Forget Me Not

A note from the editor:

Experiences, things, people, faith, and absences define us. Those of us who have made religion a large part of our lives can hardly fathom where we would be without it. For me, faith is how I make sense of the world.

Mormon feminist Cecilia Konchar Farr wrote regarding her upbringing that "Mormonism was then and continues to be my conduit into the universe, my access to personal spirituality, to healing faith, and to empowering theology. It pushes the limits of my intellect, reminding me that there are many ways to construct and perceived truth, many, many of them beyond my power of understanding."

I know that not everyone raised in or converted to the LDS faith stays such, and I recognize the choice to leave is not an easy one, though neither is staying. Regardless of whether one is a "practicing Mormon" or not, I believe that experiences with our faith never completely leave us. That whatever faith we had at one point is never completely gone. That even when seemingly absent, our faith is still a part of us.

Let us keep broadening our idea of who is part of our community and who is our neighbor. Let us love others wherever they are and wherever we are.

story 8 of many.

Do you ever forget? Will you ever stop thinking about it while waiting in line at the grocery store, while walking to your car after work, while packing your lunch-box in the morning? How many years until you stop thinking of it every day?

My mom died about 16 years ago. I’m  23. And so I’ve lived the vast majority of my life without her. Only 7 years. She was my mom for a mere 7 years. After so much time I wonder, when will I stop thinking of myself as a girl with a dead mom?

There are some who would perhaps not call me Mormon. I’m writing this at a coffee shop, I’m drinking espresso, I haven’t been to church in at least two years. A perfect Friday night for me is buying a bottle of wine to share with my husband while we watch TV.

But will I ever forget?

Three years ago my third year of college had just begun, and I knew I no longer had the beliefs I used to have. I walked around campus one Friday in the fall; I had spent months hoping to find a place for my beliefs in the church. It was on this particular Friday, I came home to an empty apartment after school and work. Lying on my bed, watching the sun go down out my window, I cried for three hours. I knew it wasn’t for me. Not anymore. I had to follow the path that felt most true, and the Church was not on that path anymore for me. If I learned one thing in church, it was to have the faith to stand with truth, even if no one else stands with you.

It was a loss that shook my whole body. As I cried that night, I felt my insides rattling around, my head pounding. I was sweating through all my clothes. Snot was smeared all over my face and pillow. I wanted my Father in Heaven, to whom I had prayed every night of my life, to send some kind of message. “Change your mind!” I hoped He would say. “It’s not too late!” I wanted a heavenly messenger to appear in my room and beg me to stay.

But no one appeared. It is my belief that any higher power that was aware of me in that moment, was aware of how much strength it took to make a decision like that all alone. They would be proud of me for getting through that lonely night.

That night is not going to leave my memory any time soon. And I’m not going to forget the sound of each hymn that has sang me to sleep when I had no other way to calm down. I’m not going to forget the primary lessons that taught me to ask when I lack wisdom. I’ll always ask questions.

I won’t forget the people who remembered me--who showed up with food, flowers, comforting words when needed--because they had included me in their idea of community. It is a divine thing to include someone in your community.

I won’t forget the example of Christ healing the world because of love. Dying for us, crying for us, saving us by caring about us.

It was my Mormon experience that gave much of what I am--the good and the bad. So when will I no longer be a part of Mormonism? When I no longer have the parts of me that were formed in its belly.

I ask myself, when will I stop thinking of myself as a girl with a dead mother? When I no longer have the parts of myself that were formed in her belly.