I'd like to thank...

... my mother's nursing home for continuing to provide me with such good material.

Yesterday morning, Matt and I talked again. We decided not to decide anything until Monday, because we need time to think. I made a list of the pros and cons of bringing Mom home versus finding another nursing home. Then, when I was just sick to death of worrying about it, my dad said, "How'd you like to go get a buffalo sandwich?"

"I'd love to. Let me take a quick shower."

At first, I thought he meant buffalo as in buffalo wings. No, he meant buffalo as in herd, not New York. With him directing me, I drove up Provo Canyon to Heber City, Utah, where my maternal grandparents are buried. There is a really, really, really great place to eat there called Spin Cafe. (Private to Grand Marais people: Think The Wild Onion).

My dad got a buffalo burger, but I got a grilled cheese sandwich with pulled pork, tomato, and avacado. It was fantastic. Then, we both got a small serving of gelato and sat and ate it with tiny spoons. It was such a beautiful, balmy day and the cafe was really nice. I will remember that day. My dad was in a good mood, and I caught him on film [Fine, I caught him on whatever you catch people on now with digital photography], goofing around with his new sunglass-clip attachments.

Next, he had a couple of checks to deposit, so we went to the bank. The ladies who work at the bank adore my father. He is always gracious and friendly and they came around and asked him for hugs. The one I know the best told me he looked better than he has in months. This is true.

Then, we went to CostCo, but by that point, we had probably stretched him to his limit. We walked to the back to get gatorade and then he had to go sit down and wait while I zipped around.

So, I'm in CostCo, a Friday afternoon, and it's jam-packed. But I know my way around now, and I know what I want: stuffed salmon; beef tips I can marinate in wine to tenderize, huge bowl of fruit with mango, grapes, strawberries, cantaloupe, and pineapple. Tomato-Basil and Chicken Tortilla soups.

While I'm cruising around grabbing things, I call my mom. I've tried her before during the day, but she has not been in her room. I was curious to know how they are treating her after Thursday. She told me she had not received her pain pill the previous evening. Get this: Because her doctor has ordered them to be given "as needed," my mother has to remember to wake up and ask for a pain pill in the middle of the night. And if she doesn't do it at the right time, they won't give it to her.

In the past, I haven't thought I could really do much about things like this. But after Thursday, I decided to take my Bitch out for a test drive.

So, next, I called the nurse's office at Sunrise. I didn't know whether or not my name was mud yet, so I lied and said I was the nurse from her doctor's office. But when I got through to the nurse, this thin, fish-faced woman who always pulls her brown hair back into such a tight bun that I think she is doing it as wrinkle prevention, I identified myself. I said, "My mother just told me that last night she did not receive her pain medication."

"That's right. They are given as needed and she did not request it."

"The woman complains about pain all the time. What makes you think it was not needed? Are you serious that you are going to make an elderly dementia patient REMEMBER to wake up and ask for her pill? If she doesn't get it, then it sets her back the entire next day with regard to her pain. I DON'T EVER EVER EVER WANT TO HEAR THAT SHE DID NOT GET A PAIN KILLER AT NIGHT AGAIN, ESPECIALLY WHEN SHE DOES REQUEST IT. Do you understand me? Because if I do, I am going to come in there and YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BE HAPPY TO SEE ME. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? WHAT IS GOING ON UP THERE?"

"Are you ready to speak civilly to me now?"

"Nope." And I hung up.

Next, I called the doctor's office and talked to a medical assistant several times. My mom's doctor won't order her to have a pill every eight hours because she doesn't want her to be over-medicated. Huh? I get that if my mother doesn't wake up that the doctor could argue that she didn't have need. Except when she did wake up and ask for it, they refused to give it to her. And again, if she doesn't have the pills every eight hours, then the pain gets ahead of her. Every eight hours. That is what I'm asking for.

I got the doctor to say that she had to have her last dose at bedtime. But my mother still has to ask for every pill she gets. Jesus Christ, no wonder all she talks about is her fucking pain meds. If she were to forget to ask for that, she knows what would happen.

The medical assistant told me that their entire office thinks Sunrise at Sandy is insane because when the doctor ordered an over-the-counter analgesic cream for my mom and said, "Use as directed," Sunrise told them they couldn't accept that general of a physician's order.

The whole time I'm navigating these phone calls, I'm also getting checked out at CostCo and getting my dad and our groceries into the car. We got into the car and my dad said, "I'm out of Oxygen." Fortunately, we were very close to home and we had another tank in the back seat. But I was still nervous. Then, when we got home, he slept in front of baseball for a long time. This morning he told me he thought maybe yesterday was his last trip to CostCo, but I pointed out that if that were our only outing, he could probably do it. He's concerned about his recent fatigue. Or, he was before I took a power nap that lasted three or four hours this afternoon.

This morning, I toured another nursing home that is about 20 minutes from their Provo house, with my uncle Burke. After I got hopelessly lost for about 45 minutes trying to find it, that is. But getting home was fast and easy.

I asked a lot of questions about how medications were dispensed, whether my mother could have her OTC eye drops (she can't at Sunrise, though Burke and I were laughing that we both spend $50/week on eye drops for her that keep getting confiscated). The girl who was giving us our tour this morning looked at me funny on a couple of the questions, which is the reaction I was looking for. More evidence that the way things are done in Sandy are insane. I told Burke this morning when we were standing by our cars after the tour, "It's like the people at Sunrise have never met an old elderly person before.

Also, the fee schedule is different at The Charleston: They don't base your medication fee on how many medications. They have other patients with sleep apnea machines. Their studio apartments are bigger than Sunrise and the pricing is better. They have a fully-stocked library and two floors, no lock-down unit, and refrigerators, microwaves, and small kitchen areas in every apartment. Nobody has to share a room.

It's still expensive, but we would save money there, and possibly be able to stretch things farther. But we are all getting nervous about how long we can support two households. IF they are good and decent and don't pull the crap that Sunrise has pulled, then I think they would probably be great. But Matt and I are both as gun-shy about the whole situation as a divorcee in Vegas. I really liked Sunrise. I should have known something was hinky when they refused to put her pain patches on her at first and we were running up there all the time.

I asked what would happen if my mother fell, if she had a cold and needed a doctor, if she had a cold and needed cold medicine, ran out of toothpaste, etc. The answers were all how the nursing home would take care of her-- the girl who was giving us the tour has only been in marketing about a week. She started working there in the kitchen. She has been there for four years, and she seemed pretty happy. She said she lives a minute away, so she could come and make a dr appointment and take my mom if she needed it. She wasn't a smooth salescheck like Becky at Sunrise. She didn't do a hard sell at all. She just showed us around and gave us information about activities and events and asked if we had questions. We looked at their one-and-two bedroom apartments as well. We talked also (shhh) about whether my dad could live there also... right now, they don't have availability, but...

Burke is concerned about how long I can do this without cracking up. He put his arm around me and said, "I know you think you can do it, but I worry about you."

I wonder if he is also worried about how well my mom and I would get along if we brought her home. He said, "Do you remember what you were like when we were moving her into Sunrise?"

Yep. Yep, I do. And if I didn't, I could read all about it to remind myself.

I stopped and looked at another Assisted Living place on the way home. I pass by it all the time. It's maybe 5 minutes away. I mean, I could jog there (it would be a pretty good run though). I'm not going to lie: The word "dump" crossed my mind. There were two "houses" that looked pretty residential. They were clean and orderly, and the people seemed only to be watching television intently-- they didn't look any worse or better than any of the other people I've seen in facilities lately. There were two women on staff, one in each building, and I saw a few women in a back room who were wearing scrubs and looked to be having a meeting. I asked a few questions. The bedrooms are small, and there are communal showers in the center of the buildings. That may not go over so well. The rates were great, but well... I didn't see any cockroaches, which was Matt's minimum criteria (I jest). The best thing would be that I could go over there and get her a lot, and take her to the daycare down the road here sometimes (the price is that good).

But all day, I've been thinking about both places, and I keep leaning toward The Charleston. Okay, I'm a sucker for elegant surroundings. But I didn't even realize how much guilt I've been harboring for putting my mother in a facility to begin with. I feel badly for her every minute she is at Sunrise.

This evening, she called and I spoke with her. She keeps telling me that she just wants to come home and lie on the couch and be here, and usually I just let it go by without comment. This time I said, "If I were even to consider entertaining that idea, then would you be opposed to sleeping in the basement so Matt and I can attend to Dad?"

"No, I like the bed down there."

"Also, I would want you to go to daily activities down the street so you can have social contact."

"Well, it would depend on how much pain I was in."

Oh, no, actually, it wouldn't. If we were to move her back in here, there would be some pretty inflexible rules, particularly governing how often she can see a doctor. Does it seem cruel to tell her she can't go to the dentist every single month? I don't think so. She says now she has a toothache. Well, she *just* saw a dentist. She wants to go back to her dentist. And this is how she starts winding me up. So, that puts me in the position of tending to ignore all of her health complaints because in addition to everything else, she is a staggering hypochondriac.

The Charleston has a physical therapist on site. They have an exercise room, go to Walmart on Mondays, but they can pick things up for her and add them to her tab (they refused to do this at Sunrise and looked confused when I requested it; additonally, my mother's excursions have abruptly ended with her transition to the bottom floor of Sunrise), and a podiatrist comes monthly to cut toenails. I asked how much extra it would cost to help her trim her fingernails, and that was another question I got a weird look about (yes, it costs extra at Sunrise).

I got home around noon and told my dad about both places I had looked at. Then, I am not sure what I did-- probably checked email and Facebook. I was so exhausted that that's when I went and took my power nap. I woke up thinking that I'd been asleep all night. It was 4:50, so I told my dad I had to run to the grocery store for a few things-- we don't need things like milk, butter, eggs in CostCo bulk. When I got back, he asked me if I had also gone to the liquor store because I'd been gone so long (I was gone for 25 minutes). I said no, and I hadn't. My dad's teasing about my alcohol consumption grates on me. I don't like to give him ammunition. I said, "Should I have?"

This is the General Conference weekend for the LDS Church, a world-wide conference broadcast from Temple Square in Utah. My friend Barbara works doing survey calls for Nationwide, and she texted me that she had just called a lady in Utah. "I heard organ music in the background. And lots of cats. Is that normal?"

I explained that the lady was probably just watching conference on her television. Yes. Everyone does that. Everywhere I went today, people were watching it, or cars were spilling out of church parking lots because you can also go sit on the pews at church and watch it on television. Less alcohol and popcorn there, though. Or you can try to cram into the Tabernacle or sit on the lawn outside it at Temple Square, as some college friends and I did some 24-odd years ago. In our Sunday best.

So, in order to celebrate General Conference, we went on a Daddy/Daughter date to the State Liquor Store, which closes at 7pm. On a Saturday night. We got there at 6:35pm. Phew!

Next, we came home and I had my dad call his Visa company because they started turning down my card on Wednesday, and I finally figured out that it's probably because the company probably thinks the cards are stolen. He told them to authorize Matt and I using the cards.

Now, we are watching the UConn/Kentucky game and I'm finishing this up. Then, all I want to do is watch television (watching the first season of Leverage these evenings) and try to shut off my brain.

The Independence of Solitude

Editorial note: This was written first in 1991, then edited and revised in 2003. Some names and details have been changed. These thoughts and opinions are my own, and do not reflect the official policies or positions of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or its members. Yes, I know the formatting is wonky, but after more than an hour of trying to fix it, my throat is killing me and I am going to bed. Try selecting all, then copying and pasting into an email. :) Took my own advice and emailed it to myself in the text of the email to strip it of its formatting. Should be mostly good now with a few weird punctuation issues. 

And Pengo, thanks for the follow ;)

This is also tl;dr. ;)


  My best friend Kara called me from Provo, Utah, during my first year of marriage to tell me that a close friend of hers from her mission had recently committed suicide.  My first inclination was to blame the Mormon Church, particularly the mission experience.  Elder Sidney Rex, 21, had recently completed a two-year mission in Thailand.  What other experience, I asked myself, could have influenced him so much in the two short months since his return?
      "Did he leave a note?
      "No.  And they can't find his journals, his scriptures, or his letters from his mission.  The only thing we know is that the same day he dropped all of his classes and added new ones."
      He had been attending Brigham Young University, the private institution governed by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  The Mormons.
      I thought a lot about Sidney Rex's suicide, even though I never met him.  It is tragic to me on a humanitarian level; however, it also provides me with one more piece of artillery to use in my private war against the Mormon Church.
      "I went to the funeral," Kara told me.  "He looked so peaceful.  They did a really good job of putting him back together."
      "What do you mean they put him back together?  How did he do it?"
      "Pistol in the mouth.  
      The Mormon Church sews itself into every part of your life.  Trying to remove it can tear you apart.  I think I am experiencing a phenomenon fairly common to people my age.  College years are a time of flux and confusion.  The Mormon Church's leaders are very aware of this.  They react to it in three major ways.
      First, the Mormon Church hierarchy sends all Mormon nineteen-year-old boys on two-year missions.  On their missions, these boys devote 24 hours a day to the Lord.  They remain chaperoned, primarily by each other, at all times.  They cannot read anything unrelated to or not written by someone in the Church.  They cannot go to movies, watch television, listen to music (except hymns), or go swimming (because of the Danger of drowning, and modesty purposes).  They must wear suits, shave every day, and cut their hair every two weeks. Most importantly, they must never be alone with a member of the opposite sex, let alone touch one or date one.  The possibilities and facts of potential homosexuality never enter into the official equation.  Church leaders forbid it, so they pretend it never happens.  Funny, because when I told my Mormon friend Megan about Sidney Rex she said, "I bet he was gay.  Homosexual, Mormon, mission guilt."  It hadn't occurred to me before that conversation, but afterward, it seemed likely.
        Missionaries all pay for their own missions.  This creates what psychologists call a "Sunk Cost" effect.  If Mormons pay for two years of proselytizing, sometimes at extraordinary expense, and if they devote up to two years of their lives, they will not be able to afford not to believe in the Mormon Church.  It's supposed to be the best two years of your life, and if it's not, you must have done something wrong.  How can you sacrifice so much for something and then admit that you're wrong?
      All male Mormon missionaries are called "Elder."  Females are called "Sister."  It's one more way besides dressing them alike that the Church strips them of their identities.  It enhances obedience.  Make them look alike and sound alike; they are instruments in the hands of the Lord (or, more precisely, the elderly leaders in Salt Lake City).  If you can strip people of individual differences, they will soon be comfortable in their sameness and unlikely to want to risk being ostracized by questioning their religion.
                 *               *               *
      The second way Mormon Church leaders handle the confusion nonmembers feel when they are ages 18-28 is to aim nineteen-year-old missionaries at them; hopefully age similarities will provide fuel for trust.  I sat in a meeting last year with some missionaries and our minister.  The mission coordinator in Columbus, Ohio, had decided to target Ohio State and Ohio University campuses for proselytizing.  The coordinator planted several pairs of missionaries on the sidewalks of uptown Athens, Ohio.  They were instructed to stop college-age people and ask them to answer a few brief questions:
      Do you believe in God?
      What do you know about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints?
      Would you like to know more?
      If the answer to the last question was yes, they obtained the unsuspecting victim's phone number and plagued the poor soul for months.
      Do you want a Book of Mormon?
      May we come visit you?
      I sat in this meeting and listened to a missionary outline their strategy.
      "Most people this age are confused.  They are unsatisfied with their lives.  They are searching for something.  We have answers to give them.  Most of them are very receptive."
      "Yeah," I agreed, ╥but they'd also be very responsive to Buddhism and Catholicism.  I don't think you should target people who are obviously experimenting with different ideas.  They don't look at the Church as a serious commitment; it's all trial and error.  I've lived in this area for eleven years and I've seen a lot of people come and go."
      "That's not our problem.  We see them only to baptism."
      "But it is your problem because you deliberately seek these people out, meet with them for six brief discussions, and then pressure them to be baptized.  They aren't converting to the Church; they are responding to earnest, good-looking, clean cut young males who will be gone in two months.  You should try to teach people who are a little more established."
      "People who are more established don't want to listen.  They think they're satisfied with their lives."
      It is a futile argument.  The Mormon Church handles its proselytizing like an advertising campaign:  Make people feel that their lives are unsatisfactory, then offer them the product-- the true gospel of Jesus Christ.  Give them the answers to questions like
      Who Am I? (a child of God)
      Where Did I Come From? (the pre-existence)
      What Is My Purpose Here on Earth? (to gain a physical body and to overcome temptation in order to dwell again with God)
      Where Am I Going? (to a Spirit World where you will find out that the Mormon Church is true.  There are Mormons there now teaching all the spirits of all the people who die that the Mormon Church is true.  Everyone gets to join.)  The problem is, obviously, that first the Mormons have to convince people that something is wrong, and that only Mormonism can fix it.
      All of these wonderful answers.  But it's all just a little too pat.  For the answers the Mormons don't have, they either don't address the issues, or they argue that we aren't worthy enough for God to reveal the answers to us; we can't live with what He has revealed now.
      The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (as they prefer to be called, rather than Mormon) was established in 1830 by a man named Joseph Smith.  Smith, who claimed to be a prophet, said God and Jesus appeared to him and told him that none of the Churches on earth at that time were correct.  There had been a great apostasy after Jesus╒ disciples died; at that time, God had removed his true authority (called Priesthood by Mormons, and only bestowed upon males) from the earth.  God and Jesus now wanted to restore this authority to Joseph Smith through angels.  They showed him a place in a hillside where golden plates had lain for centuries.  Smith obtained the plates and translated them into the Book of Mormon.  They are the testimony of people who traveled to the Americas from the Middle East; Christ appeared to them here after his resurrection.  This Book is considered scripture and is the keystone of the Mormon religion; however, the golden plates have been mysteriously removed from the earth.  No one has actually seen that these plates exist.
      God also told Joseph Smith that everything a prophet says is modern day scripture.  That conveniently meant that every whim of Joseph Smith's must be God's will.  Part of God's will was to tell everyone on earth about God's Church.  He also outlined for people, through Smith, exactly how to detect His spirit: a burning in the bosom (means a yes when praying); a stupor of thought (meaning no, and designed to make you forget what you had been praying for); a peaceful feeling; and a still, small voice (psychologists call it conscience).  Even those shivers down your spine or goose bumps on your arm when you see a Mormon commercial are really the Spirit of God whispering to you that the Mormon Church is true.  The only problem is that these are also responses to kitsch and sentimentalism, and people often experience them during Hallmark commercials, too.
                     *               *               *
      The third way Mormon Church leaders handle the confusion young adults feel is to encourage females to get married the second they find anyone they are compatible with who is worthy to take them to the Temple.  They encourage young males to marry as soon as possible once they return from two years of proselytizing anywhere on the globe those old men in Salt Lake City see fit to send them.
       Leaders insist that age, education, and money should not get in the way of marriage.  And, of course, this means everyone is eligible.  Then, they tell you that no one who is not prepared to have children should get married.  This is a Catch-22: They have already established that everyone over the age of eighteen (except males who should complete a mission, at their own expense, first, which makes them twenty-one before they're ready) is ready for marriage (you'd be amazed how compatible two horny post-adolescents can be).  Therefore, it naturally (?) follows that you should put your trust in the Lord and start squeezing out kinds nine months after your wedding night (which, incidentally, should be the first time you french kiss, let alone do anything else).
      I can think of two reasons for the Church's policy on marriage and children.  First, the leaders insist that family is what this religion is all about.  Temples are sacred buildings that only worthy Church members can enter, after two interviews with Church officials. Once the Church is assured that: you are chaste; that you absolutely accept the old men in Salt Lake City (who are called General Authorities-- on what, I don't know.  It's general, so it must comprise everything) as the mouthpieces of God guiding your life; that you do not smoke, do drugs, or drink coffee, tea or alcohol; and that you give ten percent of your income to the Church; they will give you a tiny slip of sacred white paper called a Temple Recommend.  This is your ticket to heaven.  If you do not go to the Temple and swear you will live and die for the Mormon Church, and then marry in a ceremony they call Sealing for Time and All Eternity (it transcends death), then you can't go to heaven.  From all I've heard about the ceremony, it is not unlike pledging a fraternity or sorority, or, say, the Masonic rites.  General Authorities insist this is a coincidence.  Incidentally, Mormons are forbidden to speak of these ceremonies, even among each other, outside the Temple.  Mormons insist that these rituals are not secret, however; they are sacred.
      According to the Church, this Temple ceremony is the only way you can be with God, and to boot, it offers the irresistible: the opportunity to be with your family after you die- for eternity!  Once you have children, it becomes very difficult not only to turn your back on the idea of being with your children forever, but also to risk your children's salvation.  Having children sews people into the tapestry more firmly.
      Mormon doctrine says that according to other religions╒ ideas of heaven, you just sort of float around and never see your family and friends.  In fact, the Mormons incorporate even that idea into their concept of heaven; there are just three divisions of heaven. The goal is the highest division; it is only there that you can be with your family. This Mormon idea of exclusiveness does not explain, however, several non-Mormon people who have had near death experiences, and include in their accounts seeing their relatives and friends who have already died.  There is a joke Mormons like to tell:
       A man dies and goes to Heaven.  St. Paul greets him at the gate.  "Before I take you to your new home, would you care for a tour?"
       "Sure."
       St. Paul takes the man into a neighborhood not unlike you would find in an American suburb.  There are neatly built houses separated by fences; an occasional swimming pool; cars parked in the drive.
       "This is the Catholic neighborhood," the Saint announces.
       They move on to another neighborhood and notice similar budding lawns; white linen hung to dry; children playing.
       "This is the Jewish neighborhood."
       The man nods, and they proceed to a third neighborhood, distinguishable as the third only because St. Paul again stops.
       "This is the Mormon neighborhood," he whispers.
       "I don't see how this neighborhood is any different from the others!" the man exclaims.
       "Shhhhh," St. Paul warns, ╥They think they're the only ones up here."
                  *                *               *
      The second reason I can see for church authorities to urge Mormons to have children immediately, and have lots of them, is to populate the earth with more Mormons.  I think this reason is valid.  (However, Mormons are allowed to use birth control). The plain and simple of it is that marriage and children ground people in responsibility.  If you are married, have a child, and are trying to support yourselves, you will be concerned with taking care of basic survival needs instead of wondering whether or not the Mormon Church is true.
  
      When I was at Brigham Young University, my best friend Kara and I used to say that if we ever found out that the Church wasn't true, we would have trouble believing in God.  Everything I believed about God, how I prayed, the answers I perceive, what I thought I knew about God's nature and what He looked like, I obtained from the Mormon Church.  Take the Mormon Church away, and I was left only with a vague memory of feeling as a child that I was loved by some higher power; this was before my introduction to the Mormon Church.
  
      I can only blame my association with the Church on myself.  I needed answers to questions; so my mother would drop my brother and I off at Church and pick us up when it was over.  She and my father had been inactive for some time.  My mother has since re-embraced the Church; I think it is therapy for her as she deals with middle age.
  
      I became active in my Church again after Gregory was removed, and taught the six, seven and eight year old children.  I was active for three reasons: my mother lived in the same town and would have tortured me with guilt if I had stopped going; Peter and I had several friends we "did dinner" with on a regular basis; and I loved the kids I was teaching.  Our relationships with our friends would have been considerably strained if we had left the Church then; we were only there for six months more.
  
  
      We left the Church after we left Athens, simply in the sense that we didn╒t start going again when we moved to Maryland. What my mother didn't know didn't hurt her.  I think she'd be able to deal with it in time, though.  Peter wanted to try going back to Catholic Church where he was raised.  I think I needed a break from organized religion; I wanted to try to develop a relationship with God, which was independent from what anyone else dictates to me.  I am still working on that.
  
      Peter didn't want to raise our children Mormon because he didn't want them to go through the same hell and confusion that I went through. The reason we decided to leave is because we thought we would be able to go through the motions and just be Mormon.  But we couldn't.  Our minister wouldn't let us go through the Temple ceremony because we didn't and wouldn't pay ten percent of our income to the Church.  He didn't understand because he used to put his five kids to bed hungry when he was in graduate school so he could pay it.  If attending Church, community service, and performing in Church callings weren't enough, if we had to PAY our way into heaven, we wouldn't stay with the Mormon Church.
  
      My feelings about the Church at that time can best be compared to when my boyfriend and I were breaking up with a boyfriend my sophomore year of college.  It was a long distance relationship, doomed from the start.  I can say that now, but it took me months to realize.  It started ending when I was at BYU and he told me he had slept with someone else.  I had deluded myself so much, I wanted him so much, that this was a complete, physical shock.  I cried uncontrollably.  I had diarrhea for two weeks.  I don't remember eating during those two weeks; I just remember standing in front of the refrigerator blankly. I know I drank gallons and gallons of Fresca and lemonade.  I woke up every day at 6:00 a.m. feeling like I'd had the wind knocked out of me.  I lost fifteen pounds.  Despite all of this, I still wanted him, and he kept me Dangling.  I fluctuated for three months between wanting him desperately and hating him.  Hating him finally conquered any desire I formerly had for him.
  
  
Mood Swings
      I went through similar mood swings towards the Mormon Church.  I love some of the people in it.  I love the sense of community.  I think some of the principles are very good.  However, everytime I started thinking this was something I could live with, I heard something which renews my venom.
  
      Jen, they handled it so cool.  They said that God won't look just at the suicide; God will see what a good life he led, and what a good person he was.  The suicide won't erase all of that.  God will forgive him."
  
      Talk about denial.  Suicide is the worst sin next to murder.  It is the complete rejection of God, Church, family, Temple covenants, and life. At least if you murder someone, they can put you on death row-- an eye for an eye kind of thing.  With suicide, there is no repentance.


[Ed. note: Twenty years later, my lack of compassion makes me cringe. This essay is NOT all I have to say on this topic. Oh no. I wrote a BOOK.]
  
      "Kara, are you even listening to yourself?  What the hell do you expect them to say at a funeral?  'Elder Rex is going to hell'?  Do you honestly believe that God would overlook SUICIDE because Elder Rex was a good person?  Kara, do you think God is going to say,"Gee, Elder Rex, you lived a good life; it's okay that you killed yourself.  But, you, Kara Stockton, you had the audacity to marry someone of a different faith because you loved him.  You're going to hell on a greased pole."  Kara, is that the kind of God you want to live with?"
  
      I did not understand why Kara, who was in love with  a Jewish boy, was willing to give up her happiness in this life in expectation of what may or may nor happen in the next.  Her opinion of the Church was not much better than mine at the time, but she buckled under family and Church peer pressure.
  
      I asked her, "Kara, suppose a space ship came down and captured your family and all your Mormon friends and whisked them away: Would you marry Kent?"
  
      "Yes, probably."
  
      Kara and I read Ayn Rand our sophomore year and were terribly impressed with her philosophy of selfishness (as sophomores in college tend to be), of trying to be happy regardless of what others think of you.  I have been trying to remind her of this.
  
      "Jen, I don't even care if it's true.  I just want to believe in something right now."
  
      I can relate to that.  I'd love to believe it was true.  To this day.  It sounds incredible.  Too good to be true.  I wish I had the simplicity of belief I had when I was eighteen.  I wish I could make all my doubts, my anger, my cynicism go away.  The Mormon Church has a response to my anger; my bitterness about Gregory Parker; my anger at all those men in Salt Lake City who I think are trying to manipulate people and control them through guilt.  Their response is as pat as all the others:
  
      The Church is true and perfect; the people in it aren't.
  
      That sounds great, but I don't buy it anymore.  How can they calmly sit there and tell me that and tell me that I should accept a man like Gregory Parker as my spiritual leader?  How can they say he was inspired by God?  I'm not angry at just what he did to me.  I don't think the man was competent to lead anyone, spiritually or otherwise. He once equated recycling with the devil saying that it was a distraction from our spiritual concerns; he said if people were living pure lives, the environment would take care of itself.  He said it was our duty to populate the earth with "white, middle-class, well-nurtured children to balance out all the minority children being born in the ghettos."  To me, these are not the words of an "imperfect" man; they are the rantings of a Nazi.  And Gregory Parker is pretty small potatoes; it terrifies me to think of what the men who really have power believe.  And yet, I am greeted constantly by the same programmed responses which come straight from the top:
  
      You shouldn't speak ill of the Lord's anointed.(What is this, a police state?  Yes, precisely.  They tell us what books not to read, not to see Jesus Christ Superstar  or The Last Temptation of Christ, or The Passion of the Christ, and what music not to listen to.)
  
      He must know what he's doing.  He's called of the Lord and can receive special inspiration.
  
      Maybe he's in that calling because there's something he needs to learn from it. (at whose expense?)
  
      There are good ministers and bad ministers.
  
      It was difficult for my nonmember friends, even my husband, to understand what I went through. They didn╒t understand the rage.  "If you don't believe it, just leave," they said.  But I felt as though I had been terribly, terribly betrayed by someone whom I loved, and thought loved me.  Someone who nurtured me as a child and comforted me and said, "Put all your faith in this; this is true."  And I believed in it, and put all my faith in it, and it wasn't true.  It made me feel scared and lonely.  The Mormon Church is like a big family.  Leaving it was terrifying; I mean, this is my soul's salvation I'm meddling with. But trying to stay with it while not believing was unbearable.
  
      Maybe it really is true. Maybe you just lack faith.  Maybe you are so sinful that the Spirit of God can't even reach you anymore.  Maybe Satan is just tempting you and you're submitting. Don't they say Satan tests the strong? Maybe this is your test and you're about to fail it.
  
      But maybe the test is really to see through all the bullshit.  And even if it is true, what if it has become so corrupt that it's not good?  Even if it is true, do I really want to associate with these kinds of people for eternity?
  
      But if it is true and if it is good and you're just being tempted, don't you want to know for sure?  How can you turn down truth?
    
      Sure, I do, but you can't ever know for sure.
  
      -Why don't you just ask God?  Doesn't He know the truth?
    
      Yeah, pray!  Okay, I'll pray, I have prayed, I'm praying. . .but wait! The Church has dictated to me what answers I'll get if I'll pray.  Even asking God has been tainted.  It isn't reliable.
  
      But do you really believe the Church leaders are capable of such a complete brainwashing?  Do you think they're that intelligent?
  
      How intelligent do you have to be?  If you know anything about human nature, and if people want to believe, you can do anything.  Sometimes I look at people I consider to be intelligent and ask myself, how can they really believe this?  Gregory Parker asked me once, "Do you think we're all just a bunch of Yahoos who believe this?"  But maybe a Ph.D. isn't a good indicator of intelligence.  And maybe all of these people don't really believe it- or maybe they've just invested too much into this not to believe it.
  
      So where can you turn if you can't turn to God?
    
      To myself. Ralph Waldo Emerson said:
  
      "It is easy in the world to follow the world's opinion.  It is easy in solitude to follow one's own.  But it is the great man who, in the midst of the crowd, keeps, with perfect sweetness, the independence of solitude."
  
      Right now I don't even have the independence of solitude, but maybe I can get it.
  
      But you're forgetting the truth.  Isn't the truth the most important thing?
    
      They've been programming me so long to believe that the Mormon Church is the true Church that I never stopped to question whether it is possible for there to be one truth that is the same for every living creature.  Lao Tse says to define something is to limit it.  Mormons define God everyday.  I think there can be a lot of forms and shapes and words for God.  And isn't prayer just a form of meditation and soul searching?  But I guess that's one more form of control; don't let them pause long enough to wonder about there even being a "truth." Just tell them what it is.
  
      When I ended that phone conversation with Kara that night, I curled up around Peter's back and cried and cried and cried while he slept.  I felt like I was mourning my childhood beliefs.  The Peter Pan syndrome.  I couldn't quite bring myself to break away completely; part of me was still clinging to the security and love for the Church I felt as a teenager.  The other part of me was lashing out at everyone who still sat and told me that it's true, everyone who had the audacity to instill in children from birth that the Mormon Church is everything.     
      I wanted God to come down and tell me personally what to do.  In trying to remove the Mormon thread from my life, I felt like I was being destroyed.  And to this day, eight years after I finally left the Church, and five years after I went through my first real crisis of faith, I must recreate my whole philosophy.
 

Baptisms for the Dead

Before I went to the temple in Washington D. C. with my family to be sealed for time and all eternity, I went to the temple with a youth trip. The LDS Church’s mission is to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ to everyone who has ever lived. Perhaps you know that if you want to do geneaology, the place to do it is in Salt Lake City. Well, there is a reason for this.
In order to spread the gospel, it is important first to identify every person who has ever lived. And this occurs through geneaology. For every relative a member of the church identifies, a name is submitted to the temple.
In the temple, work is done for the living and the dead. The LDS teach that work can be done by proxy for the dead. So, LDS people are commanded to go often to the temple. The only time you do work for living is the first time you go, and you do it for yourself.

Before any additional work can be done, a person has to be baptized. And because the adults are busy doing work for adults (there are sacred covenants called endowments that people make in the temple. Having never gone through the temple as an adult, I am not in a position to describe what happens at these times. These ceremonies are sacred to the LDS people, and there are plenty of other sources for the curious), the baptisms are usually left to the youth.
You have to be twelve years old before you can enter the temple to do baptisms for the dead.

Before this happens, though, you usually have a member of the stake presidency (organizational note: a congregation of 100 or fewer people is a branch. A congregation of 100-250 or so is a ward. Wards and branches in a geographical region make up stakes, and they have their own presidencies composed of a President, a first counselor, and a second counselor) comes and talks to the youth about masturbation and what a sin it is. So don’t do it. So, there you go.

I was so naïve, I wasn’t even embarrassed during this conversation, but I’m willing to bet I was the only one who wasn’t.
A few months later, when they are sure masturbation is under control, and when they can get people who will go and supervise the youth, drive the youth, and when they can get people’s parents to pay for the trip, a trip of youth is organized.

So, the youth need temple recommends.

First, you go and talk to your bishop or branch president. First you pray. Then, you sit across from each other, and he asks you the following questions: Do you believe Joseph Smith is a true prophet of God? Do you believe in the gospel? Do you believe the LDS church is the one, true church? Do you believe that the current president of the church is a prophet of God? Do you keep the Word of Wisdom? Do you pay 10% of your income as tithing? Are you chaste? Are you honest in your dealings with your fellow men? I think they even ask the youth whether or not we are obedient to our parents, but I can’t remember.

Then you have a closing prayer.

Then you have an identical meeting with the Stake President.

And whether or not you lie during this interview is purely up to you. I never did, but I certainly know people who did and didn’t feel a smack of remorse about it afterward. Nor have they been struck by lightning, that I am aware of.
After all the meetings, you receive a little recommend the size of a business card. They are quite nice now, laminated, with a picture of a temple on it. This recommend not only allows you into the temple, but it also marks you as a member in good standing. For example, if your car breaks down in a strange city and you need assistance, you can call the local bishop, and tell him you are a temple recommend holding member and he will help you. He may or may not help you if you aren’t—but it is more than likely that he will not be suspicious that you are trying to take advantage of him if you have the card.
Now, you have the trip arranged and the recommend, and so you are ready to go to the temple.

We went in a van, and I don’t remember where it came from, but it was larger than just somebody’s van. And there was a sixteen year old boy on the trip that I had a crush on. Jeff Strong. So, I was just in bliss.

There weren’t many of us on the trip—we were a small branch after all. We played cards on the bus and talked during the eight hours. When we got to Washington, D.C., we went out and had Chinese food, and I was nervous because I had never really had it before, and they kept teasing me about what might be in it. I’m sure I had also read a juvenile fiction book about it, too. But, of course, it was really good.

We went with a lovely young couple named Marcia and Walt Stewart, and their baby daughter Karen. After dinner, I think we walked around a bit, and then went to the hotel. I don’t really remember that at all.

The next day, we went to the temple. When we first walked into the temple, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. There were old people dressed all in white everywhere. The temples are very elegantly clothed: imported rugs, chandeliers, huge murals on the walls. And this is just the entrance way. If you ever have the chance to tour an LDS temple before it is officially dedicated for the members, do it. The story behind the Washington, D.C., temple is that it is suddenly just there after you turn around a bend, and it caused a lot of traffic accidents the first night it was lit up, in all of its majesty.

We were taken, in the temple, to dressing rooms, and given white baptismal garments and white undergarments. Everything has to be white.

Then, you go to the baptismal faunt, which is much grander than the one I was baptised in at the church. And it is surrounded by statues of oxen. I cannot remember the significance of this.

When it is your turn, you walk down steps into warm water, and there is a man waiting there to baptise you, by immersion. You cross your left arm across your front, and it holds your right elbow. Your right hand holds your nose. The baptiser has his left had on your left upper arm, and his right hand on your right arm, and he says, “___________, In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, I baptise you in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” Or something to that effect. And he is reading from some kind of prompter of names. And after he prays, he dunks you completely. And he does this 70 times for 70 names.

Then, you get out.

The people who have died are in the Spirit World, being taught about the same gospel of Jesus Christ that you are being taught about in church, by members of the church who have already died. And those people, who have their eternal souls, and their free agency, can accept or reject the baptismal work that is done for them. You hear stories sometimes of someone having a revelatory experience that someone has accepted the work that has been done for them. For a long time after my experience, I remembered one of the names, and wondered if that meant she had accepted her baptism.

I can’t recall the name anymore.

Generally, the LDS have to get permission from the dead’s family members before their names are submitted to the temple. Of course, this does not always happen perfectly.

All of the presidents of the United States have had their temple work done for them.

But a few years ago, the LDS started baptising in the name of people who had died in the holocaust. Of course, once it was made public, they stopped.

I don’t think I need to say anymore about this. Where would I start?