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I thought I should write something about the day Mama died. Twenty-nine years ago today. She has been on my mind all day and half of last night.
It was a Sunday afternoon. She had been put in LDS on Saturday morning. She was having trouble with her heart--the doctor had discovered that she had several small heart attacks before they moved up here. Lots of scar tissue. So she was in the hospital, worrying about who would play the organ the next day in church, and who would take care of Daddy. I called Sat. night and checked on her and again Sunday morning. Couldn't speak to her but the nurses updated me. Dad and I decided we would go in to see her Sunday after Sacrament Mtg. During that meeting Uncle Bill came walking in and told us to come out. He said if we ever wanted to see Mama again we should come now. I think we had left the kids at home since we were planning to go in to see Mama straight from church. We went home to check on them and tell them what was up.
So we went in to the hospital. Uncle Bill was there; Daddy was there, and Aunt Janeen. Uncle Ster was picking up Aunt Carol who was flying down from Boise. Mama was in ICU so only one person could go in at a time every hour. The doctors were in with her when we got there, so none of the family was with her. When the doctors came out they told us about her conditon and I asked if they were giving up on her. "Oh no," one of them said. "She's a fighter."
I assumed that meant she would be fine. She was my mother, after all.
After a while it was my turn to go in. Mama was asleep. She looked so tired. I think I touched her pretty hair, but didn't wake her. I stood and watched her for my allotted 5 minutes and then left. Because we knew she was going to be fine, Aunt Janeen and Dad and I went to get something to eat. When we got back Dad dropped us off in front and went to park the car. We went up to the floor and Mama was gone. I remember standing in the hall screaming and moaning. When Dad got there they asked him to take me into a room so that everyone would not hear me. We all gathered in a room and cried. (I'm not sure, but I think someone had taken Daddy home by this time.)
I never said goodbye. Twenty-nine years later I sit here sobbing as I think about her. I felt so guilty for being away from the hospital when she died. Dad has always said it was the Lord's way of protecting me from what was about to happen. It didn't help.
Some years ago Aunt Carol challenged me to write a poem or something about her. I include it here.
Dear Mama,
Life without you goes on.
Children grow up – ours have.
Grandchildren come – twelve so far.
I try to treat them like you did mine.
Missionaries come and go;
all five sons. But still it is life
without you. You and I
never said goodbye.
Goodbye Mama,
Your baby girl
Number six. The fourth son. It was a Sunday afternoon. We had been to church and had dinner and then the pains started. So it was once again time to go to the hospital and have a baby. We had decided to try to get along this time without Mama and Daddy coming to help. (They were at Lake Tahoe with Aunt Janeen for a few days.) We had a young friend named Cindy Eastman (no relation) who came to stay with the other kids while Dad and I went to the hospital. So he was born at 11:30 Sunday night. Mama and Daddy came soon after to visit. He was the last grandchild born before Mama died.
We named him Heber Christian, after Mama's dad. But we had assumed all along that HE was a SHE. We even took a dress to the hospital to bring him home in. Dad had to return it and bring something a little more appropriate. He was the first baby we brought home to this house. We put the crib in Samantha's room and they were roommates for a while.
He was a great baby. Started doing everything early. Nearly walking at almost 8 months. And then the weekend of Mother's Day, 1978 he started getting sick. I assumed it was an ear infection because he wasn't nursing much. So Monday morning I took him in to Bryner Clinic. Our regular pediatrician there was Dr. Richards, but Monday was his day off so we saw Dr. Evans. It wasn't an ear infection. He wasn't sure, thought maybe some sores in his mouth. He told me to try giving him juices and call if he didn't get better. Two days later I took him in again and he saw him in his personal office. Still couldn't say what it was, but he could see Hebe was getting worse. The next day I called and told him Hebe wasn't drinking anything and really couldn't hold up his head anymore. He told me to meet him at Primary Children's. I called Dad and he met us there from work.
And so it began. Questions and tests. What had he eaten...nothing much; he was still nursing, mostly. Did he drool a lot?...yes. I stayed in his room all night and dozed in a chair. Dad went home to be with everyone else. The next morning (I think it was Friday or Saturday, Dad came back to the hospital and made me go home to relax and clean up. While we were home they called from the hospital and said they had moved Hebe into Intensive Care. It was Infant Botulism. They assured us they didn't lose babies with Infant Botulism, if caught in time, but that he would hit bottom before he started getting better. And he did. He lost all muscle strength. Couldn't swallow, couldn't hold his head up and couldn't breath. They fed him through a tube in his nose. He was on a ventilator. A therapist came in several times a day to pound on him to keep his lung clear. We went to the hospital every day and could see him once an hour for five or ten minutes.
After two weeks he was well enough to move to semi-intensive care. That was a big deal. That meant we could see him anytime. We even brought all the kids in a time or two to visit him. By this time Mama and Daddy had moved from Calif. to Bountiful (they did that in Feb. 1978). It was such a blessing to have them so close. Once school was out on many I days I took the kids to stay with them and I went in to the hospital for the day.
Then about four weeks later, early one Sunday morning in July, I was walking into the hospital and met Dr. Joel Thompson coming out. He was in charge of Hebe's care. He told me Hebe had pulled out his feeding tube, again. That had been happening a lot. I said, "why don't you just let me take him home?" He said that would probably be OK. So the next day we left the hospital and went home. That was a GREAT day! I had to keep track of everything that went into him and everything that came out. Had to call Dr. Evans every day and report. (I want to mention that at this time 
we had Health insurance. After we took Hebe home Dr. Evans and Dr. Thompson both said that whatever the insurance paid, was it. If there was any amount unpaid, they would write it off. And they did. Wonderful men.)
And so he was better. It took a little while to build up his strength, but then he was good as new. Took right off again. Was soon walking and doing everything else that was age appropriate. I took him in for Dr. Thompson to check some months later and he was amazed. Hebe changed the thinking about Infant Botulism at the time. Doctors had issued warnings about dipping pacifiers in honey for babies under three months. Hebe was the oldest baby they had seen with the illness at the time. (By the way, Hebe never used a pacifier.)
So this was our miracle. One of many.......
He is child number four. Or in other words, the middle child. Once in a while there was some discussion as to the number of children we would have in our family. Dad's family has three and my family, five, so we talked about compromising and having four. That would have made Alex the last. But once he was here we never thought of him as the last.
Alex was born on Friday, the day after Rach turned 2. He was the first birth Dad was able to witness. It was nice to have dad be part of it. At birth, Alex weighed 8lbs 1oz, and when we went home he weighed less than 8lbs. He seemed so small. Before he was born Uncle Bill was helping us with a project in our house and he wanted to know what names we had chosen. We said if it's a boy, Alexander Eric. He said, "let's pray it's a girl." He thought Alexander Eric was too big a mouthful. (Maybe I should mention he named his boys Jim, John and Bill.) So, he was born and that is the name he got. Dad's father's name was Arthur Alexander; that's where the Alexander came from. So Alex's initials are the same as Dad's, aee.
Now he's a father himself and he knows the joy of holding a son and a daughter in his arms. Amazing blessings for him and Sarah.
She is child number three. She is the first child born after we moved to West Bountiful. Let's talk about her birth.
She was due the first of September. But of course she wasn't born then. Dad had a new job with Singer and was scheduled to go on a business trip to San Jose, leaving Sunday, Sept. 12. He was to be gone for three weeks. So we made alternate plans for getting to the hospital. Grandma and Grandpa were staying with us for the birth. So Dad left Sunday afternoon. Middle of that night I was ready to go. I called him and told him if I had known all that needed to happen was for him to leave town, he should have left a few weeks sooner. Uncle Ster drove me into LDS and Rach was born about 2:30 Monday afternoon. Uncle Bill came to visit while I was
in recovery. (I think the staff felt sorry for me, since Dad was not there.) She weighed 9lbs 7oz , dark hair, and her face was red. I was so glad to get her here. By the time Dad got home and saw her she was all grown up. A baby changes a lot in three weeks.
Now she's really grown up. But she still loves baseball, as she always has. She's a lot like Grandma--always painting some room or decorating another. She loves being a wife and mother and she's very good at it. Before Maggie was born Rach was so worried about mothering a daughter. It came to her, just as everything else has.
She's the newest addition to the Eastman clan. A nice addition.
What do I know about Heather? I know she is a twin. I know that her twin sister has twins. I know she grew up in Grantsville, got her degree in HR at Utah State. I know she loves Logan. I know s
he is so outgoing and gregarious. I know she's not afraid of change. When we landed at JFK last month, I looked around the terminal and said, "kudos to Heather for not turning right around and refusing to live in NY."
I now know that her birthday is Sept. 12, which is the day before Rach's, which is the day before Alex's, which is four days before Hebe's. (So it's a big week.)
I know some other things, too. But most of all I know she loves Jed and makes him happy. What more could a mother ask?
