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Show I didn't know how to stop the person. I f e l t h e l p l e s s and desperate, and the ringing phone became the line to my father's office, ringing .and ringing with no answer. Then it was busy then it went dead. The light of threatening consciousness pierced my heart like an arrow. I struggled against it. Then, suddenly, I was a little girl again, leaning over my father's shoulder as we drove out of Mexico, driving to Zion and the Promised Land - going home. "I love you, Daddy," I was saying. He turned to kiss me and smiled into my eyes. Although he didn't watch the road, I wasn't afraid. "Vaya Con Dios, my darling," he sang in his nasal tenor. "Vaya Con Dios, my love." And then, oniy then, with the pink-orange light of the setting Mexico sun, with the promise in my heart of returning home together, could I allow myself to awaken to the knowledge that he was gone. It began raining that day: The citizens of Salt Lake °ity rejoiced that the drought was over and called it the mercy of God. One of my father's brethren said that the heavens were .weeping for us. And indeed they wept, day after day until the wet blessing was translated to gloom. It rained as I drove across town to my mother's house, where I found myriads of flowers, plants, cakes , cookies, and jello salads - typical Mormon edification for mourners. The heavens wept as I answered Phone calls and doorbells and received the mail. Between thundershowers, my brothers played basketball in the driveway. I sat staring until thoughts crowded all feeling into a corner and threatened tears. Then I would go back to my • •-. .-... |