We have spent the last couple of weeks gathering cows and weaning calves. The non-stop work has been made more difficult, this year, by the excessive wind and dust, a relentless reminder of the drought we find ourselves in. Although tired, dirty and dreading the two and a half hour drive home, I had been able to keep my mind occupied on the tasks at hand. Suddenly my attention was drawn to the drama unfolding a few yards from where I was parked. Brad had just loaded about 25 head of freshly weaned calves and had stepped away to help some of our cowboys get on the road to their homes and families. A heavy cloud of dust was churning around the truck and trailer in front of me. Several mama cows were trying to get to their babies. The cows were frantically calling to their calves; the calves were anxiously calling back for their mamas. The scene wrenched at my heart; unwelcome memories came stampeding back. I was transported back to the day I had just dropped my mama off from the baby shower we had attended, celebrating the anticipated arrival of Dallin’s first-born child. I was headed back to North Ogden to work on some scenery when I answered my phone. The voices were disjointed, and full of emotion. There had been an accident. Dallin was being Life-Flighted to the hospital. “Get here as fast as you can!” I immediately turned around. I was over 346 miles from my injured son and could do nothing but curse the distance between us. I screamed. I cried. I shook the steering wheel, willing this to not be true. I bargained and pled with God to please spare my boy.

My thoughts were interrupted as the mama cows grew more distressed, their cries more desperate. I noticed blood on the forehead of one of the mamas as she kept scraping against the trailer trying to find an opening. Several times one or more of the cows stopped to look at me as if to say, “Help us. Can’t you see our babies are somewhere we can’t go?” My eyes filled with tears. I cried out in maternal solidarity. “I know exactly how you feel.” The scene intensified as Brad returned, hopped in the truck and pulled down the dirt road. The cows ran behind the trailer until they could no longer keep up. I wept as I followed them.

It has been almost five years since Dallin left this earth. In many ways it seems like it happened on a far away planet . . . in another lifetime . . . hazy and out of focus. Yet, in the snap of a finger, powerful, turbulent, aching emotions bring everything back, in painful clarity, as if it all happened yesterday. This journey has taught me there will always be expected and unexpected triggers that bring these raw emotions to the forefront. Grief is the price we sometimes pay for the gift of love. We who have lost children, no matter the cause, will feel, at times, like those mama cows, hopeless, helpless and even angry. We would do all in our power to have our children back with us, happy and whole, enjoying the future we once took for granted. But until we are reunited, AND WE WILL BE, the only solace we have is in the arms of the One who bore all pain and sorrow, the One who broke the chains of death, the One who notes even the fall of a tiny sparrow or the painful separation of a mama cow and her calf . . . the One who will tenderly wipe away our tears, as we bathe His feet in them. I look forward to that day with all of my heart.