Ashton – August 2013

Written by Carter

I grew up on a farm and cow manure was something I dealt with daily. For those who haven’t had that experience, please forgive the crudeness of this subject.

Ashton, far right, with his Sunday School class ~ age 5 or 6

April 20, 2015 – I wrote a letter to my missionary son, Jacob, today. He is serving in the Washington, Spokane mission. He returns home this August. He told us he wants to hear about Ashton and how we are doing. I told him about visiting the cemetery on Sunday to see Ashton’s grave.  We didn’t cry this time. I remember saying, “Our son is buried here.” We didn’t cry. One of us commented on how beautiful the picture is and that we are really happy with how the headstone turned out. No, we didn’t cry.

There were lots of flowers out there. Some tropical, some Easter flowers still, and some other flowers put there by friends many months ago. I leave them all there and will leave them until the wind blows them away or they fall apart.  I don’t know who put most of those flowers there, but I love each one. I love the whirly thing stuck in the ground, twirling in the wind, put there by my sister’s family. It makes me smile. I know all were put there lovingly, for us and for Ashton. Thank you to everyone who left anything at Ashton’s grave.

Sometimes we don’t cry. Sometimes we just smile and remember.

I had a dream about Ashton a few nights ago….He walked into a room Carter and I were in. He was about 5- 7 years old. He had some little friends with him his same age. He was HAPPY! When he hurried into the room, he stood there beaming his happiness to us. He never said a word, but it felt like he was telling us, “Here I am, come see me!” I did. I went over to him, I knelt down in front of him and hugged and kissed the heck out of him. I rubbed his head and felt his fuzzy blond hair. He just stood there enjoying it all… knowing I was enjoying it too. I woke up from the dream happy and smiling and couldn’t stop smiling. This is some of what I wrote in my journal:

“Thank you Heavenly Father for giving me glimpses of my happy boy. It’s such a blessing for me to have those experiences with him every so often. I feel strongly that he is that happy person now.”

I never cried about that dream. I just felt happy.

Yes, sometimes I don’t cry. Sometimes I just smile and remember. Grief is not constant for me, thank goodness. I go in and out. It’s nice to be “out” most of the time since this last Easter. Is that progress? I hope so.

His birthday is coming up on April 30th. Gearing up!

Written by Faye

Happy Ashton! ~ 4 years old

As an introduction, I feel like I need to say this: if you or someone you love is at risk for suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255). There are several websites that look helpful, as well. Here is the link to American Foundation for Suicide Prevention: http://www.afsp.org/

Now for the post:

My sister, Wendy, suggested that we do all we could to help Ashton feel our love for him. At her suggestion, we found a photograph of him when he was still happy – as a little boy. Faye put that up in a location that would not be readily visible to Ashton but that we could see and remember and visualize the time when he was happy; we wanted to think that that happy boy was still inside Ashton – somewhere. Wendy also suggested that we write “love notes” to Ashton, expressing our love and confidence in him. I started doing that daily on about January 1. I left them on his pillow. The next morning, they would be on the desk next to his bed. I think he read them, but I don’t think his “broken mind” could believe them.

Ashton would always attend at least Sacrament Meeting, the first meeting in the Sunday schedule. He would get up and go without “goading” by us. I think he REALLY wanted to go to his meetings. He would take a separate vehicle so he could come and go as he felt able. He would often come into the meeting after the sacrament (communion with bread and water to remind us of Christ’s Atoning Sacrifice). I wonder if – because of his delusions – he didn’t feel “worthy” to partake of the sacrament? He would often go home during the second or third hour of the block; I think the anxiety of talking to people and the delusions that others were talking about him was too much for him. It was difficult for him when people would ask him how he was doing and what his plans were for the future. I don’t think he could see himself ever feeling differently than he did at that time – full of anxiety and delusions. His bishop (pastor) met with him regularly. Bishop encouraged Ashton to speak in our congregation about his mission and tried to help Ashton understand that he had completed an honorable mission. I don’t think Ashton was able to accept that.

On the Sunday before Ashton’s death, one of the bishop’s counselors (assistants) came by to extend a calling to Ashton to serve as a counselor in the Sunday School organization. That calling was recommended by the Sunday School president, a good and kind friend who has family members who have struggled with mental illness, but didn’t know that Ashton did. Ashton told the bishop’s counselor that he would think about it. During the third hour of the Sunday block, we discussed a topic was selected by the stake (an ecclesiastical unit consisting of several congregations) leaders several months prior and was “Like a Broken Vessel” by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (see Footnote 1). It is about having compassion for those (including ourselves) who struggle with depression. I commented that Ashton struggled with depression and that it’s OK to ask if a person is suicidal; it’s not going to “plant” those ideas in their mind. They are almost certainly already there. I became emotional during my comments and felt the love and support of several men in the group after the meeting. Little did I know that two days later, Ashton would die of suicide. I choose to believe that God was helping the members of the stake — especially our own ward (congregation) — prepare for Ashton’s suicide by having this topic discussed just two days beforehand.

Ashton died on Tuesday, January 28, 2014. On New Year’s Day, Jordan, Rubi, Faye, Ashton and I all wrote goals on what we’d like to accomplish over the next five years. We’ve been doing that every five years for the past 15 years and putting them into a “family time capsule” in our storeroom. Ashton was often unable to do things like that because it took too much emotional energy for him. This time, however, he wrote and wrote without encouragement and with very little hesitation. I was encouraged. The next day, I peeked at what he wrote and there were some very ambitious goals: get married, have children, attend college, etc. At the end of his list was a paragraph written in Fijian. I thought he was being sentimental and writing in his mission language. However, on the day he died, we asked a friend in the community who also served in Fiji to come over and interpret what he had written: it was a suicide note. I don’t know how long he had been planning to take his life, but it was for at least three weeks. Ashton was an honest young man. When I mentioned this incongruence to a new friend: Ashton’s honesty with his not telling me that he was suicidal when I asked him, this friend said that Ashton probably couldn’t tell me because he loved me too much and didn’t want to hurt me. To me, that is an example of how a “broken mind” thinks: Ashton didn’t want to hurt me by telling me that he was suicidal…but his mental anguish must have been so overwhelming that that was the only way that he could see out of it.

On the day Ashton died, Ashton’s psychiatrist called me: he can often see a suicide coming. With Ashton’s, he was totally blindsided; he saw no signs that that was in Ashton’s plans. A few weeks after Ashton’s death, we met personally with Ashton’s psychiatrist: Was the diagnosis correct? Could he have been bipolar? Is that why none of the medications helped? His response was that bipolar can be very difficult to diagnose. He had asked Ashton about episodes of mania (periods of exaggerated moods, thoughts and energy – see Footnote 2), but Ashton had consistently said “No.” Might there have been a period that neither Ashton nor anyone else recognized? Possibly. In the psychiatrist’s mind, however, Ashton had died of depression, much like others die of accidents or cancer or heart attacks. Another retired physician, mentor and good friend reminded me that, as physicians, we can do all the right things at the right time, but sometimes the infection or tumor or trauma is too overwhelming for our treatments and some people still die. In Ashton’s case, everything that COULD be done WAS done – but it was still too overwhelming for him. Another person that we didn’t even know wrote in a sympathy card something that was very kind and comforting: “I’m sure Ashton did the best he could.” I choose to believe that.

So…is there something that Carter and Faye (or anyone else, including Ashton) should have done or shouldn’t have done that might have prevented Ashton’s suicide? Let me answer this way: two days before Ashton’s death, Faye and I were talking as a follow-up to the “Like a Broken Vessel” lesson in church. We both felt that we had done everything we could to help Ashton. We couldn’t think of anything else we could have done. I’m comfortable leaving any judgment on this matter to God.

In medicine, there is a phenomenon called “blame the victim.” I think it’s a defense mechanism by which those in the medical field attempt to emotionally insulate themselves from disease and other bad outcomes. For example, in an emergency room setting, it’s often the female caregivers who are least compassionate to a female rape victim. The caregivers’ attitude is, “If she hadn’t been doing/wearing/saying/with ____, she wouldn’t have been raped.” By extension, the female caregivers think, “If I don’t do/wear/say/be with ___, I won’t be raped.” Is it possible that some rapes happen regardless of the victim doing all the “right” things? Is it possible that some suicides will happen regardless of everyone (including the victim) doing all the “right” things? My answer to these questions is “yes,” unfortunately. Yes, sometimes bad things happen to good people who are doing all the “right” things.

Is there a stereotype for someone who is at risk for suicide? Are quiet people (like Ashton) at risk? Are religious people (like Ashton) at risk? I honestly don’t know. For example, I don’t know how religious Robin Williams was and how quiet he was in his private life, but his public persona was certainly not “quiet.” I don’t know if there IS a stereotype. One common denominator is that the victims have lost hope. So…how do you know who has lost hope? I don’t know. The further I get into this “Grieving with God’s Guidance,” the more convinced I am of how important it is to just be nice. As Elder Holland said, “While God is making those repairs, the rest of can help by being merciful, nonjudgmental and kind.” (See Footnote 3). None of us really knows the anguish anyone else is going through. Perhaps unkind people are the ones who need our kindness the most.

Ashton shot himself in the heart with a shotgun we had in our shed. I expressed to my brother some regret for having a gun. He wisely said, “With Ashton’s mental illness and determination to complete suicide, if you didn’t have a gun, you would be regretting having an extension cord or belt or car exhaust or…or…” I think he’s right.

A related question: what can YOU do to prevent suicide in your loved ones? I wish I had a better answer than this: There are some things that are just not in your control. Some suicides are going to happen even when everyone is doing the right things. Do the best you can. Ask God for His help – and leave the rest to Him.

This has been helpful for me to write. I hope it’s helpful for some of you. If you have stayed with me this far, it probably has been. I ask you to consider sharing, liking or commenting.

Written by Carter

Footnotes:

1. https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/like-a-broken-vessel?lang=eng
2. http://psychcentral.com/disorders/manic-episode/
3. https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/10/like-a-broken-vessel?lang

Jordan & Rubi’s wedding at the Honduras Temple.

Wow! This is hard to re-read! Here I go:

For about two weeks after Ashton came home from his mission, he was able to talk about his experience in Fiji and some of his thoughts and feelings. He and his older brother, Jordan, are good friends. A few nights after Ashton came home, Jordan felt like Ashton was willing to talk. He told Jordan that, when he was on his way home from Fiji, he flew into the Suva airport. When he arrived there, “everybody” already knew what a bad person he was. On his first Sunday home, he told Jordan that the speakers and teachers in Church meetings were making comments directed specifically at him. Jordan asked him if he (Jordan) had made any comments specifically directed at Ashton. Ashton responded that yes, a comment Jordan made in one of the classes was directed at Ashton. Jordan tried to point out that Ashton’s thoughts – that “nobody” liked him and that “everyone” was talking about him – were not real. Ashton’s personality was one of being quietly stubborn — even before he became mentally ill. As a result, Jordan’s attempts to influence Ashton’s delusions (see Footnote 1) were not successful. After that, Ashton quit talking about how he felt (for the most part). However, I’m fairly certain that his own mind didn’t quit talking to him, feeding him ideas of his own worthlessness. He would spend hours reading books, playing computer games, watching movies, reading statistics about University of Arizona sports, etc. I think he was trying to quiet down the “noise” in his mind. He was able to work for short periods of time: he did some construction for my cousin, Zack; helped Grandpa Mayberry and Uncle Young with pecan harvest; and accompanied Grandpa Richardson on a trip to Yuma the day before he died. He wasn’t able to work full time; the anxiety and delusions were too exhausting and disabling for him.

Ashton traveled from Fiji to Los Angeles with a retired male nurse who was completing his mission and returning to Utah. I flew from Tucson to LA to meet them and fly home with Ashton. He seemed quiet and maybe ashamed that he was coming home early. I tried to talk to him several times, but his responses were always very brief; he didn’t seem to want to talk at that time, so I didn’t push it. Traditionally, our extended family will often be at the airport to welcome returning missionaries home. Ashton asked that it just be immediate family. My dad was going to come, but, because of miscommunication, missed his ride to get there. Candace made a “Welcome Home, Elder Mayberry” sign, written in Fijian. Should friends and family have “insisted” and gone to the airport anyway — so Ashton would know they thought he had completed his mission honorably and fully? I don’t think it would have made a difference to Ashton’s “broken mind.”

Speaking of Ashton’s “broken mind,” I think Ashton thought we (his parents) were disappointed in him. When we would tell him that we loved him and were proud of him, I think his broken mind told him, “That’s what parents say. They don’t really think that.” Or, he may have thought, “If they knew what a bad and worthless person I was, they wouldn’t feel that way.” Delusional: logically absurd, no supporting evidence — but nonetheless very real in his mind.

When I learned that Ashton would be coming home from his mission, I immediately called a medical school classmate of mine who is an excellent psychiatrist and also a member of our church. He agreed to see Ashton the day after he came home. He saw Ashton regularly and tried him on five different antidepressants, none of which helped him. Ashton also started seeing a counselor. I would ask Ashton periodically if he was suicidal and he would always say “no.” I’m sure that these two professionals would also ask him this question.

Ashton’s cousin suffered from severe depression. He didn’t want to take medications, and discovered a treatment called ThetaChamber (see Footnote 2); he spent 21 days undergoing those treatments and seemed to be doing much better. We talked to Ashton about going; that was to be our next hoped-for step with him – but he was not ready. He was the one who had to make that decision to go.

Faye uses essential oils for various ailments. For many people, it helps with mental illness. She attended a workshop to learn how to use essential oils for emotional and mental health issues. A blend used for anxiety was the only thing that helped a little; it helped him to stay at church longer. He really wanted to go to church. Towards the end, his anxiety was too overwhelming and even that blend did not help.

Jordan married Rubi Ponce in the Tegucigalpa, Honduras Temple in September 2013. Ashton accompanied us on the wedding trip. He was very quiet. I could tell he was anxious. Rubi’s mother is sensitive and asked if he was OK. We told her that he was suffering from anxiety and depression. Ashton attended the civil marriage ceremony at Rubi’s church, the temple sealing (marriage that would continue after this lifetime, rather than “till death do you part”), and the reception at a nearby resort. He even danced a few times — when Rubi’s friends and cousins would ask him. However, he declined having dinner at Rubi’s parent’s house the day before we left. I think all the social interactions had exhausted him.

On the Thanksgiving after Ashton came home, his cousin, Greyson, invited him over to play games. He and Greyson were good buddies before Ashton’s mission; he could have spent all day — and all night — playing games with Greyson. However, the anxiety and delusions were apparently too overwhelming for Ashton to do something he normally would have loved to do. Faye’s family had a Thanksgiving get-together at her sister’s house. Ashton didn’t want to go — again because of anxiety and delusions. I was sick that day, so stayed home. Ashton and I had a simple meal together, visiting intermittently throughout the day. I’m thankful I was able to spend that day with him.

On the New Year’s Eve before he died, we got together at Faye’s parents’ house. Several of Faye’s family members were there. I observed a conversation between two of Faye’s brothers-in-law and Jordan about something silly (Spongebob Squarepants or Napoleon Dynamite, etc) that Ashton normally would have been participating in and joining in the laughter. Instead, Ashton sat there, looking ahead, not participating or laughing. He was barefoot and curling his big toe over his second toe; it appeared he was anxious being in that group.

On the Sunday before Ashton died, we went to Candace’s house to celebrate her husband, Jonathan’s, birthday. Again, the crowd of people and the questions about what his plans were (in casual conversation) were too much for Ashton. He went into one of the bedrooms and laid on the floor with the lights out.

To be continued…Next post will be Wednesday, April 15.

Footnotes:

1. http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/156888/delusion. This reference goes on to say that delusions. “…vary in intensity, extent, and coherence and may represent pathological exaggeration of normal tendencies to rationalization, wishful thinking, and the like. Among the most common are delusions of persecution and grandeur; others include delusions of bodily functioning, guilt, love, and control.
2. http://www.thetawellnesscenter.com

Written by Carter

Ashton as a scout at the pinewood derby

I was angry today. Angry with this grief that runs my life and seems to hold me back. It’s holding me back from the things I want to  do.

I used to love to cook for my family. Now I can barely get a simple breakfast made. It’s too much for me. I used to love to make bread. I want to send some bread to my son on a mission in Spokane. If I send it priority mail during the winter, he can get it in two days and it’s still good. I just can’t do that anymore.

I have a quilt I want to make for my daughter and Christmas stockings to finish for my new granddaughters. I can’t do it.

I used to love to read.  There’s a series of culinary mysteries I used to love. I can’t read them anymore. I can’t handle dead bodies or guns anymore. I can’t even concentrate to get through a chapter if I really try. I can’t even make it through a simple children’s novel.

I want to go outside and walk down Sybil Road like I used to do but I can’t handle running into people and pretending everything is wonderful.

I can’t even teach a class at church. I’ve been asked to. I tell them yes hoping I can do it and have to call them back to tell them I can’t. It’s too vulnerable a situation for me right now. I can’t handle the thought of losing it while I’m up there and not being able to get out of the situation.

I want to start going to my yoga class again, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t handle the thought of losing it in front of everyone there. Physical exertion seems to bring me to tears. It makes me cry. I know its a good thing and it needs to come out, but I can’t do that there yet.

I’ve written about what I can’t do. There has to be some things that I can still do…. What are they…..?  Thinking…. OK…

I can still get up in the morning.

I can still get my laundry done.

I can keep my houseplants alive. I have a poinsettia that someone gave me for Christmas that is still thriving.

I can still love on my grandchildren. I did it today. It was my happiness for the day.

I can cherish and be grateful for my family. My good husband, my children and grandchildren who bring me so much joy. My parents who are so kind and helpful. My sisters and my good brother…  I love them so much. They are my best friends.

I can still pray. I still want to pray. I talk to my Heavenly Father quite often during the day.

I still have hope that things will get better and easier. I hear stories of other people’s grief journeys and they say that it gets better and easier. That gives me hope.

I can still take care of my chickens. (By the way, I have a rooster that needs to find another home.  Ha! He and I don’t get along. He’s not my friend. He’s beautiful as far as roosters go.. but I don’t like him. He’s mean. I need happiness in my back yard. He’s not a contributor to that.  Any takers? He would probably make some great chicken soup, but I’m not up to that. I’m serious!)

There…. I feel a little better.

Yes, that’s real life for me today. I don’t always feel like this. Today was just too much for me to take. The calmer side of me is tempted to apologize for writing this, but I’m not going to.  Sometimes pretending everything is Ok is too hard. I know I don’t have the corner on down days. There are many people on the earth who are grieving. If you are having a down day, I pray that you can feel the Lord’s blessing of peace and comfort. I know he can do that. He has promised that He will not leave us comfortless. I know He keeps His promises.

Miss you, Ash….

Written by Faye on April 9, 2015

Elder Ashton Mayberry with mission president and wife, Kenneth and Janis Klingler ~ Fiji, Suva Mission.

Introduction: I shared Part 1 on Sunday, April 5. This is Part 2. I will share Part 3 on Sunday, April 12. I didn’t really try to break the narrative at a particular juncture; I’m just trying to make each post about 1000 words.

I’m not sure why, but my last post seemed to resonate with a lot of people: over 9400 saw it on Facebook and 208 shares on our blog. Again, while painful, this is helpful for me to write; I hope it’s helpful for someone out there. Please consider sharing with those you think might benefit. Also please consider subscribing so that our posts come automatically to your email inbox — then you don’t need to check for updates; just follow the instructions on the popup when it shows up on the blog.

Here I go:

While on his mission, we communicated with Ashton through email weekly. He likewise emailed us weekly. His mother would send him packages about monthly. She would include things she knew he liked — sour gummy worms, etc. She was very good at especially showing her love for him on his birthday and other holidays. Barring an emergency, missionaries can talk by Skype twice yearly – on Mothers’ Day and Christmas. Limiting the frequency of calls allows them to stay more focused on their service. I didn’t sense anything concerning when we spoke Mothers’ Day 2012; he had been in Fiji for a few months and was making what I thought were the expected transitions to mission life in a foreign country. When we spoke at Christmas 2012, however, his sister, Candace, asked him how he was doing. We could tell that he was near tears which was very unusual for him. He was always able to communicate better via writing than by speaking – so they had a conversation on their keypads. He was NOT doing well. He was discouraged and depressed. We tried to encourage and lift him the best we could. He seemed to be uplifted by our conversation. At some point, Faye had a conversation with Ashton’s mission president, concerned that Ashton was depressed. The president assured her that he would monitor Ashton closely. When we spoke on Mothers’ Day 2013, Ashton was again tearful. His companion at the time later told us that, for about two weeks after that Mothers’ Day call, Ashton was “on fire” and very excited about his missionary service. That period was one of the best times that companion had on his mission. After that, however, Ashton sank into depression again.

In June 2013, our stake president (local ecclesiastical leader over about 3,000 members) called us. He said that Ashton’s mission president had called him, concerned that Ashton was struggling with depression. A three-way call was arranged between us, the stake president, and Ashton (in Fiji). I thought we had a good conversation. Among other topics we discussed, I asked Ashton if he was suicidal. He said that he had thought about stepping in front of a bus in Fiji, but, that he did not have an active plan to take his own life. We discussed the option of coming home right then. He wanted to see if he could stay on his mission. He saw a physician in Fiji, who started him on an antidepressant. He met via phone about weekly with a mental health counselor from the Church who was in New Zealand. At some point, Ashton became delusional. Delusions are “…a rigid system of beliefs with which a person is preoccupied and to which the person firmly holds, despite the logical absurdity of the beliefs and a lack of supporting evidence.” (see Footnote 1). He thought others didn’t like him and that they were talking about him. He thought that none of his companions liked him; I don’t think that was true. And it wasn’t just a person here or there; he thought “nobody” in the area liked him and that “everybody” knew what a bad person he was. Mission presidents – and their wives – are mature couples, sometimes retired from their respective occupation. They supervise 100-200 missionaries, most of them are young men and young women between 18 and 25 years old. Ashton’s mission president happened to be from Mesa, Arizona. When he completed his 3-year-term as president last summer, we were able to meet with him and his wife in their home. We felt very reassured about the wise and kind and just plain good people they are. Mission presidents interview each missionary regularly. Ashton would tell his president that his companions didn’t like him and that they didn’t get along. When the president would bring this up with the companion – and this happened with several different companions – the companion would invariably be shocked; he thought they were getting along well. Were Ashton’s delusions caused by the Church’s teaching to be “good”? Is it the Church’s “fault”? Did the pressures of a mission “cause” his mental illness? Possibly, but life in general is somewhat stressful for everyone; I choose to think that Ashton’s mental illness would have developed even if he HADN’T chosen to serve a mission. The good thing about a mission was that Ashton had a companion with him 24/7. He met regularly with his mission president, someone who loved and cared deeply about him. If a person is going to develop a mental illness, the mission is probably the best place it could have happened; it was caught and treated earlier than if he had not been on a mission.

In July 2013, our stake president called us again. Ashton had been speaking regularly by phone with the counselor from New Zealand. He was on an antidepressant. Nevertheless, when Ashton mentioned his delusions – that “nobody” liked him, etc – the counselor challenged those beliefs and Ashton became angry and stopped taking his medication. He didn’t think the counselor believed him. The therapeutic relationship was irreparable. The counselor couldn’t help him anymore and recommended that Ashton come home where he could receive more intense treatment and attention. I think that was the right decision. After Ashton came home, we asked him about the timing of his coming home. In retrospect, he said he probably should have come home in about April; he was starting to really struggle at about that time.

I choose to think that Ashton had those thoughts because his mind was “broken.” He had lost the ability to see the good in himself. Religious delusions are VERY common. Mental illness often manifests itself in young people Ashton’s age. There are several in my family who are bipolar. I have been on an antidepressant myself for the past two years. Faye has been on antidepressants in the past. Ashton had some genetic predisposition to mental illness.

Footnotes:

1. http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/156888/delusion. This reference goes on to say that delusions. “…vary in intensity, extent, and coherence and may represent pathological exaggeration of normal tendencies to rationalization, wishful thinking, and the like. Among the most common are delusions of persecution and grandeur; others include delusions of bodily functioning, guilt, love, and control.

Written by Carter

Ashton playing Enekonge with Uncle Andy

Introduction: sometimes we are asked for background on what led up to Ashton’s suicide. I am writing this mostly for my benefit – to help organize my thoughts and feelings – but you are welcome to look over my shoulder in this process. Because there is a lot to say, I have broken my comments into four parts. Today is Part 1. I will send the next post on Wednesday.

Ashton has been the quietest of our four children. When he was learning to talk, his older sister and brother would often finish his sentences for him. Faye would remind them to let him finish – but Ashton would say, “That’s what I wanted to say.” Sometimes he would stammer. We had him meet with a speech therapist in middle school, but the therapist didn’t think the stammering was affecting his ability to communicate or his self-esteem. When we asked Ashton, he didn’t think it was, either – so we didn’t pursue that further.

After his mission, Ashton told Faye, “Mom, now that I know what depression feels like, I think I was depressed in middle school and high school.” We just thought he was our quiet kid.

From a very early age, Ashton would sometimes suppress his tears when he was injured or sad. One time, he was given a shot of penicillin in the butt for strep throat. Faye could tell that it really hurt and he wanted to cry, but he really tried hard to suppress those tears: he hid his face and didn’t want anyone to talk to him.

Ashton was fairly socially-active growing up; he had some good friends that he enjoyed being around. Several of them didn’t like eating lunch in the school cafeteria, so their mothers would take turns hosting them in their homes. Faye enjoyed having the “lunch crowd” over for lunch when it was her turn. Sometimes I was there. Ashton seemed to genuinely enjoy his interactions with the other youth – and they seemed to genuinely enjoy being with him — even though he was one of the more quiet ones in the group.

Because Ashton was quiet and gentle, some of the other boys found him an easy target to pick on – but I don’t think it was excessive or malicious or any more than I remember being picked on growing up. For the record, I do not blame Ashton’s suicide on bullying – nor do I harbor any malice toward any of his classmates.

Ashton played basketball in middle school and all four years of high school. He was an excellent free throw shooter and would often shoot when there was a technical foul called on the other team. He ran the mile as a freshman in track. His main goal was to not be last – and I think he achieved that! He played football as a freshman, but didn’t enjoy it enough to play the next two years. When there was a new coach his senior year, he was excited to play and surprised the coaching staff by being one of the more difficult players to replace when he graduated – as offensive guard. He lifted weights and really beefed up. He was an excellent blocker.

Ashton loved to play any kind of game and was an excellent strategist. Sometimes he would lose intentionally so his younger brother, Jacob, would want to play with him again. Sometimes he would play against himself, playing all the other players, also. One New Year’s Eve, he and I stayed up past midnight playing Lord of the Rings Risk. His uncle Andy also loves games; they often played a game that Andy invented called “Enekonge” (“one king” in Norwegian) and Ashton knew the rules cold. He loved playing computer games like Starcraft. He, Jacob and I would often play Starcraft at my medical office.

Ashton very much wanted to attend the University of Arizona, and had plans to attend after attending Eastern Arizona College in Thatcher for two years. He eventually wanted to be a radiologist; he shadowed a radiologist friend of mine for a day when he was a senior in high school.

Ashton decided to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but didn’t feel quite ready when he turned 19 – so he worked at R&R Pizza  in Safford and The Caboose in Thatcher for another six months while he finished preparing. When it came time for him to leave, he was very excited to be going to Fiji – the same mission my parents had served in 25 years prior. I really don’t think we could have persuaded him to NOT serve his mission; he REALLY wanted to go! When we dropped him off at the airport in January 2012, we each gave him a hug, told him we loved him and then he quickly picked up his bags and took off, not looking back! He was going on a mission! After training in Utah for twelve weeks, he called us from the Los Angeles airport while on his way to Fiji. We teased him that we were doing something fun (I can’t remember what it was) and he wasn’t here to enjoy it. His response was, “Well…I’m going to Fiji!”

Ashton was a perfectionist. Learning to speak Fijian was very difficult for him. Making mistakes in speaking Fijian was especially difficult. I think the Fijian people are fun-loving and would tease him about his Fijian; I think he let that get to him. When he returned home from his mission, he sounded amazing at the language to us. One of his missionary companions said that the kids in Fiji would sometimes say in Fijian, “Look, some white people!” Ashton would respond in Fijian, “Where? Where?” He would talk to them in Fijian and half-convince them that he was born and raised in Fiji.

To be continued… Part 2 will come on Wednesday.

Written by Carter

My mom and I were discussing what we were going to have for our Easter dinner. Deviled eggs was first on my list. I have to make them. Ashton loved deviled eggs. He’s the one who would eat most of them if I let him. I HAVE to make them for Easter. There’s no other option….even though he’s not here to enjoy them. I’m making them for him. It’s for the same reason I bought Peeps. No one likes them in our family but him. But I bought them anyway. I bought them for Ashton, just as I would have if he were here. I put them in the Easter package I sent to his brother Jacob. I had to buy them. I had no other option.

Does anyone else have to do that for their loved ones? Do you buy things and make things that they loved and treasured, even though they won’t get used? I bought sour gummy worms for Ashton’s stocking at Christmas knowing that no one would eat them. They are tucked away in his closet… that still needs to be cleaned out.

My “favorite” red-headed niece asked me at our last family gathering, “So, what’s new in St. David?” In my mind I said, “Well, my son is buried in the St. David cemetery and his headstone just came in. It’s been really hard. That’s what’s new for me.” But… I didn’t say that. All I said was… ‘Not much.” I should have just told her that. I think she could have handled it, but it was a happy occasion and I didn’t want to make anyone else sad. My brother did ask me how I was doing after that conversation. I told him the truth… “Most of the time I’m OK, but sometimes I’m not.” I shed some tears too. Thanks for asking.

I love this quote. It is written exactly how I feel. (See #1 below)

“He is my child.  He always will be.  I think about him and what he is doing  almost just as much as I think about my other kids and what they are doing. He is not living, so the day-to-day activities of my living children take precedence.  But, he is literally always on my mind.”