Avalanche

There's something I've been working on for quite some time. I'm usually hesitant to be super open on this kind of platform, but I have that gnawing feeling. I'm not sure if there's someone out there that this will help, or if this is all for me and my benefit- trying to cope, process, mend, whatever have you and whatever I really need.

Writing is a good outlet for me. So this is it.

This is me. This is about as real and vulnerable as I will ever be. 

Sharing this is sharing some of the deepest, darkest places of my heart- both good and bad.

Please remember that.

I'm not seeking a huge truckload of sympathy, though it is appreciated. I'm kind of beyond the need for people to feel "sorry". That's not me being cynical. More than anything, I just need to know you're there and that my words are received well.

January 17th is beyond hard. It's gotten "easier" (poor choice of words) over the years, but the sting is still there. I guess there's really no "appropriate" time to bear your soul, but if there is... I guess this is it. Maybe? Either way, I've had this saved on my computer for over a year and have made minor tweaks here and there as time goes on.

Here goes.

Avalanche

Kayla Jenkins Price

Normal

I always thought of myself as a "Regular Jane" kind of person. You know, blue jeans, part-time job, just struggling to survive my way through the dark abyss known as high school. I had great friends who always had my back. We did girly, teenager things on Friday and Saturday nights. I loved the bitter, cold air of a Friday Night Football game or late nights playing pool and watching movies that made our eyes leak. I attended church meetings every Sunday. My faith was important to me. A lot of things were important to me at that time, but I was just a regular person like the next girl. Crazy things did not happen to me. They just didn't. I minded my own business and got good grades. A person like me never had any battle scars to show, and I really had no story to share. I was okay that way. However, all of this changed in a matter of seconds as my life spiraled out of control. "No, not me." I thought. "Why us? Why him? Take it back!" My life was no longer a life that I recognized. Heck, at that point I didn't even want my "Regular Jane" kind of life. Then again, I didn't fit that mold anymore. I wasn't just a regular girl. I was broken. I had baggage and was cursed (or blessed) with a story to tell.

I am the middle child out of three, crazy kids. My baby sister, Kelsey, is the girl anyone is lucky to have as a friend. She is so kind and caring. Her blue eyes are like darts. They could pierce you or envelope you completely. She has the perfect curly hair in the history of curly hair. I admire her for her talent in being able to drive stick shift. No really, I plain suck at it. She is the camo wearing, butt kicking, farmers wife I had to wait six whole years for! In fact, after she was born I went and bragged to my Kindergarten class that I had a new sibling (and she was  sooooo cute). I told them if they would pay me I would bring them a picture of her that they could keep. Though that wasn't a very good investment and I didn't make millions, I am glad she joined our family.

My older brother, Josh, was really good at training us girls to be fighters in this world. He had a thirst for life and adventure I fail to put into words. I think his life motto would be, "If you aren't living on the edge, you are taking up too much space!" His brown eyes could make you melt, and he has a smile that could change anybody's day. If he let his brown hair grow out long enough it looked like he had rain gutters running above his ears to the back of his neck. I think that smile of his is why he is so loved and so popular. If he didn't know you from Adam...Oh well! He still treated you like you were important. He loved to play football for our high school team, and if you were to look at his transcript you would learn that he was really good in classes such as strength and conditioning or welding. English or history, however? Yeah, we are just lucky he passed.

Growing up, we were two little companions until our blue-eyed bombshell arrived. We would ride our bikes around our family farm playing Cowboys and Indians (cops and robbers are for the faint of heart). We were great at getting into mischief. Well, he was great at teaching me bad habits- Let me put it that way. I distinctly remember the day he told me to grab one of my Barbies from the toy closet. I snatched one up all excited from our toy closet wondering what in the world we could possibly be getting into. I ran back outside and made it to the edge of the lawn and saw him standing there with a lighter. "Okay, Kayla. Now hand her over! This is how we play with Barbies!" Before I knew it, all of her hair was engulfed in a pile of flames, and smoke billowed from the top of her head. I tried to laugh like he was, but I didn't find it all that funny. As those orange flames were burnt into my memory, it was fairly easy to recollect the memory on any occasion. I not only saw but felt those same flames ten years later as they were burning up my heart and soul on that terrible day. How could I have let all those years slip by? There's so much I wanted to take back and fix and say. But it was too late. I now sat in a crappy, old hospital chair with my lungs unable to do their job. Wobbly legs. Tear-stained shirt. Shaking hands. Eyes incapable of anymore salty tears. Who knew pain could hurt so bad? It wasn't even a feeling anymore. It was like an all-encompassing sickness.

That Saturday

January 17, 2009 was the day. It was a Saturday. Gosh, the weather was beautiful. The sky was a perfect hue of blue. You can't even find watercolors that perfect. There was snow on the ground, and the air was all too still for an Idaho wintery day. But that day it felt as though everything in my life was finally right. Josh had just returned home from his LDS mission in December. He served in the Bangkok, Thailand mission, and he loved every minute of it. We were fortunate enough that he came home just in time for Christmas. I remember attempting to try and get him up to speed on technology, life, people, and all those crazy things that missionaries miss out on while they are away. It went something like: “So and so got married.” “Akon has a new CD out, but I don’t think it’s as good as his old stuff.” “Man, your legs are still REALLY hairy!” “Can you believe I graduate high school in just over 4 months.” Josh got a laptop that Christmas, and I remember him saying, "Hey Kayla, can you sign me up for that one Facebook thing?" (He really had no clue what it was.) He had his sights on a few cute girls, but I secretly hated how most girls treated him. It was as though he was this fresh piece of meat they were all waiting to gnaw on. I wanted to take and put him in my pocket and protect him forever. I saw all the changes and growth he made in two years, and I felt like no girl, however perfect, was good enough. Maybe that's the protective sister in me, but it soon became apparent almost one month later that I couldn't save him from anything, no matter how bad I wanted to or how hard I tried. I had lost him.

Some good friends of ours stopped by that Saturday afternoon. "Hey, Jenkins family! Can we visit with you?" I knew something was up, but I didn't at the same time. Oblivious would be a good word to describe it. The situation was fishy, but I was oblivious. We all were. But that visit was too out of the blue to be just a casual drop in, but they were nice people. Of course it's completely normal. Right? We invited them into our little, brown farm house. Gosh, the air is stiff. What's going on? I thought. "There's been an accident," our visitor said. "It was Josh. He has been killed, and he won't be coming home."

Big Dog

"Big Dog." That's what he called himself. The moment he plopped down on a snowmobile I knew we were in for it. Instead of riding on well-groomed trails like most people, he was out climbing mountains and plowing across ponds. Yep, that's my brother. No fear whatsoever. I really admired him for his thirst of adrenaline. I was far from being that brave. He did a good job of trying to teach me to loosen up and enjoy life, but I am the biggest worry wart in all the land. I'm the "Well...what if" person. "What if this happens? What if that happens? What are we going to do about this?" My mind goes a million miles an hour, and I am constantly analyzing every situation. If I were a web browser, my brain would have 1, 587, 349, 170 tabs open, but that's just a rough estimate. I envied Josh for his ability to let things go and to continue to live his life so happily. He was definitely a "one tab browser" kind of guy. What I couldn't figure out, despite my analytical brain, was why he was gone after that terrible day. I spent years of my life after that day retracing every single detail. There was a lot that I didn't understand and, at the same rate, a lot I didn't want to understand. Maybe God will help me understand, I thought. “Maybe” can be a dangerous word.

Sunday Dinner

Josh never was that great of a cook. I think one of the best things he made was steaks on the grill. We usually did that for Mom for Mother’s Day, and he was always in charge of the beef. He did really well until he brought the steaks in the house, and you could hear the cow “still mooing”. He was a “rare” kind of guy, but us girls weren’t. I would always have to throw my steak in the microwave and zap the heck out of it. We liked our meat well-done. Other than that, he wasn’t blessed in the cuisine department. At all. He was good at those soggy frozen burritos that you microwave. They were bean and cheese burritos, to be exact. He’d pull those things out of the microwave just a steaming, and he would plop three or four big slices of cheddar cheese on top to melt. He could also eat the Taco Bus (AKA Roach Coach) like there was no tomorrow. He must have had guts of steel. Oh, and he was good at “making” hot dogs. He would pull out a tall glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and plop a hotdog right in. We would microwave that, too. Okay, am I making you sick yet? I’m simply trying to prove a point. The smell of those hotdogs, though…

Anyway, after Josh had returned home from his mission, he cut church early to come home and start making Sunday dinner. That meal was always a big deal for my family growing up, and it was by far the nicest meal we had throughout the week. Mom would usually make a roast of some kind, ribs, or yummy chicken. We would stuff ourselves with potatoes, corn or green beans, rolls, Jell-o, and (if we were good) a Pepsi. For some reason, those caffeinated beverages are out of this world after a long day of church meetings.

This particular Sunday, Mom had roast, potatoes, and carrots in the oven while we were at church. When Josh came home early, he pulled the pot out of the oven, separated everything, and decided to make some gravy. My family usually uses hot water and cornstarch to thicken the drippings to make gravy, and he didn’t know that. He dumped a whole slug of cornstarch in the pot on the stove, and started stirring. Can you imagine what happened? Very, very lumpy gravy. You could pick a lump out, squish it, and cornstarch would puff into the air. He forgot to add a little salt, too, so it was pretty bland. It was more like a hot breakfast cereal than anything, but hey he tried.

Josh then moved on to setting the table. He pulled the plates and cups out, laid out a nice tablecloth, and set silverware atop of the napkins. Each glass got some ice cubes, and he was getting excited for us to come home from church to this surprise. He was so excited to do something nice for his family, and he knew preparing the meal would impress us so much.

Church ended (for those of us that stayed the entire three hours), and we piled in Mom’s Tahoe to head home. It was about a 10 minute drive home. We pulled into the drive way to see all of the windows open in the house and Josh’s truck home, too. What in the world?  we all thought. It was the middle of winter, and having the windows open was a little off.

We walked into the house, and my nostrils instantly started burning. What is that AWFUL smell? Then it wasn’t just my nose, but my eyes started to burn, too. We opened up the porch door to see a very panicked Josh, hot pad in hand, leaning over a pile of burnt bread on a baking pan. The pan had been thrown into the sink.

“What happened?” exclaimed Mom. “Is everything, okay?”

“Well…” said Josh, quite hesitantly. “I wanted to make some garlic toast for our dinner, and I overdid it on the garlic a little bit. I figured it would still be okay, and I put it under the broiler in the oven, but then I forgot about it. Now…it’s a little crispy.

I couldn’t hold back the laughter, and my eyes couldn’t hold back the tears (laughter AND garlic induced tears). He wanted to be so helpful and thoughtful, and here he stood completely humiliated and apologetic. He was such a sweetheart. We assured him it was okay and that we didn’t need garlic toast. We changed into more comfortable clothes and sat down to eat.

“Hey Josh, what’s in the gravy?” asked Dad.

“Um, I added some cornstarch to make it thick, and I added some pepper. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” said Dad, as he sat there trying to gag it down.

“Yeah, it’s a little lumpy,” he said.

By then, Mom chimed in. “Did you mix it with water first before you dumped it in the drippings?”

“Oh…” he said, ashamed. “No, I didn’t. I just dumped some in and stirred it. I thought that’s all you had to do?”

Needless to say, we all chocked down that lumpy, bland gravy while our eyes and noses burned. It really is the thought that counts. He was so excited to do something nice for us, and I couldn’t help but smile. It was pretty bland, but it is one of the best Sunday dinner memories I have. If only I knew that in just a few short weeks there would only be four people eating Sunday dinner, not five.

Gone, but Needed

On that cold day in January, my brother Josh was killed in an avalanche while snowmobiling. He was headed up a mountain when the snow above him broke and began to slide. He was surrounded, both left and right, by rocks too big or hard to go around. He had no choice but to push that gas full throttle and try to make it through. That was his attitude and the way he lived his life, though. Full throttle or nothing at all. I have no doubt he gave it his all, but the force was too strong. That stupid snow carried him down the mountain and buried him many, many feet below the surface. Luckily, he was wearing his avalanche beacon, and they were able to find him in rather quickly. Unfortunately, it was just too late and he was too gone. Friends and people present took turns providing CPR trying to get a sign of life as they waited for life flight and someone that could care for him. He left his brown-eyed body on the mountain that day, and he returned to a Heavenly Father that needed him. I guess he was needed there more than here, but it was still too hard to think that. I needed him, too. I wasn't trying to be selfish, and I really wasn't trying to be mad, but how could I not be? I received no notice and no warning signs. My protective, older brother was gone in an instant, and there was nothing I could do about it.

After receiving the news, we headed to the hospital where they life flighted his body. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. Unfriendly nurses walked us back to a poorly lit room, and I was hoping this was all just a big, fat lie. Josh could be quite the prankster, and I was hoping he would just jump out and scare us before we opened the door. Unfortunately it didn't happen, and my family shuffled into the small, blaring white room to see a lifeless, awful version of my sweet brother still in his snow boots and most of his gear. "They tried so hard," we were told by the staff. You're a liar, I thought. If you tried, he would be here. Before I knew it we were forced to worry about other things besides our loss. Organ donations, the coroner, and whatever else have you. Paperwork. Lots of papers. I just wanted someone to shake me and wake me up. I just wanted to sit in that stingy hospital chair and cry. And I did. A lot. This was no dream. This was my perfect life that had gone nightmare. Where is God now? I thought. Because I need him now more than ever. Prove to me that you are there, Heavenly Father, and that you can hear me and my screaming, broken heart.


Trying to sleep that night was next to impossible. I didn't dare turn off the lights. I wasn't worried that I would "see his spirit" or whatever else, but the darkness turned out to be pretty haunting. I was more afraid of my own mind and the thoughts that were wheeling around full speed. There was no way I could turn my brain off. So I laid there with the lamp on, attempting not to think of my tragic day, yet trying to wish it all away. It must have been 4 or 5 am by the time I could finally give in to sleep, my body too overwhelmed to continue fighting. That morning, I was up earlier than normal. The sun was shining! There was hope! I walked downstairs to see my family. My grandpa had run to McDonald's to bring back breakfast, and the smell of sausage and hash browns pelted my nose. Why grandpa was there so early and why he brought breakfast I couldn't figure out, but I climbed up to our kitchen table with limbs that hardly wanted to operate. I was still half asleep and still confused. I've never been hung over, but I can imagine that's what it would feel like. Dazed. Confused. Exhausted. Aching. "Where's Josh?" I said. "Isn't someone going to wake him up and tell him to eat?" Then the weight of the previous day came crashing over me, pounding every nerve of my body like a salty ocean wave. Someone dropped something in the kitchen, and the room fell all too silent. I started sobbing, and my breakfast was no longer appetizing. It might as well have been covered in maggots. "It's okay," my mom said. She handed me a snowflake printed napkin to dab my tears, but it was no use. The thing was in shreds, and I sat there unwilling to move. His door isn't shut because he's sleeping. His door is shut because he's gone. Yesterday was real. 

People

The next week seems like a blur, an instant smudge on white paper, but it drug on like all clocks and wristwatches were dead. We were busy planning a funeral and trying to make sense of our now broken family. How do you pick out a casket for someone you don't even want gone? Any type of flower to place on top wasn't pretty or bright enough. But that was our life. Providing information for an obituary, rummaging through old pictures for a program, all while trying not to get lost in our own thoughts and memories. I had the funeral home memorized. When we weren't gone, though, my family was visited at home by so many incredible people. Football coaches, roommates, friends and family alike. Even random strangers came to stop by. The community and our church family provided meals and a crying shoulder. One lady I love dearly dropped off a bag of paper plates. "I know you'll need these," she said, “but that’s really all I know to say right now. I’m at a loss of words.” The house was overflowing with breads, cookies, flowers, and tears. People must like to bake and cry when they mourn. There wasn't a single day where our house was completely empty. People came to clean, wash dishes, prepare food, and I remember sitting on the kitchen floor with my friends just trying to be a normal high school senior, but we just sat in silence. My family left the door to his bedroom shut, and I waited for Josh to open it and for all of this garbage to disappear. It never happened, but each day I kept hoping. Each passing day that hope dwindled a little more.

Adventure

Josh learned to drive a lot younger than most kids. That's the perk of living on a farm. Dad always needed help driving truck, and Josh was eager to learn and help. One dusty autumn afternoon, he came rampaging into the house. "Mom!" he yelled. "I need some books!" She looked incredibly puzzled and inquisitive. "Why in the world do you need books? You're supposed to be helping your dad!" she replied. "Oh, I am. I just can't see over the steering wheel, and I need something to sit on," he confidently answered. Despite the stack of books that he sat on, he still had difficulty seeing. Guess what I got to do in all of this? I got to go ride in that itchy, dirty old cab and "help" him drive. I ran outside in my jelly shoes carrying my pink Barbie radio. If I'm going to do this, I thought, I refuse to be bored! We needed some tunes, and off we went! Josh was quick to give me directions as to my responsibility. "Okay, Kayla. I can't see your side of the truck because I'm still too short, so you need to watch! If I get close to ANYTHING, you have to tell me so I can steer away. Easy peezy! I thought. And without another moment passing by... SMASH!!!!!!! "KAYLA!!!!!!" Josh shrieked. Turns out he was serious about the whole "you watch your side of the truck” thing. We had side swiped the side of the straw stack, and we had bent the side view mirror in. Even though I tried convincing him I could do better, I stomped off to the house in a heated mess. That boy was so convinced he could accomplish anything on his own - an admirable trait most of the time, I think. Years and years later, I would have given anything for him to shriek at me again. I’d give anything for one day to squeeze his cute self, even if that whole entire day he would tell me I was rotten. I really wish I didn't take all our adventures for granted, for those adventures are as plentiful as stars in the night sky.

Words

There's really not a lot to say to someone who has suffered a great loss. You can try and find the most sincere thing to say, and they all end up sounding heartless or empty. I'm sorry. Our condolences. He was a great man. Hopefully you can find peace. I'm here for you. It was enough to make my head spin like a top, and it only solidified the fact that he really was never coming home. We love you. We are praying. I wonder what he's doing now? I know he misses you. Hugs. Now don't get me wrong, all of them were appreciated. I'm not trying to sound callous by any account. I just realized that no matter what people said, he wasn't coming back. I didn't really care at the time to hear what people thought or how people felt. I couldn't even understand my own feelings. I felt cheated, a loss of hope, and an array of other awful things. One, two, three, seven hundred words from someone wasn't going to penetrate my heart and fill the hole. That's just all there is to it. I knew I needed to solely rely on God, but I felt like He was so out of reach still. I felt pretty alone, drowning in my own thoughts.

Time Goes On, People Don't

After the services were over, everything went back to normal for every one else, but not for us. Not as many people dropped in, and we were back trying to do things the way they were. I felt like the world just kept spinning, but MY world had completely stopped. I couldn't keep up, and I didn't know if I even wanted to. The first time I went back to school I felt like I was completely naked. My peers stared at me like I had two heads, and they whispered to each other as I walked by. I knew they didn't mean any harm, but I was now that girl. The girl that lost her brother and was living an awfully hellish life. As the Kayla that was once pretty invisible and minded her own business, I knew I would never be seen as that girl anymore. The scars on my heart were just as visible on my skin. I was broken and torn apart. I kept thinking, Where are you, Heavenly Father? Don't make me do this. I'm not strong enough to handle this.


Minutes turned into hours. Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks, months, then years. Despite my trying, I couldn't stop time, nor could I rewind it. Time kept pushing on, even with my foot stuck in the ground, unwilling to move on. Before I knew it, I was at college, living on my own, and meeting some really awesome people. I had to take some pointless class in order to graduate. It was included in BYU-Idaho's Foundations, so it was mandatory. I signed up with one of my dearest friends. The class was formulated to help you use deductive reasoning to make a decision, particularly on controversial topics. Abortion. Money. LDS farmers raising barley. Appropriate vs. Inappropriate. So yeah, not my idea of fun. Anyway, we were studying about art and what is "good" art and "bad" art. I came to class prepared to talk about it like it said on our schedule. My teacher was a recreational management teacher, so he was kind of an outdoor junkie. Needless to say, he shows up to class ready to talk about a different, yet "informative", topic one of which no one came prepared to talk about. He just wanted to jab on and on about it for an hour. Can you guess the topic? Avalanches.

He started the class by showing a list of names of people that had been killed in Wyoming due to avalanches. It quickly went downhill from there. "This is the age group that is most likely to get killed. Why? Because they are adrenaline junkies. They think they are invincible. They tend to be foolish." Then we go onto other statistics, and I'm really not enjoying being in class that day. I felt as if all the air in the room had been sucked out. I was hot. I couldn't breathe. Before I knew it, I was being forced to watch a video of an avalanche. At that point I had had enough, and I got up and walked out. I instantly called an "adopted brother" of mine, and he quickly came and picked me up. What a blessing he was that day. Out of anyone, my "adopted brothers" really understand what I feel. What does anyone else see in the video? Easy answer- an avalanche. What did I see? Smashed ribs. Ripped clothes. A wrecked snow machine. A casket. My brother. This trial of mine was incredibly challenging, and I was not going to sit and be reminded of the hell I had been through. I don't need to see an avalanche. I felt one race through my body and bury my heart that January. And to essentially call my brother a fool?

I had a chat with that teacher a few days later. He apologized for not sticking to the schedule like he should have, and he told me that he should always understand that his students have backgrounds, too. I was still hurt. I was still upset. How could someone so willingly send fire through my veins? My brother is not a statistic, though some would disagree. He is so much more than that. He had a life. He had family, and he had friends. He touched people. He wasn't foolish. He wasn't stupid. People get killed in cars. Are cars foolish? People get killed on skis. Are skis stupid? I got so tired of people telling me how I needed to feel. I needed to be “over it.” I needed to move on. Maybe to a certain degree I needed to loosen up, yeah, but to me moving on meant forgetting. No way, no how was I going to forget the brother that meant so much to me. People can be really insensitive. That's why I try not to pay to much attention to the negativity around me. It'll engulf a soul and make it cold and hard. I'm choosing to NOT let my hard times define me. I'm not a statistic of an avalanche. I'm a victim. But I'm learning, and I'm growing. So onward and upward I walk. One foot in front of the other. Day after day.

Angels

I consider myself blessed beyond measure, because I think I have one extra guardian angel in heaven now. Scratch that. I KNOW that I do. I’ve been the recipient of many “close calls” and have no doubt my big brother was watching over and protecting me. One late night, I was driving home from work. It’s about a 15 minute drive, and it was well after 10:30 pm. I was only a few miles from home, and I was completely worn out. I was almost in a daze, just trying to make it home. Work had been rough that night, and I was ready to slip into my bed. My iPod was plugged into my stereo system, and I was lost in thought. There was another car not far off headed the opposite direction, but they were slowly drifting into my lane, riding the center-line if you will. Before I knew it, everything fell silent, and I snapped out of my dazed, tired trance and jolted back to my senses. I kept waiting for the driver to get back over to their side of the road, but they didn’t. I was getting nervous, wondering what that car was going to do. I was praying they’d come to and at the last millisecond swerve and miss me and my car. As we were mere seconds away from each other, I screamed, swerved into the barrow pit (going 55 mph), and they completely covered my lane. In a sweat, I looked in my rearview mirror and they slowly drifted back over, and I made it back up to the road. No flipped Jeep. No car wreck. No casualties. I walked away with nothing but a racing heart and the shakes. Many would say, “Wow, Kayla! Great job at being an attentive driver!” when really, I know for a fact it wasn’t me. I like to think that Josh was in the passenger’s seat that night, shaking me back to comprehension and maybe even grabbing part of the wheel before I managed to slip my cold fingers around it. I know he is an influence for good in my life; I just have to be willing to look for him. Josh’s friends, who I now call my adopted brothers, have also been angels. They’ve been there on days when they probably had something better to do. They were there for birthdays and hard nights. They were there for a simple check in or a cup of hot chocolate. Those adoptive brothers saved me. I’ll never, ever be able to repay them, but when/if they read this… I want them to know they’re loved and appreciated far more than they know. We’ve been through some pretty gross times together, and now we have this bond that no one else understands. Thanks for everything, boys. You know who you are, and I think the world of you all. Thanks for being my angels.

Blessed

Looking back on the past seven years, I know Heavenly Father and Heavenly Hosts never left my side, but it took many years to realize how truly blessed we were, even though the going got really rough. I have come to understand that we don't always get to pick and choose what cards we are dealt in this life. I would much rather lose my legs than lose my only brother, but that's not the trial God has put in my life. I just don’t get to pick sometimes. Years down the road I am married to the sweetest Southern guy, have a sweet (and busy) toddler, and have graduated from college with my bachelor's degree. If you asked me in 2009 where I pictured myself in the future, I wouldn't have had an answer for you. I couldn't even manage getting through one day at a time without hurting. But I did it. I pushed through some of the darkest times of my life, and I turned that experience around to be an experience for good- most days. My mom found a quote that she printed out and put on our fridge. It says, "You can choose to be better, or you can choose to be bitter." My family chose to be better. It would have been REALLY easy to throw in the towel and give up. It would have been easy to blame God, stop going to church, and claim He doesn't exist. But I KNOW Heavenly Father walked me through those dark days and sleepless nights. I KNOW He helped mend a broken heart that felt incapable of loving or moving on. My life now is a testimony of these things, and it took me a very, very long time to be able to see any good from my trial. There were always days I wanted to give up, but I kept thinking of how disappointed Josh would be in me. Jenkins are not quitters. Jenkins are not wimps. I couldn't let him down. I still can't let him down.

Looking back I am a much different person than I was, and I think that is to be expected. I feel like we are all pieces of clay, and the Lord will mold us in the way that we should be. This has all been a molding experience for me. After Josh's death, friends and family were able to repent and return to the folds of God. They now have eternal families, because they've been sealed in the temple. How could I be upset if Josh's absence had triggered something so beautiful? One particularly bad night for me I was in bed with tears just flowing. I felt so alone. I just needed a Josh hug and I would be okay. I needed a brotherly push. They really are the best. Before I knew it, my heart and insides were warmer than a raging fire, and I could feel so much pressure on my chest. I have no doubt Josh came to me that night and gave me a hug- exactly what I needed. I may not be able to see him anymore, but I like to think he plays an even bigger role in my life now than he could if he were still here.

Staying Strong

We are in a raging war with Satan, and we have been since the pre-mortal existence. Satan is doing all he can to destroy the family and the people linked in those families. These are the times that have been prophesied about. Satan has pulled out the big guns, and he will do whatever he can to drag you and your family down. I know that Josh was called home to join an army. There's so much work to be done and so much to fight. We would all be wise to join the cause of righteousness, because we know who will ultimately win. On that terrible, January day, how could I not rely on a Heavenly Being? The only reason I am sitting in the nook of my kitchen typing this out right now is because of my faith in a Heavenly Father and also a Savior, Jesus Christ, who died for me. As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, my faith was pretty well grounded at the age of eighteen. At that time, I believed that God wouldn't just let me suffer miserably, and I also knew that He wouldn't take away someone so dear to my heart without a very, very good reason. I just had to remember that. Some days I forget. Some days I get distracted. Some days I want to be mad, but I know now that God never left me. I really can’t deny that. Without that knowledge, I would have been a complete loss, a hopeless young adult, and incredibly, incredibly bitter. I knew that I had a Savior that died on the cross for me- my shortcomings, my heartache, and my sins. He did that for you, too. Because of all He suffered and went through, I instantly had someone who understood that gaping hole that kept eating away my heart. I just needed to remember. I just needed to believe. I really was never alone.

It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when hard times will come. In my case, my brother was taken in a real avalanche, but we all experience these avalanches in our lives. We lose a loved one. We lose a job. We don't have enough money. Sickness. Our children stray. Mental, physical, and emotional challenges. Divorce. Your path and my path may be different, but we experience the same feelings. Sadness. Fear. Withdrawal. Anger. Denial. Frustration. A lack of faith. All of these feelings, trials, and experiences come rushing over us, leaving us without room to breathe. We are instantly buried. It's painful. It can happen in a matter of seconds. There's really no going back once that wall of snow has broke, and we are left lifeless and worried at the bottom of the hill, swept away from the things we once knew high up on that mountain of faith. We experience new lows after being drug to a deep, dark bottom.

I wish I had an answer for this, and usually I don't. There's a lot I am still learning- I learn every day. One thing that I know for certain, though, is that God never gives us anything we can't handle. Easier said than done, I get it, but it really is true. If you would have told me “you can handle this” in 2009, I would have laughed and called you a liar… and probably would have broke your finger, too. It's always hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when we are in the midst of a hard time, but now that my head has bobbed back to the surface and I'm back climbing that mountain we call life, I have a better perspective than I ever have. We must experience the bad to know the good, and how tenderly sweet that can be.

So as the girl that was once lacking a story and a scar, I now wear them proudly. I won’t pretend I don’t have hard days. This weekend, January 17, is a cruel reminder of the long, hard path that I have walked. I’ll probably want to be a hermit, and then next week we will attempt being strong again. I know I can do anything through Jesus Christ. Oh, how I miss my brother dearly, and I often wish to rewind time, but I would never want to rewind and undo the person that I have been built up to be. I share my story in hopes that it can change you, too, and maybe give you the slightest hint of hope in your darkest hours. Bring on the metaphorical avalanches because I have faith, and I know WITHOUT A DOUBT that I will see that crazy brown-eyed boy again. I love you, Joshy. This is for you.