We are huge BYU Football fans and have been for years. Although I wasn't able to attend my first game until I was 17 and a freshman at BYU, I have attended as many games as possible since then, including traveling to Charlottesville, VA, for the game in August 2013. We weren't able to attend the game earlier this season against UConn, but we made sure to plan this trip against Middle Tennessee State and only a major crisis was going to keep us from going.
As I mentioned before, Dr. H told us I needed to get up and walk every hour during the drive. It was roughly 600 miles each way to middle Tennessee, with a couple hundred miles even on the "local" days. We did well with regular stops on the way down, but the remaining 3 days were a little harder. I paid close attention to how I felt and how the baby was moving and we never went more than an hour and a half between stops.
The weather was unseasonably cold and windy, with a dusting of snow that fell Friday night. Prior to the snowfall, we'd made a quick detour to the nearest Target to purchase hats and gloves for us womenfolk and I'm so glad we did!
The game was a nice victory after a series of deflating losses but it was sad to lose what felt like the last of our star players for the season to a multi-part knee injury. Injuries have plagued our team this season, leaving us without half of the starters from the beginning of the year.
By the time we got to IHOP for some dinner and hot chocolate, the girls were too tired to eat much.
Our trip wasn't just about football. My grandfather and my father-in-law have a similar passion for family history and while my grandfather has, at times, paid a historian to find many of the names of our ancestors, my father-in-law has done all of the work himself.
For as long as I can remember, my husband has spoken fondly of his great-great-grandfather, who fought in the Civil War with his brother. They were from Jackson County, Tennessee and Watson Terry returned home after the war and married the girl next door.
Literally!
My husband and his father had visited middle Tennessee about 14 years ago but at the time, they did not know where Watson and his wife were buried. This time, they knew.
We woke Friday morning to a cold, misty day. It was Halloween, but somehow as we walked towards the small cemetery where they were laid to rest, it seemed sacred. I let our 4 year old take pictures of the headstones with my camera, knowing that someday those photos would mean something to her, although for that day it was just something she would enjoy doing to pass the time.
Watson and his wife are my daughters' 3rd great grandparents. On the property adjacent to the cemetery of the Terry's was the Allen plot, where Watson's in-laws were buried. It took a few minutes, but we found the marker for my daughters' 4th great grandfather.
There's something reverent about cemeteries, especially when you know that you are a direct descendent of those buried beneath your feet. And I thought about Dash, knowing that these were her ancestors, too.
I believe that the spirits of unborn babies mix their time between being in the body being formed for them and being in heaven with those who have already passed on and those who have yet to come to earth. The dream I had about our son and my mother last fall aligns with my belief, even though I have nothing else to really base my belief on. It just is.
In my Hypnobabies course, one of the exercises is to build a Special Place. As I built mine, I realized I had built a Celestial Room, like those in LDS Temples. The carpets are almost white and embossed with gothic arches, the walls are filled with mirrors, and there are 3 large crystal chandeliers in my special place. And each time I enter this room, I am wearing my temple robes and my mother, grandmother, and two of my great-grandmothers are there. Sometimes Dash is there, too, but she's all grown up and her features are indistinct. It's more of Dash's presence that I feel and see than in a physical form. But my mother and the other women who've impacted my life are there quite clearly.
Knowing my ancestors means so much to me. I feel very blessed to have known so many of my great grandparents. There is even a small memory of the drive home from my great-great-grandfather's funeral when I was 4 years old.
I hope my children can appreciate what it meant to be there on Friday, taking pictures next to the gravestones of their direct line ancestors.
