Reaching through the veil

   My Grandpa Freed lived in the small town of Ucon, Idaho. Its about 20 minutes north of Idaho Falls and has all the feels of small town, country, USA. His house was next to a horse pasture that he had once owned which was occupied by an occasional horse or two and a small, lean-to-style barn. I loved visiting grandpa. We spent much of our time together in the mountains hiking and hunting up Freed Canyon. We'd get up long before the sun, pack some hoagie sandwiches with fresh deli meat, grab a couple of guns and some ammo, and then ride off to the hills in his ol' suburban. We'd hike all day and glass for hours atop a ridge overlooking the canyon.


   If we weren't spending time in the mountains we were hanging out in the gun room. Grandpa had several safes filled to capacity with every gun a young cowboy could imagine. He'd pull them all out at my request and we'd wipe them down while he told me about each of them. He always taught me safe handling and respect of firearms and trusted me to act accordingly. On the wall above the gun table hung a 2-headed fox pelt. I always believed him when he said it was real. Took me years before I learned it was 2 pelts sewn together as a gag.



   The man I called grandpa was good and kind. He treated me well and taught me a lot. As a father, he was rough and borderline abusive, as my dad describes. I think much of that was just the ways of his generation. But as a grandfather, and with years of learning and growing of his own, he had become kind, loving and gentle. After many honest conversations and some tears shed, grandpa and my dad had developed quite a close bond in adulthood that made for a very special relationship. Their close bond paved the ground for a closeness between all 3 of us. I have numerous fond memories of time spent together.


   I recall a time around the age of 13 when Grandma and Grandpa Feed came to visit for the holidays. I had a paper route at the time and had to wake up early each morning. I'd sit on the burgundy, linoleum-tile floor in the kitchen and roll my papers together with the latest ads. I'd slide a rubber band around each  bundle and stuff them tightly into my paperboy delivery bag. By the time I was finished rolling, my hands were black with smeared ink. I'd hobble through the neighborhood delivering my 200 papers every single day. It was a good job, but the holidays were a different beast. I dreaded the holidays because the papers always had more ads. It often took me several trips back to the house to reload my bag because the papers were too big to fit all in one trip.

   On this particular holiday visit, I once again woke up early Christmas morning to do my route. I crept quietly through the house so as not to wake anyone. I grabbed the bundled stack of unrolled papers and ads from the doorstep and carried them quietly into the kitchen. I sat down and got started stuffing and rolling. Before I had rolled my first few papers, out comes grandpa from downstairs. He sat quietly on the floor across from me, and without saying a word, he started rolling newspapers with me. When we were done rolling and carefully packing my bag, grandpa helped me load everything into his car and drove me to every single house on my route. One of the best memories I have of any Christmas ever, is delivering the newspaper that early Christmas morning with my grandpa by my side.


   While I was serving a 2-year church mission, Grandpa and Grandma sold their house in Idaho and moved to a small home in Mantua, Utah. He was much closer to our family home in SLC, which made it easier to visit. After I got married and we had trouble having children, Grandpa Freed took an interest in our struggles. He'd ask me often how things were going in that arena and how I was handling the disappointment. We had a number of soft conversations about the struggles of life.


   When Grandpa died in August of 2013 I was honored to be asked to speak at his funeral. To prepare, I took the time to read the several books that he had written telling the stories of his own life. It was such a treat to be able to learn so much more about him and his relationship with his kids. He obviously loved them and was proud to be their father. I think that's partly why he was so interested in my own desire to be a father. He knew the blessings of being a parent.


   Around the same time that he passed away was also the time that Sheila and I decided to stop trying to have kids. We had given up and expressed that it would take an act from the heavens for us to have children at this point. It was only a few months after he passed away when we got the call from LDS family services that set our life onto a new path of parenthood.

   Brianna was born February 5, 2014. Paperwork was signed and we were finally allowed to take her home from the hospital on February 7th 2014. It was grandpa Freed's birthday.


   I remember when it hit me that her coming home day was the same as Grandpa's birthday. I had had a few experiences along the way that would randomly cause me to reflect on Grandpa, so the date was too perfect to be coincidence. It was symbolic in my mind, though I never said much of it to others.


   To be sealed in the temple to your adopted child, you must first wait the designated time period set by the state. The conclusion of the set time period indicates that the child is officially yours in the eyes of the law and the biological parents can no longer seek custody. In Utah, the wait is 6 months.


   When the day finally arrived, several close family and friends gathered together with us at the Bountiful, Utah temple. Brianna was all dressed in white and we couldn't wait to be sealed as a family forever. It was August of 2014, 6 days after the 1-year anniversary of when Grandpa had been laid to rest.


   Inside the temple, we were greeted warmly by a kind older gentlemen who would be sealing us. Sheila's mom took Brianna to be brought into us later. The sealer took Sheila and I aside into a private room to explain the process. We talked for a short time and then walked down the hall as he led us toward a sealing room where our family was waiting.


   He walked with the cute gingerly caution of a seasoned citizen. His slow pace allowed us to take in a deep breath and enjoy the peace within the temple. Everything inside the temple is perfectly cleaned. The carpets are soft and free of lint or crumbs. The paintings on the walls capture tender feelings of the spirit. The furniture is timeless and built with fine craftsmanship. There's nothing distracting or concerning to numb the sacred feelings felt within.


   As we progressed down the hall my mind was lifted with tender thoughts. The sealer, wrapped in his clean, white suit, casually turned and asked, "Is there something you want to say that you're feeling?" I looked at him with casual disregard and shrugged him off, "No, I'm good". So he smiled and kept walking.


   A few steps farther down the hall he stopped again to say; "Are you sure there isn't anything you're    not sharing?" Again, I deflected his prompting and muttered, "Nope, not really." Again, he smiled and kept walking us down the hall.


   Just before we were about to enter the Sealing room, again he stopped to turn and look at me. He paused for a moment, our eyes locked, and with a deep penetrating  stare he said; "Last time I'll ask, but are you sure there isn't anyone you're thinking about that perhaps you want to acknowledge?"


   I finally gave in to his promptings. "Well yes actually, I suppose there is. I've been thinking about my grandpa Freed. I can't help but feel like he's here with us today and that he helped make all of this possible. He helped bring Brianna to our family."


   The sealer smiled sweetly with lips closed softly, then said softly; "Yes. Exactly. He IS here." He turned back around and ushered us into the room where our family was waiting excitedly.


   My heart was filled with joy to be surrounded by loved ones as we were sealed for time and all eternity to our perfect little girl. It was a special experience and a sweet spirit that accompanied us in the temple that day.


   When the sealing had concluded, we all gathered outside on the temple grounds to take family pictures. As everyone was busily moving about and wrapped in hugs, my father pulled me aside. He asked, "Did you feel that?"


   I looked at him with focused thought and said, "What do you mean?"


   "Did you feel Grandpa's presence? He was in there." He said with simple certainty.


   I acknowledged that I had felt him too as I smiled with moist eyes. My dad then took the ring off his left ring finger. He said, "This was grandpa's ring and he wants you to have it. I want you to have it too." My dad handed me the wedding ring that my grandfather wore for all 51 years of his happy marriage to my grandmother. He had purchased the ring back in 1956 from a shop at Hill Air Force Base. It was given to my father when grandpa passed away. And now it was mine.



   I cherish that gift and wear it on my ring finger in place of my own wedding ring. It serves as a constant reminder that families can be together forever. It reminds me that our loved ones on the other side are still here with us and continue to watch over us. It reminds me that life and death are connected and are all part of one eternal round. It brings me comfort to think of the eternal connection between loved ones past, present, and future. I believe that so much of who I am today is because of that great man that taught me so much growing up. I believe strongly that he still lives and that he took an active part in bringing Brianna to our family. I believe all of us have loved ones who are actively watching over us. And if you pay close attention, you just might see their hand reaching through the veil as they help you along your way.