imwithjonas's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For Hatti For HattiBack in my church-going days, I had an amazing Sunday school teacher. Hatti truly loved us all, and did everything she could to teach us how to be good people. It wasn't always easy for her. There were some exceptionally snotty girls in our class. She liked me because I was generally pretty quiet and respectful. She could actually believe I was getting something out of what she was teaching. She was very proud of the standards the church held for the youth. She expected each of us to live up to our heavenly father's expectations, and she firmly believed we would be rewarded when we did. I fell into inactivity in the church shortly after she learned she had cancer. Actually, I think she'd had cancer before, so I suppose she had just come out of remission. Those last few weeks that I remember her being there were pretty bad. She would get so frustrated with the inattentive brats in the group that she'd cry. I felt awful for her. I loved that woman. She was absolutely amazing. Hatti taught me everything I know about consideration, patience, and acceptance. One week another of the teachers I liked called. She said that Hatti wasn't doing very well and that if I'd like to come see her that weekend I'd be more than welcome. I blew it off. I was going to my dad's, or something along those lines, and figured I'd get to it later. She died that week. I hadn't seen her in a good six months. I let that beautiful woman die without ever knowing just what she'd done for me. She wanted everyone to sing "I'll Fly Away" at her funeral. She had wanted it to sound soulful, bouncy, black gospel-like. The stupid girl that directed it dragged it down to an appropriate Mormon tempo. I wish I had cried for that, but I didn't. I never cried at the funeral. I didn't cry for nearly a year. The following summer was my last year in Young Women's Camp. These camps always included a highly emotional testimony meeting. The previous year, I had publicly thanked the camp for collecting donations to get Hatti flowers. But the camp after her death was when I cried. I stood up in front of something like 300 girls and told them everything I hadn't had a chance to tell Hatti. I told them how amazing she was, and that she was the only reason I cared about the church. I sobbed into a microphone in front of those 300 girls and gave them everything I had in an attempt to make them understand how remarkably lucky they were to have met Hatti. I tried to make them understand that I would eternally be a better person for having known her. I hope I got across to a few of them. Hatti always said, “Remember who you are and what you stand for.” I like to think that Hatti would be proud of me now. She would perhaps be sad that I left the church she loved, but she would appreciate my reasons. She would understand why I’d given up on God and taken up with gays and tried to abandon my family. She would laugh with me, and we could talk about the fifth Harry Potter book. She never got to read that one. She would have loved it. I will never be ashamed of who I am. I will always do my best to stand for the things I believe. I will never look down on anyone else for doing the same. I will be forever in Hatti’s debt. Whatever she’s moved on to, I hope she’s happy. Life can be beautiful and amazing whenever you want, even when you least expect it. Remember who you are and what you stand for. 11:51 p.m. - April 17, 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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