blur—a flurry of celebration with classmates on Friday evening.  You, Aaron and sweet cousin Gabriel (who was babysitting) got locked out of our apartment and roamed the hallway until our neighbor’s parents came home and helped Gabriel call us.  Poor boy was without his trusty binder and phone and all things that prepared him to watch you for the evening.  Nevertheless, his bravery deserves a gold star, as he kept you safe until help arrived.  You were all fine—probably had no idea what really happened.

          Speaking of brave boys, your brother is definitely one of them.  He is brave enough to say that he wants to live in South Carolina forever.  He is brave enough to memorize the Articles of Faith (now up to five) and recite them in his Primary’s microphone.  He is even brave enough to follow me up to the pulpit during sacrament meeting when I was giving a talk, pull my sleeve and say, “Mom!  I need to talk to you!”  It was quite the scene.  I was in the middle of my talk and extremely embarrassed when your father (who had taken you out because you were so upset that I left the bench to go speak) had to come in the side door and pull big brother away from the pulpit while both of you screamed.  Aaron was even “brave” enough to clench his hands onto the pulpit ledge while crying for me.  That was a moment I will always remember for it’s humor, and for it’s rude wake-up call that I need to revise our family’s understanding of reverence during Sacrament meeting.

          Well, my little jolly Jared Jonathan, I love you so much.  I am grateful every day that God sent you to me, and that you agreed to come.  You make me laugh when I least expect it.  Your go-with-the-flow ability amazes me.  You couldn’t be more perfect for our family.  Thank you for helping me laugh and enduring my learning experiences.  I am blessed to be your mother, and I can’t wait to adventure with you in South Carolina, and Utah in the coming years.

Love, Momma