Oh my gosh. I almost forgot it was Flashback Friday! I missed last week's, so it's imperative I reopen the door into my past for those of you new enough not to know me that historically.
Two weeks after I graduated from BYU, my Grandpa Wms died. In the space of a week, his cancer progressed significantly and somewhat unexpectedly. Our family holds close to its heart some very tender stories from his last few hours on earth, but those miracles are too close to my heart to share with friends and lurking strangers. Deal?
So, many of you know that my family is rather unique. My dad and his brother married my mom and her sister. Two brothers + two sisters = 8 children with the same genes. So, there are seven(!) of us girls and one(!) boy who all share identical genes. We have the same grandparents on both sides (both maternal and paternal grandparents are the same). In essence, the eight of us are siblings--at least our genes say so. I look more like some of my cousins than I do my sisters. At some point, when I have the time, I'm going to devote an entire blog to explaining this and filling you in on where my six sisters and brother are and what they're doing with their life... but until then, this is the glossy overview. We don't share much visually, but our noses are all pretty similar--a hybrid of our moms' thin and dads' wide.
I'm glad we all got to be there together.
Strangely enough, my two sets of Grandparents (my mom's parents and my dad's parents) met waaaaaaaaaaay back in the day when my G&G Wood were newlyweds and served in a Branch Presidency in Oregon together. Our families were destined.
But back to the story. My Gma Wms asked if I would conduct the music for the funeral. I'm somewhat musically inclined, but not nearly as much as many of my other cousins and sisters. Having "spelled my name in the air" in Seminary for several years, I figured I at least knew the 4/4 count well enough to lead the songs.
WRONG. I am a terrible chorister. I also HATE feeling embarrassed (for myself or even for others) in public. We sang "I Believe in Christ" for the opening song, and never was a longer hymn created. Never was a beat harder to conduct. Never was I more mortified.
When all was said and done, my dad summed it up best with this comment, "At least your Grandpa Wms has a sense of humor."