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Thanksgiving

     I grew up on a small family farm. We raised a few cows. When the calves were old enough to be weaned from their mother, we would separate them into separate pastures. The cow and calf would moo to each other for several days. It seems like that would stop within a week or so. We are approaching three years since Ashton died. I don’t think a day passes without my thinking of and missing him. Tears still come easily. My uncle had his right (dominant) hand amputated from a roping accident when he was 19 years old. He’s now 77. I asked him…somewhat in jest…”How long it takes a person to get used to losing his right hand?” He replied, “You’ll have to ask someone older than me; I’m still not used to it.” My uncle has learned to do many things without his right hand: he wears a prosthesis on that arm that he uses to hold electric clippers or a comb when working as a barber…which he has done since his 20’s. He learned to rope again. He has learned to function without his right hand…but he still misses it. No analogy is perfect, but I see some similarities with my missing Ashton: I am learning to adapt and accept…but I still miss him beyond my ability to express.
     This Thursday is Thanksgiving. The last two Thanksgivings have been difficult for me. Someone asked if it was hard for me to feel grateful; that’s not it; I am grateful to God for His mercy and His perfect plan…but Thanksgiving is a family day…and my entire family is not here on earth with me. Another friend asked me how my Thanksgiving was. I said it was kind of rough. He said, “OK. Let me rephrase the question: ‘How was your food on Thanksgiving?'” I think he was trying to be upbeat and cheerful…which I appreciate and probably needed. However, I’ve also learned that there are some people who are not ready to hear the answer to, “How are you doing?” And that’s OK. I don’t resent that or them. I just have to give the obligatory “Fine” response in those situations.
     My goal for this Thanksgiving is to be prepared to have as much fun and to be as playful as I can at a family member’s home as we enjoy the day together. I certainly don’t want to be a “downer” for anyone else who is trying to enjoy the holiday. Please pray for me in this endeavor.
     Faye and I were asked to speak on Gratitude in our congregation today. However, it turned out that someone else was already scheduled to speak…so we have been postponed to next week. I confess that I dreaded speaking today. Again, I’m very grateful to God and His Son, Jesus Christ. However, whenever I talk about what I am grateful for: to know that “Families can be together forever” and that Ashton is my son through the eternities, my emotions overcome me, I cry and I have a hard time speaking. Sometimes it gets worrisome crying in front of others. I think it’s probably awkward for them.
     One of my favorite authors is Ashleigh Brilliant, who writes epigrams (a pithy saying or remark expressing an idea in a clever and amusing way). I have adapted one of them for my circumstances: “Please put your [grief] away; it’s making me too sad.” I think it’s probably tiresome for some to hear of my grief…and that’s OK. As a physician, I try to walk the balance between (metaphorically) tearing the bandage off every 5 minutes to see how the wound is doing versus covering it up and pretending it’s not there.
     Thanks for listening to my ramblings; writing this has been therapeutic for me. God bless you and I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving!
     Written by Carter
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Mowing, Jobs, Cowboys, General Sherman

Here are some random thoughts I’ve been having lately.
MOWING
     Ashton died January 28, 2014. That summer, I did not have the energy or motivation to plant our garden or mow our yard. In the fall, our pigweeds were about 18 inches tall and grew thick in our backyard. A well-meaning acquaintance…who didn’t know about Ashton’s death…offered to mow them for us. In the conversation, he said, “There’s no excuse for letting your weeds get that high!” I didn’t feel like then was the time to say, “Well, let me tell you what’s going on in my life right now.” I didn’t even have the energy to do that. I didn’t have the energy to even care that our yard was crowded with weeds. We hired him to mow our yard that year. I very much appreciate his help in keeping our grass (and weeds) mowed down.
     Last year, I was able to plant a small garden. It was healing for me to participate with God in helping some of His creations grow. I still didn’t feel like mowing, though. The same acquaintance mowed last year.
     This year, we hired a young man to mow in the spring. We finally repaired our DR Trimmer and I was amazed that I had the energy and motivation to mow our yard several times this summer and fall! It DOES make our yard look better! It was healing to get out and physically exert myself!
THAT’S MY JOB!
     One of my patients has been on dialysis for the past several years. I was impressed with how optimistic he is, despite having the spend most of three days per week at the dialysis center…and the rest of those days, he is quite exhausted. He is a man who is accustomed to working physically hard during his lifetime. It was difficult for him to not be able to do that anymore. I asked him how he kept his positive outlook. His response touched me deeply. He said, “As a younger, healthier man, I would go to work every day to earn a living for my family. Now I look at dialysis as my ‘job.’ That’s just what I do on those three days every week.” That has helped him keep a positive attitude during this difficult time. He tries to be cheerful with the staff and other dialysis patients when he has dialysis. That was a lesson for me. For now, one of my main jobs is to grieve and to heal…and that is HARD and exhausting work!
COWBOYS
     I have a couple of patients that are “cowboys.” They are quite independent and self sufficient. They are both very large and powerful older men.
     One of these “cowboys” said that going to psychiatrists was “dumb.” “All you have to do is look at your life like a tree. Mentally go down to the ‘trunk’ of your life and see what ‘branches’ you have taken and where those decisions have led you.” He said that was very healing as he dealt with trials in his life. That sounds like a great idea and is something I plan to do.
     The other one came by the office when he heard that Ashton had died. He asked my receptionist if he could speak to me about a non-medical matter for just a minute. When I came to the waiting room, he had tears in his eyes and gave me a huge bear hug and pat on the back and told me how sorry he was for my loss. At a later visit, however, he advised me to not be “too sensitive” about what happens to me in my life.
     I’ve been thinking about these two men: are “cowboys” part of the solution? or are they part of the problem (by insisting on fixing all their own problems)? or both? or neither? I don’t have an answer to that, but it was an interesting thought experiment for me.
GENERAL SHERMAN
     I spoke recently to a friend about the effects of mental illness on those around them. About 30 years ago, his brother developed mental illness and started hearing voices that told him to kill his parents…which, tragically, he did. His brother has been institutionalized since then. This friend commented, “Mental illness is devastating…to the person afflicted by it and by those who love them!”
     For some reason, I thought of Major General William Tecumseh Sherman’s “March to the Sea” during the American Civil War. As he marched, he and his men conducted a “scorched earth” approach to break the military, economic and psychological will of the Confederate people. They lived off the land by taking from its inhabitants their crops and animals, often burning what was left behind. Of course, this is not a “perfect” analogy, but I am amazed that yes, mental illness is devastating to all involved…sometimes for several generations.
     My maternal grandfather suffered from bipolar disorder. He and my grandmother had eight children together. He had several “psychotic breaks,” where he lost touch with reality. The culminating “break” was when he tried to drown my grandmother in the bathtub. I don’t know what delusional thoughts he was having as he carried out this attempt. Fortunately, Grandmother escaped. She filed for divorce and raised her children on her own for a time, then married a widow who also had children. The resultant “blended family” was fraught with many challenges. Many scars were left on the survivors of Grandpa’s mental illness. I think I only saw Grandpa three times before he died; I didn’t get to know him very well at all. Mental illness often has a strong genetic component, and several of Grandpa’s descendants (including Ashton) have suffered from mental illness.
Written by Carter
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Healing Loaves of Love 

November 5, 2016

I have a good friend who is a bread maker extraordinaire. Her mother was a bread maker. Susan used to make bread every Monday for her family when she had children at home. Her oldest daughter got emotional once when she talked about ‘bread day’ in their home. She loved her family by making bread for them.  She told me once:

“We’re not making bread, we’re making memories.” I’ve never forgotten that.

Susan has a bread recipe that is, what I consider, the perfect bread recipe. A few years ago, she shared it with me and it is our family’s favorite.

I, too, am a  bread maker. My mother was a bread maker. I also used to make bread for my family. Making bread was something I loved doing. It was also a stress reliever for me. Making bread took me into another world for a few hours. My family loved it, Ashton loved it, and I loved making it for them. The smell of bread baking in our home is a sweet, comforting memory I have of my childhood. I have a sign above my stove that says, “Cooking is Love Made Visible”. Carter bought that sign for me. He knew that’s how I loved my family.

Recently, my friends, Susan and Shevonne, opened up a little country store in St. David called, The Country Coop. A few weeks ago Susan asked if I would like to make bread for them to sell there on the weekends. I told her I would do it. But, inwardly, I was reluctant. I hadn’t made bread for a long time. I didn’t have the energy. My heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t fun anymore. But I love their little store and I felt honored to be asked by the best bread maker around to make bread for her store. There was no question what recipe I would use. I would make that amazing potato bread of hers. I love the name of her bread recipe.

She calls it, “Love Loaves”.

I told her about a problem I’ve had getting my loaves of bread to brown evenly so she brought over her mother’s loaf pans for me to try. She said, “These pans brown perfectly, every time.” When I first saw them, I was repulsed by them. They were black and scary looking. They weren’t ‘pretty’. I was reluctant to use them. And I didn’t the first weekend I made the bread. I used my pans and I had that same problem of the loaves not browning as well as I would like them to. This weekend I decided to try her mother’s pans. I made 20 loaves of bread in those pans and they turned out beautifully browned! I should have taken a picture. THEY WERE BEAUTIFUL!!

I studied those pans that I called ‘scary’. They were actually beautifully seasoned works of art! There was a story of love baked into each pan, passed down from mother to daughter.  How is it that something so beautiful could come from a pan that worn and old? Why wouldn’t my shiny, pretty pans produce a beautiful loaf of bread?

It’s the seasoning.

It has to be. The years of grease and heat and use. The layers of it all….over and over again….that don’t wash off. It is the seasoning.

Am I being seasoned? Does God have a beautiful outcome in store for me someday?

How does it happen that little white loaves of potato bread, sitting on my counter, wrapped and ready to sell can help to heal me? How does that happen? Well, it happened.

Healing comes in ways I would never expect.

I loved the making of it all. I remembered the happiness I used to find in the making. I was reminded that the perfectionist in me comes out when I make bread. Having that one perfect loaf sitting on my cooling rack thrills me. And the fact that I used those precious pans….all those years of love already baked in.

I plan to keep making that bread for The Country Coop if at all possible. If you happen to go there and if you happen to buy one of those “Love Loaves”,  remember how healing they have been for me, the love that goes into the making, and Grandma Preston’s sweetly seasoned pans. There’s a love story, and some sweet memories in every beautiful loaf.

By the way…. My word for this holiday season is LOVE. For many, many reasons. It just fits.

Thank you Susan and Shevonne. I like to believe you opened up The Coop just for me.

The Country Coop is open every Thursday, Friday and Saturday at 9:00 am. – 561 Lee Street on Highway 80 in St David.

Written by Faye

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Some Measure of Closure

Glennon Doyle Melton said, “Writing about dark and scary things makes them less dark and scary.”
I wrote today about the day Ashton died, January 28, 2014: the events, thoughts, feelings and physical senses I experienced on that “watershed” day. These are very tender and personal feelings and thoughts…so I won’t be sharing them on my blog. I just wanted to mention in my blog what I wrote about today.
Please pray for us as we are striving to bring some measure of closure to this indescribably painful and difficult day in our lives.
Written by Carter
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Service and Healing

     We had a lesson on service in our church meetings today. They showed a video called “Lift” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YAuqdPWTGLI). It is about a church group of 40-50 men who helped a lady with MS get into bed…every night…for 7 years. One of the men they interviewed said something about how we need to focus on ourself to heal physically; we need to focus on others if we want to heal spiritually. That was profound! And so true! I confess that one of my motives for serving a mission in Peru starting in April is to help me heal from Ashton’s death…as I serve others.
     During the lesson, the teacher asked who would be willing to share how they have been blessed by service. I was overcome with emotion as I thought of all the people who reached out to us when Ashton died. Those acts of service just kept coming…and coming! I needed that! Thank you, everyone, for your love and thoughtfulness.
     I also thought of my Grandma Amy, who was one of my first examples of service. For some reason, I stayed with her for part of a day when I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. I remember going to the cemetery, where she painstakingly cared for the graves of her parents; she did this regularly. I think it was on the way home from one of those cemetery visits that we stopped to visit Mrs. Campa, a blind lady who lived in St. David. To a little boy, it seemed like the visit would never end! And it smelled funny in there! But those acts of service left an impression on that little boy now grown older.
     In our church, every man…with a companion…is assigned to watch over a group of families. They are called “home teachers;” they are every member’s first place to turn in the Church when a need arises. As I have home taught over the years, I have been amazed at how often I DON’T want really want to go on a visit to my assigned families…but, when I’m done with the visits, I’m even more amazed at how much BETTER I feel! Service is healing!
     Yesterday, there was a clean-up project at Quiburi Mission Nursing Home in Benson, AZ. It was amazing how much we got done in a short period of time…and how nice it was to serve alongside other good people in the community…and how good I felt during the project and after I was done!
     Written by Carter
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How’s Ashton?

     My sister, Wendy, asked me a few months ago, “I ask about your other children, but wondered how you think Ashton is doing?” That was a very thought-provoking question that helped me clarify some of my feelings and beliefs.
     In answering this question, I have to be careful to not imply that I think all of Ashton’s problems have been resolved by his decision to take his own life — I do not. Suicide is NEVER the answer to the difficulties we face in our lives. Life is sacred. We are created in the image of God. He has shared with mankind the ability to CREATE life — and even that gift is to be used only between husband and wife, legally and lawfully married. On the other hand, God has forbidden us from ENDING human life. Of course, there are exceedingly rare situations (for example, self defense or wartime) where that may be necessary, but, for the vast majority of us, it is NEVER appropriate to end a life. Only God has that authority.
     Having said that, “How is Ashton?” There are MANY things that I just do not know. A couple of them is exactly HOW Ashton is doing or WHAT he is doing. I have some ideas, but I just don’t know. What I DO know is that I choose to believe. I choose to trust God and His Perfect Plan for ALL His children…including Ashton. I trust God’s righteous judgment…including His judgment of Ashton. He knows SO much more about Ashton — and EVERYTHING else — than I do!
     I appreciate Wendy asking that question. It might have been easier to “skip” over Ashton when asking how our children are doing…for fear that asking about Ashton might evoke grief and anguish. Well…I can only speak for me, but the grief and anguish are ALWAYS present; sometimes it’s just more at the surface than at other times. Asking about Ashton is actually healing for me. It’s healing to know that others are thinking about Ashton and thinking about us as we grieve our (temporary) separation from him.
Written by Carter
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Peru Mission Letter

This is a letter I sent to my patients recently. I thought I’d share it on the blog, also:

10/5/16

Dear Patient,

My wife, Faye, and I are excited to announce that we will serve an 18-month mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Peru from April 2017 through October 2018. We will be overseeing the health and safety of several hundred full-time missionaries there; my official title will be “Area Medical Advisor.” We also hope to participate individually in inviting others to come unto Christ.

Please be assured that San Pedro Family Care, PLC (SPFC) is already making every effort to make your transition to another provider in our office as seamless as possible. I have confidence in the other current providers in our office; my family and I have seen them ourselves for some of our medical care. Andy and I have some candidates in mind for possible providers to cover my patients while I am gone; we don’t have details at this point, but will update you as we know more. I hope that you choose to continue to receive your medical care in our office. However, I understand that some of you may choose to transfer your care to another office; if that is the case, please notify us and we will send your records to that office.

Thank you in advance for your support and understanding as Faye and I embark on this opportunity to serve in a different capacity. We have looked forward to this opportunity since even before we married 33 years ago.

You may know that our son, Ashton, died from suicide in January 2014; I can’t put into words the gratitude I feel for the love, support and prayers that many of you offered in our behalf. Your compassion is helping me to heal from indescribable grief. Again, thank you. Thank you. Ashton’s death has prompted us to re-evaluate our priorities and has been a catalyst for this service in a different capacity.

It has been a privilege to serve as a physician in the San Pedro Valley for 18 years now. My current plans are to return to SPFC in October 2018. After that, I plan to continue to practice at SPFC for about another 12 years (until 2030). I don’t have details at this point, but those 12 years will probably be interspersed with some other missions. Faye and I would like to serve while our health still permits; of course, none of us knows what the future may bring.

My career as a physician is very important to me, but so is my sense of obligation to worship and serve God and His children. If missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knock on your door, I hope you think of me in Peru. If it feels right to you, I hope you also consider listening to the message that they will bring.

Thank you again for your support and for the privilege of being your physician.

Sincerely,

 

Carter Mayberry, M.D.

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Perfectionism

You may have noticed that I have not written for several months. Part of that, frankly, is because I have been overly-concerned about what others think about what I write. This is very raw and tender for me. I had a conversation recently with a friend about why I have not been writing lately. I told her about my self-consciousness. She was very encouraging, reminding me that I write some things that others need to hear — things that only I can write. Thanks, Heather, for that encouragement. I ask for your prayers in my behalf as I try to leave myself behind and see what I can do to help others. Paradoxically, as many of you know, that is where true joy is found anyway — in the service of others.
I recently read the quote that is attributed to several authors: “Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly [sometimes the word “badly” is used] — until you learn to do it well.” That is something my perfectionistic heart and mind needs to hear; it is something I will try to remember as I write my blog posts.
I’m going to ramble a little now: I attended the funeral of Frances Louise Darnell Goodman yesterday. She is the mother of one of my best friends growing up. She also taught me for the last half of my fourth-grade year in school.
A few memories about Frances: Doctors are famous (or infamous) for their poor handwriting. I wonder if my teachers had an inkling early on that I might become a physician — because of my poor handwriting! I was always a good student. However, Mrs. Goodman would have the other students grade our spelling words — and mark them wrong if the letters were not made correctly. Wow! That caught my attention — and I slowed down to make the letters correctly! I’m afraid that I have regressed significantly in my handwriting since fourth grade!
Mrs. Goodman also helped with some of the Little League coaching when I was about 9 years old. I remember the care she provided when a grounder popped up and hit me in the mouth. She took me to her house and put some ice on my swollen lip.
When I was about in sixth grade, I was assigned to an “advanced” group in one of the subjects. We did our work in the same classroom where some of the “challenged” students were taught. Mrs. Goodman wasn’t my teacher then, but, when she saw me in that classroom, she was very concerned about me; I still remember and appreciate her concern for my education.
Frances has been especially thoughtful since Ashton died. She attended his funeral and graveside service. She came to the luncheon afterward. When I would post my blogs, she would frequently give encouraging comments. I appreciated her love and encouragement.
One of the nice things about practicing medicine in my hometown is caring for people who helped raise me — like Frances. It was very rewarding to be her physician.
I think that’s all for now. Thanks for listening.
Written by Carter
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Ashton’s Fiji Garden of Love

Written by Faye on July 8, 2014
I have an appointment to order Ashton’s headstone today. I’m not sure how I feel about that. It needs to be done, but it sure seems final setting something in stone. Is he really buried there? The little grave marker says that’s him. The note attached to it from a friend is written to Ashton. The old UofA colored balloons, lifeless on the ground, suggest they were for Ashton. The flowers my friend said she put there on Memorial Day are still there. I do remember the graveside service. It was the dusty blue casket Candace chose for Ashton that was lowered down into that grave. I do remember my little granddaughter, Hannah, sitting next to me, inconsolable,  as the casket was lowered. It must have been Ashton in that casket. She adored him.

I do remember that Mayberry tradition …. men taking turns shoveling the dirt into the grave and filling it back up. I love that tradition. It gives the men who don’t let themselves cry have a way to get out their emotions. I do remember so many vigorously taking part in that, even some women and children.

I do remember a little niece asking for a flower from one of the arrangements. We went over to get one out and then all the children wanted one. Ok… let’s do it. I wanted them to be a happy. Then the sweetest little flower frenzy started and I let them go for it. They were having way too much fun! Did Hannah put that first flower in the dirt? I don’t remember… but the kids took over and  “Ashton’s Fiji Garden of Love”, as Hannah declared at the end, started taking shape. Our sad little graveside turned into a beautiful expression of love that only children can produce. I apologize to those who sent us those flower arrangements, but not really. You didn’t know you would be contributing to a beautiful memory for our family. The children stripped those arrangements clean! After the flowers were gone, they took the ferns too, which just added to the tropical look we now love in flowers.

I feel the need to attach a picture so anyone reading can smile and see. What should have been a sad, sad ending… was not. We all walked back to our cars a little less heavy hearted because of what we had just witnessed. Children are such a blessing.

Ok… here I go. Yes, Ashton IS buried there and he needs a proper headstone so we can find his grave easily and tell that story…..that story of the children and the flowers…Ashton’s Fiji Garden of Love.

Ashton's Fiji Garden of Love

Ashton’s Fiji Garden of Love

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A Village Weeps

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Kielee Shaye Miller

September 9, 2016

A sweet, young girl in our community took her own life yesterday. I am not going to lie….It has affected me profoundly. I’m actually wading through my own resurfacing, deeper grief……remembering…… knowing the place her parents, family and friends are in right now.  Writing always helps with the ‘wading’, so here I go.

I AM DETERMINED TO DO SOMETHING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

Kielee Miller has beautiful, long blonde hair. She was one of the young women I taught at church a few years ago. She was friends with my son, Jacob. In my class she was mostly quiet and thoughtful, but when she did share she said some amazing things. I learned from her. I also saw that she struggled. I saw her sadness. I worried for her.

What do you do when you see that? What can we do when we notice someone is deeply struggling like that?

I’ve had some conversations with my daughter and my sisters this morning that have prompted some of this writing. I hope to be helpful and I hope to bring some awareness as September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day. I have permission from them to share their thoughts and stories.

In my daughter’s words:

“I felt really angry and frustrated at first…. And then I felt a huge rush of empathy. SHE DIED OF A SERIOUS DISEASE! It’s like we still haven’t found a cure for everyone… And even still some people still die from it. Like cancer, in my mind. I don’t want to minimize the pain of it for the survivors AT ALL. We know the pain…..But thinking of it that way not only helped ME get the help I needed but took away the shame and stigma for me. I hope that would help others understand some.”

My daughter, Candace, struggles with mental illness. If you were to see her now, she looks like a normal woman with a smile for everyone. She has had thoughts of death and suicide as she has been seeking help for her mental illness.

She says: “I think people need to know that NORMAL people can have those thoughts. Those that you can see the pain, but also those you would never think could, and seem to be perfectly fine .”

So what do to? How to help? Remember the meme that we see and hear so often?

“Be kind… Everyone is fighting a hard battle.”

It is the absolute truth!!! All of us are struggling with SOMETHING!

My sister Diane is making a difference. She said: “Who can we help today so that doesn’t happen tomorrow?!?!  That’s my new thought process.  There’s too much sadness that can be prevented. It’s a reminder to me to get out of my own problems and think of others.  We just need to say a kind word to everyone & be genuinely concerned.   Saying hi goes a long way to someone who truly struggles.  It could keep them here one more day. I have been leaving notes for random people who I feel are struggling.   I send a message with uplifting quotes or pictures.  I try to do one a day.”

I realize that there are some we won’t be able to reach with just kindness, but there are SO MANY that we CAN reach!

If you are struggling with thoughts of death or suicide please hear my friend Ashley Dewey’s words:  “YOU matter! You matter to God. You matter to your family. You matter to your friends. You matter to strangers. You matter! Don’t forget that today! Maybe we all can be a little better at reminding each other.”

Yes, a village is weeping…..again. But in our tears let’s make an effort to do SOMETHING! We CAN be kind! We CAN lift each other with our kindness and genuine concern. BEING KIND CAN REMIND OTHERS THAT THEY MATTER!!!!!

Please do those things that will help YOU stay strong, mentally and emotionally, and help others do the same.

Thank you, Melanie Davis, for the phrase “A Village Weeps”. I will never forget those words on the day we lost our Ashton.

Written by Faye