If you had asked me in high school who the classiest family in St. George was, I would have given one unequivocal answer: The Staples. Their son Derek was more of a leader than any other young person I knew and always treated others with kindness and respect. Their daughter Karly was a ray of sunshine. Her smile lit up the room, and her warm and engaging personality left me happier and better. Top that off with their TV show host mom Ann with the million-dollar smile and their musical dentist Dad and you had St. George royalty.
Fast forward ten years later and the family was still as exceptional as ever. I loved reading about Karly and Derek's families and their adventures on their blogs. I had developed a special feeling toward Derek's wife Mary after reading her blog through the years. She gave birth to a sweet stillborn baby girl and suffered through subsequent miscarriages during the same time that I was struggling with a miscarriage and 5 years of infertility.
Fast forward ten years later and the family was still as exceptional as ever. I loved reading about Karly and Derek's families and their adventures on their blogs. I had developed a special feeling toward Derek's wife Mary after reading her blog through the years. She gave birth to a sweet stillborn baby girl and suffered through subsequent miscarriages during the same time that I was struggling with a miscarriage and 5 years of infertility.
To my complete joy, Mary announced her pregnancy with a baby girl, whom they later named Marjorie after Mary's beautiful grandmother, Marjorie Pay Hinckley. A few months later, we were able to conceive through IVF. I remember seeing Mary's blog post that revealed her newly decorated nursery. They had a sign over her crib that read, "Marjorie: the girl of our dreams." I teared up with happiness for them and looked down at my own swelling belly with the excitement that we were both receiving our miracles. I remember bursting into tears in my hospital bed after I gave birth to my Emme when I read Mary's comment on the picture I posted announcing Emme's birth. She simply said, "My heart knows yours." I had so much gratitude for this happy ending for us both.
Marjorie was as beautiful of a baby as there could be, and I adored Mary's blog as she delighted over the everyday splendor of motherhood. I knew that she was probably enjoying being a mom with the same intensity that I was because we both knew how difficult these babies could be to get here in the first place. I looked to Mary as an example of all of the things I was trying to be: vibrant, outgoing, kind, patient, strong, and beautiful. And that little Marjorie was just special.
On a Saturday in early January Shaye and I were running
errands while our kids napped in the back seat. We were parked in
Ancestor Square and Shaye had ran into a store. I was scrolling through
my Instagram feed when I saw the familiar face of little Marjorie Staples. The picture was of her riding a carousel and the caption read, “Marjorie ride round and round my heart
forever.” So sweet, I thought. But
then I glanced at the comments below and was immediately confused. One
commenter stated, “Mary, there are no words.” My heart fell for a moment, and I
suddenly remembered seeing a post a few days ago that little Marjorie had been sick.
I went frantically into Mary’s profile and saw a picture that had been posted a
few hours before with the promise of funeral details coming soon. I was just
beside myself with grief and panic for this family. When Shaye came back to the car, he tried
to console me, and we both looked back at our
sleeping babies in the car and knew that this loss could have just as easily
been our own.
As the days went on, I realized that Marjorie's death felt more like the loss of a niece--someone much closer. I thought of her parents hourly, it
seemed like. I prayed for them every chance I could get. In some ways my reaction has made perfect sense to me. I am a mother. If another mother hurts for her child,
I can feel some measure of that grief because of the love I have for my own
kids. Mary has been so tender about her grieving over Instagram, and I have found myself sobbing when I read her posts. Through it all I have felt that in some way this was my grief to bear with them--not just sympathetically but empathetically, though I know my grief for them is only an inkling of what they're actually feeling.
Last summer, Marjorie’s grandma Ann approached me about
getting help on a special project. Her husband Larry was going to record some
songs that related to little Marjorie for the whole family. I was absolutely
sworn to secrecy about the project, and I provided my limited expertise on music
production. Months went by and I didn’t hear anything else about it, but then
one day I ran into Ann and she told me she wanted to run something else by me.
She and Larry invited me over to their home that night, and when
Ann pulled out a sheet of lyrics that she had written, I was blown away. She
had written these lyrics in a very short time during a songwriting lecture that
Sam Payne had conducted earlier that week. The imagery and metaphorical
significance of her lyrics astounded me. She had drawn on a talk about how the Savior died on a Friday and rose again on a Sunday, and that we will all have Fridays in our lives--days of loss and terrible grief--but that through Christ we will all rise again. The metaphor is meaningful on so many levels. Ann and Larry told me about several
songwriters they had pitched the song to in hopes that they could get someone
to write it and wondered if I knew of anyone else who might help. It was then
that I admitted my love for songwriting and my brief education in it at BYU, something they hadn’t been aware of.
I took the lyrics and promised to try to figure something out.
Because of the other more seasoned songwriters they were already working with,
I knew I would probably just be providing a springboard of ideas for them. I returned home late that night rather tired and with a
bunch of papers to grade, but I had the striking impression that I needed to
stay up and workshop Ann’s lyrics. I sat at my kitchen table and in a matter of
hours had taken Ann’s beautiful lyrics and adapted them into a rhyme scheme
and added some additional lyrics. This writing process was unlike anything I have ever experienced before. Sometimes it was like someone was sitting right beside
me, telling me how the song needed to go. I have never felt spirituality and
creativity intersect like this. It was absolutely humbling because I knew it had nothing to do with me; I was just bewildered.
After Shaye helped me refine the musical arrangement, I let Ann and Larry know that I
had something. When Ann came over to my house a few days later, she immediately told me that a professional
songwriter out of Vegas had just gotten back to them with a version of the
song. I was completely sure in that moment that she would want to use the other composition,
but I played her my version anyway. When I looked up at the end of the song,
Ann was bawling. She told me “this is it! This is what I want!” on the spot. I told her to think about it, but she was unmoved.
As we refined the music and lyrics, we kept in a lot of
contact. Ann shared many of her special experiences with me about her beautiful
grandbaby, and expressed that several of those choices I’d been so prompted to
make in co-writing it with her were absolutely inspired in her mind. It suddenly clicked to me. I was filled with the warm conviction that there was a reason for my profound grief in this family's behalf. I know that God loved this family so much and has cared about this Christmas wish so much, that he had prepared my heart long before to help them.
It was my privilege to spend several late nights with the Staples preparing the song for recording. They truly feel like family in a way after all of this. The song continued to evolve as Jeffrey Skousen produced the
record and Larry and the studio musicians interpreted the song in their own
way.
Here is the studio crew minus Larry. You can hear the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47g7lh1ySRo&feature=youtu.be. I adore the tenderness in Larry's voice singing to his son about his grandbaby.
Seeing the peace come over Ann and Larry has just made my heart full to be able to be part of it. This whole Christmas season I had butterflies thinking about them surprising their family with it.
Through this whole process, God’s love for this family left my heart burning and the windows of heaven opened to send me little flurries of inspiration. I felt the stirrings of uplifting, but unfamiliar, support from the other side as I composed the music. In fact, in one moment I happened to look up at a photograph of Gordon B. Hinckley, Mary’s grandfather, near my piano, and I felt the clearest impression that he was aware of what I was doing and was grateful. When I was preparing to record the piano track, I had the clearest visuals in my mind that helped me to play with emotion, something I typically struggle with, especially in the studio. I could imagine so clearly the terrible day they lost her and I could also imagine Marjorie in heaven, twirling to this song in an enlightened concern for her parents’ grief.
Here is the studio crew minus Larry. You can hear the song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47g7lh1ySRo&feature=youtu.be. I adore the tenderness in Larry's voice singing to his son about his grandbaby.
Seeing the peace come over Ann and Larry has just made my heart full to be able to be part of it. This whole Christmas season I had butterflies thinking about them surprising their family with it.
Through this whole process, God’s love for this family left my heart burning and the windows of heaven opened to send me little flurries of inspiration. I felt the stirrings of uplifting, but unfamiliar, support from the other side as I composed the music. In fact, in one moment I happened to look up at a photograph of Gordon B. Hinckley, Mary’s grandfather, near my piano, and I felt the clearest impression that he was aware of what I was doing and was grateful. When I was preparing to record the piano track, I had the clearest visuals in my mind that helped me to play with emotion, something I typically struggle with, especially in the studio. I could imagine so clearly the terrible day they lost her and I could also imagine Marjorie in heaven, twirling to this song in an enlightened concern for her parents’ grief.
There were moments that I felt very unequal to helping with this beautiful project, especially because I am not close friends with Derek and Mary. I was afraid my involvement would be an imposition. However, I would always circle back to this one truth. God loves us. All of
us. And we're all brothers and sisters. We all need each other, in whatever way we can help. If I can be an instrument for others to feel that love, I will do whatever
He inspires me to do—inadequate and unworthy as I may feel. Horrible things
happen to wonderful people. There’s no easy way to understand the loss of
perfect baby girl. But in all heartbreak that we face, God sends angels to
bear us up, if we let Him.
After I laid down the piano track, Ann gave me these
beautiful Alex and Ani bracelets. Each charm is symbolic—one of strength, one
of miracles, and the pink Boston logo stands for Marjorie. I have cherished
them. Just before Christmas they brought me this gorgeous art for our home that
so stunningly illustrates He who bore all grief and suffering for us: “Agony in
the Garden” by Frans Schwartz (1898). It will always remind me of the unthinkable sacrifice the Savior made
for all of us and its ability to comfort and heal us all.
I continue to think of Derek and Mary, especially this weekend, the year anniversary of little Marjorie's passing. There aren't words to express how precious their Marjorie is nor words that can console their deep sorrow, but I know through our Savior that this family and all of us will be all right in the end.
I continue to think of Derek and Mary, especially this weekend, the year anniversary of little Marjorie's passing. There aren't words to express how precious their Marjorie is nor words that can console their deep sorrow, but I know through our Savior that this family and all of us will be all right in the end.
