A Mother's Lullaby

Saturday, Sept. 26, 2009, at 7:00 p.m. in the BYU-Hawaii Stake Center, there will be a memorial service for Amanda Gunter. All are invited. We have been told to wear bright, happy colors, as that is what she would've wanted.

Some music will be sung. Some of us friends had gathered together tonight to practice some music for the service tomorrow, and some of the songs we are singing are lullabies. These lullabies are Timothy Max's project/gift for Levin and Ansley, and the texts have been written by some members of the Concert Choir.

I think about 10 lullabies are ready to give to Levin's family for tomorrow, and two of them will be sung by our little choir. Both of them are absolutely beautiful, but one in particular keeps stopping me in my tracks. It's called, "This Song I Sing for You: A Mother's Lullaby," lyrics written by our dear friend, April (Fisher) Alexander. The words are so simple and so basic, but I can't help but feel sad knowing that this is a love song from mother to daughter, and Amanda will never be able to sing this song for Ansley on this Earth. As a mother, that pains me. I can't imagine not being able to sing for Meliame again. Just knowing that the opportunity to physically share my love for my children with them has been taken... I know it wouldn't hurt my children nearly as much as it would me, but it's a sad thing. And I only pray that Levin as a father will be strong through this tough time, and that they will always remember Amanda's love for them.

Ugh, I can't stop crying, even as I'm writing this! Anyway, here are the lyrics to this lullaby (thanks, April):

1. A day like this, I'll give to you,
Of golden sun and morning dew,
Of passing clouds and sunsets too,
A day like this, I'll give to you.

2. A night like this I'll give to you,
Of silver moon and stars so true,
Of quiet winds and stillness thru,
A night like this I'll give to you.

3. A song like this I'll sing to you,
When golden sun and stars so true
Sing my heart and love to you,
A song like this I'll sing to you.

Death is never an easy thing for the living to cope with. No matter how often it passes in our lives, it will always affect us. Shake us. Remind us of who we really are. And what our lives are really about. Death teaches us lessons, and each life taken from us is a new lesson learned. I learned to cherish the moments I have with Siope and Meliame, to always show people how much I love them, and to enjoy life, every minute of it.

If anyone who knew Amanda and Levin are reading this, please come to the memorial tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this). If you can't make it, please keep the Gunter Family (and Amanda's family, though I don't know her maiden name) in your prayers.

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Quote of the Day

JOBI: What are we eating for dinner, Hon?
DASSA: I thought you ordered pizza!
JOBI: Didn't you hear me say 'let's go home and eat?'
DASSA: I thought that IS where you eat pizza... at HOME!!!

Sent from iPod Touch

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Pride, in Its Glory

Right after mister went for a run, he decided to watch some TV. MI:3 was on; he was elated. Laundry had to be done -- my turn. Baby wanted someone to play with. Then he changed the channel to play CoD4... and he was hungry for breakfast.

That was just to set the scene for this "Dang Langis!" story.

DASSA: [holding basket of laundry] I'm having a dilemma.

JOBI: [playing CoD4] Mmmm.

DASSA: These clothes need to be hung out on the line, and your breakfast isn't ready yet... Would you be willing to help me get your breakfast ready by putting these clothes on the line for me?

JOBI: (to the TV) Oh, crap. Stupid move.

DASSA: Well then, how about this: I'll hang up the clothes, and you make your own breakfast?

JOBI: Why don't you just put them in the dryer?

DASSA, enraged, ignores his remark and walks out to the line. Clouds roll in. She hangs the clothes on the line.

It rains.

She walks back in the house, ignoring the rain. She then proceeds to make her own breakfast and hopes that her husband will be hungry enough to pine over the scent.

The eggs burn and the rice dries out.

She sulkily eats her crispy breakfast as JOBI's soldier walks into an abandoned classroom with an MK-17.

Is there even such a thing as MK-17? I just made that up.

Anyway, moral of the story: Don't be prideful. It'll backfire.

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Some pictures from Aissa

Black and white pictures

Aissa's the bomb!

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Dear Mama,

Before I came into the world, you were already a seasoned professional at birthing, nurturing, and raising daughters. In fact, you were already a pro at life...

You were a graceful dancer, a lovely singer, a consistent athlete, a magnificent cook and baker, a proficient linguist in at least 7 different languages (including pidgin), a shrewd businesswoman, an incredible leader in the world as well as the Church, a team player, an analyst, a mathematician, an editor, a writer, a teacher, an artist, a politician, a computer expert, a distribution center, a grievance counselor, a caretaker..... The list can go on and on, and on, and on...

The point I'm trying to make is that I have a true Superwoman for a mother, and I am so proud to be your daughter.

Today is just short of the 6-month mark for me being a mother, and I have so far become the following: an awkward cook, a messy organizer, a court jester, a how-to bookworm, a wannabe interior designer, and a horrible 3-point shot. I realized that you, Mama, made motherhood look like a piece of cake, and I need a lot of practice.

But aside from the new roles I play, I have also learned some new skills: cooking (I'm still awkward, but at least I cook!), organizing, making a bottle with one hand, motivational tips, event planning ideas, relaxation techniques, crying on demand, storybook reading, and the art of distraction. I also have realized some new things. For example, it is totally possible to love somebody so much it makes you cry. (Shout out to Brandi!) You think you've given all your love to your significant other and you don't have any more to give -- just wait until you become a mother. (Fathers get it too, don't worry.) Suddenly, it's as if your body has a reservoir of love that magically bursts open from out of nowhere. It flows out of you without your permission, and you then become a fountain, which showers all your love on one single individual.

I've also realized that the joy of motherhood comes in the little moments, not necessarily the big accomplishments. For example, Baby still can't crawl yet; she can barely sit up and only roll over when rolling off pillows and the couch. I think she's behind, and sometimes it worries and even irritates me. But when she smiles at me, when she puts her tiny arms around my neck, when she holds out her arms for me to hold her, when she makes silly faces or sounds like, "up" and "ohm," and when she sleeps peacefully in her daddy's arms... those little moments make the big feats insignificant. I can't explain them, but I love them.

I know that being a superhero is a learned thing. Everyone is born with the potential to be a superhero, but only those who fuel that potential with the right desire will actually live to become one. I know that you, Mama, are a superhero, but I didn't know that I can be one, too. I, too, can be a multitasker, an analyst, an entertainer, a diplomat, an event planner, a businesswoman, a financial advisor, a real estate agent, and so on and so forth. I can multitask caring for a baby, tutoring my husband, and going to work. I can analyze what meals I can make with the ingredients we have at home, or analyze what needs to change in my schedule if Baby gets sick. I can still sing and make music, even if it's just singing Baby to sleep or playing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." I can plan birthday parties and prom nights, and resolve conflict between 2+ children. I can maintain order and discipline in our home, establish good work ethic, give allowance (or not, hahahaha), look for places for our family to stay, etc. If that isn't a superhero, I don't know what is.

So, Mama, I want to say thank you. Thank you for all the times you made me play the piano, for now I can fill my own home with music. Thank you for all the times you made me make rice, because I know you never gave up on me developing cooking skills. Thank you for all the times you made me fill out my own emergency cards and permission slips, because I am never afraid of paperwork. Thank you for all the times you told me to "look it up in the dictionary," because I know how to find answers to questions I have. Thank you for telling me to "water the plants," because I know the little things are just as important as the big things. Thank you for telling me to change my attitude, because I now know its value and importance. Thank you for telling me, "don't ever say you can't do it;" I've done more things than I ever imagined I would do because I took your advice. And most importantly, thank you for telling me you love me, because for a superwoman to love me that much...

I am the luckiest girl in the world. I only hope that my own daughters feel the same.

Happy Mothers' Day,
~Dassa

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