Death and Mormons and Daughters
My daughter’s first experience with the death of a loved one was a few years ago. The woman who provided day care for her and her cousins off-and-on for two summers died.
Ruby was a remarkable woman. She had three fingers on each hand and no hair, so she always wore a red wig. Her birth defects didn’t stop her from getting a degree in child development, and raising a daughter who ended up be my sister’s best friend growing up.
Ruby developed tongue cancer and eventually died. My daughter and I attended the funeral. Tonight was another sad moment. We learned that a former neighbor, who moved away about a year ago, died Friday. She was 30 years old.
Our thoughts and hearts are with her husband and her three daughters, ages 5, 3, and 3 weeks old. This woman was about the only person in the neighborhood I socialized with for the first two years I lived here. The only way to describe her is that she was good. And wholesome. And loving. All the qualities we want our children to possess (probably too late for us grownups).
My daughter is devastated, and as a mom, I try to think of ways to comfort her. We talk about souls and memories, and she asks a lot of questions about death and life after death. And I don’t have answers. I am as honest as I can be while giving her hope and comfort and love.
At times like this, I am glad the family who lost their wonderful mother is Mormon. Because I know that they believe in an afterlife, and believe that they will be reunited. And that is good. And when my daughter tells people she is “half Mormon,” I don’t cringe too much, because I hope that the “half” part of her is the one that believes in an afterlife, and that souls and families go on beyond this Earth.
