Proceed to the Route

This summer while driving to a speaking engagement in Morgan, Utah, we ran into some road construction. The detour caused us to have to ride on the other side of a widely divided highway. My phone began to panic—Siri kept yelling, “Proceed to the route! Proceed to the route!!!” as loud as I have ever heard her speak. She knew something was wrong— the route I had asked her to guide me to, was not the one I seemed to be following. To my phone, I was traveling on the wrong side of a one-way highway.

It almost scared me how persistent my GPS was that I was headed down the wrong course. It caused me to reflect upon my actions and ponder all the turns I had taken. At one point I even stopped and asked a stranger outside of a gas station if I was on the right course. It turned out I was still very far away from my destination, but had been on the right path to get there. 

I don’t know how many times in my life I have felt like I have taken a wrong turn. There have been many occasions when I have had to slow down and reflect upon the course I have taken to lead me to where I was. I have questioned some of my turns, as they have brought me to some pretty rocky roads.

But other times, no matter who has told me I was on a wrong path—I knew I was right where I was supposed to be. Life is strange, each one of ours is so very unique.

With this time of year, as one year turns into the next, I have paused to reflect on where I have been . . . but even more on where I am headed—and where I want to end up.

Exactly a year ago tomorrow I was having one of the biggest internal battles of my life. I had spent Friday night in the temple and had received the strongest prompting to start blogging about my journey. I wrestled with that feeling all weekend long. I didn't say a word to anyone about it. I was cross and snappy; I was scared and felt so alone. I was in a depression just thinking about opening up and sharing the deepest pains of my heart, and could not talk the rational side of my brain into believing this would be a good path for me.

By Monday night Shawn called me out, “Ash . . . is everything ok? You have been like somewhere else all weekend long, and I . . . just . . . how can I help you with whatever you are dealing with? Ever since we were in the temple and you were crying so hard, I  . . . you seem like something is wrong.”

I didn’t want to say a word about the powerful feeling I had received. I didn’t want to put him through anymore of me “dealing with the past”. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to scare him off, or have this be another thing that made him feel like we could never just be a family. And even more, for the first time in our marriage, he had been the one to ask me to go to the temple for him. I thought I was going that day to help him with a struggle he was having, not to get inspiration on anything I was supposed to do. I felt very selfish. I didn't dare tell him about the decision I was wrestling with.  I dodged around the truth.

By the end of our (fake on my end) conversation he offered to give me a blessing. The blessing was powerful. The words he spoke pierced my soul. One of the very phrases that had come to my mind in the temple, was spoken by my husband into the air, “I need you to be a voice to others of my children who aren’t listening. They are hurting too.”

When the blessing was over Shawn flipped me around and hugged me. He looked into my eyes and grabbed my shoulders and said, “Ash . . . do you know what all of that meant? Please tell me you know what you are supposed to do? I have never in my life heard or given a blessing like that.” I reluctantly answered as I sobbed out loud, “Yes . . . but I don’t want to do it . . . and I don’t know how I am going to. I know exactly what I am supposed to do, but I can’t . . . I can’t. It is going to hurt more than anything I have ever done. It isn’t fair. I have been through enough humiliation . . . why me? Why?”

He grabbed my hand and said the exact words I needed to hear, “Ash . . . Whatever it is . . . if I were you, I would stop fighting . . . and just have faith—and do it! I will support you . . . heck we have been through so much. You know I am not going anywhere. Whatever is going on—I know more than I have ever known anything . . . you have to do it.”

The next day this blog was born.

When I went to push publish on the first post I paused for a few minutes. I remember praying so hard with bullheaded tears falling down my cheeks, “Heavenly Father . . . I don’t know why I am supposed to do this, I don’t understand how this is going to help anyone but me and the kids . . . but I have faith that the one person who needs this will find it. I pray that it can make a difference for them. I don’t really want to do this, I am scared to share so much humiliation and heartache . . . but I do this for THEE. I dedicate this blog to my children who will one day need to hear the stories it will hold . . . but only because Thou has asked me to. I have been carried by angels, I have seen Thy hand in my life every single day . . . I have faith that You are putting me on the right course. Please let anyone in pain, who reads these stories, find hope . . . in Thee.”  Chills covered my body. I felt so much love surround me. I knew what I had to do. I clicked publish.

If you would have told me, even weeks before that very minute, this journey would have been mine—I would have shrugged my shoulders and laughed. There has been little about this journaling mission that has been fun for me—but it has brought me so much joy. I have so powerfully felt, for the first time since Emmett died, that I am on the right course.

Yes there have been others who have tried to tell me I am doing this for a purpose different than I am—there have been many with cruel opinions about who they think I am . . . and that is ok. If there is one thing I have learned it is this: when God believes in you—or asks you to be more than you are on your own—you grab His hand and follow. You don’t wait around to see who thinks it is a good idea, or ask for the support of anyone but Him. You merely have faith that the right GPS is the one telling you to get back on the right path.

Sometimes God is whispering, “Proceed to the route.” (Sometimes He has to shout it quite loud . . . especially for me!). And sometimes He is merely sticking you on a trail He needs you to be.

Faith—as scary as it is—is what brings us to find our missions.

This blog has not just been an amazing outlet of the pain and anger from my heart—as I thought it would be when I started last January. It has saved me from myself. It has helped me remember all the truths I have known all along. It has given me an opportunity to remember the good times I had before the murder, and to look forward to the ones that lay ahead. It has been a time for me to reflect upon my relationship with God and the foundation He has been in every single day of my life.

It is strange to look back on certain days, that I once felt were as black as night, and remember all the tender mercies that have been a light to help me find my way through them. In the moment, tender mercies seem to be mere coincidences. Sometimes for me, it isn’t until I look back upon them that I truly see Heavenly Father’s hand.

So this New Year doesn’t just mark the change of one year to the next. It marks, for me, a milestone of the blessing this opportunity has been for me. Thank you, anyone who has cheered me along. (Though the first time I got a comment from a stranger I almost shut the whole thing down)—the kind words and tender stories have been a huge support to help me remember why this was the path I was supposed to take.

For all those years I felt so alone—I cannot feel so now. There is a whole world of quiet pain—each one unique. Maybe your answer will not be to share publicly how it has felt for you—but please know you are not alone. Heavenly Father is always on your side. Our older brother Jesus Christ has shared with Him every pain you feel, and every fight you have battled.

So as you reflect upon your story of the years gone by—look for the times when He was there for you. As you look to the future, pray that the course you are walking is for Him. Maybe others will tell you to “proceed to the route”, but the only trail worth traveling is the one being paved by God.

I hope 2015 is the best this world has seen. I pray there will be more love and we will be able to better serve one another. I hope we will think a little more before we speak, and we may love before we hate. I wish for peace, healing, and hope for all. 

But even more than all of this—I pray for each of us to feel of God’s love. When things are going your way, and even when you are flat on your face . . . pray to be able to see yourself how He sees you—and you will feel joy.

If you have lost your way, now is your time to “proceed to the route”. This life isn’t over until it is over. If you are standing at a crossroads, and have forgotten what trail you were trying to follow—seek the right guidance to help you proceed back to the route where you will be able to protect, and be protected.

Not all crossroads are a battle of right and wrong, but each path we follow will lead us to the next. Protect the dreams you are already living, but don’t doubt yourself when you are asked to proceed to the next trail. Each of us will have a unique route to conquer, but only you can know which trails were meant to be followed.

I feel as insignificant as I did a year ago as I pour my heart out with memories of the past, but many things have changed: I am starting to remember who I always have been, I am embracing my story, I am seeking truth, and I am finding hope every day. I still battle the temptation to doubt that I am enough. I still fight the dark fears that try to creep in and destroy everything I know to be true. Life is still hard, and I struggle in some form or another every day. But one thing is for sure— for every time I fall—I am still finding reasons to stand.




For the one year anniversary of Emmett's death Bostyn and Bailey wrote a song they called Memory Song. I was going to write about that one year anniversary tonight but felt I needed to write about this one instead. Someday I will write about this day, but for now here is Memory Song (Bostyn and Bailey)

Looking back:

First blog post Jan 2014

Deseret News article about starting the blog

Fox News article about the blog being born

ENOUGH

Tiffanie had gone home for the weekend, and I had just gotten the kids down for a nap. It was just me and a quiet house and I was almost excited to have nothing to think about. I couldn’t wait to just relax and not move. I sat down to turn on the TV and turn off my brain. However, just as I found a show to watch, my phone rang. The caller ID showed it was an unknown caller.

     

I was disappointed to interrupt my quiet moment and I was always reluctant to answer calls from anonymous callers because my new reality meant answering random calls from all types of people, including crazies. However, I was also anxious to hear about any progress in the legal case. Everything inside of me was waiting for the trial to be over to be able to move on with my life . . . and any progress brought it closer to its finale.

   

I accepted the call, and sure enough, it was the principle detective on the case calling from the police department. “Ashlee,” he said, “I have some good news. We’ve been waiting and waiting for the results of Emmett’s blood work to come back, and they’ve finally come in. His blood was clean, Ashlee. There wasn’t a sign of anything in his blood but those supplements you told us he was taking. There was none of the stuff the Defense has been trying to suggest he was on. Nothing. His blood was totally clean!”

   

I stared at the floor as he spoke. My mind raced back to that final night and the way Emmett had treated me. “Yeah . . . that . . . that’s good . . . I just thought . . . he . . . yes. No DRUGS. That’s a good thing . . . right? Yeah.  Thanks for letting me know. I’ve also been waiting to hear about the results, and it means a lot that you called to tell me yourself. … It’s hard when everyone else learns about things at the same time as I do, and it’s nice to hear something from you guys . . . before the whole town reads it in the paper and sees it on the news. So thank you. Really, I appreciate your call.”

   

The detective let me know he would call back when any other test results came in to ease my mind about hearing the information from the police first before it was made public,

I hung up the phone. Good news? Right? This was good news . . . wasn’t it? Then why were my eyes burning and my heart pounding? Why was I on the verge of a meltdown?

  

All of the emotions I’d been bottling up about the possibility of drugs being involved came seeping out of every pour of my body. I let out a sigh filled with fear and pain . . . and then took a deep breath. I held it in for a few seconds as it whirled around inside of my lungs. Panic overtook my body.

   

I had to be certain I’d understood the detective correctly. I had to be sure! I grabbed the phone from where it had fallen to the floor and called him back. He answered, “Hey Ashlee . . .did you have another question about the results?”

I burst into tears. “Hey . . . no . . . so . . . what am I supposed to do now? … I . . . I . . . I just kind of hoped . . . that there might have been something . . . anything . . . that they found. Are you absolutely certain he hadn’t been smoking pot . . . or that he hadn’t taken some prescription pills or something. Isn’t there anything? How can there be NOTHING? It just doesn’t make any sense . . . there has to be something! Because why was he yelling at me . . . and why was he acting so distant? …Why was he gone all the time? … Why was he spending time with her? …Why didn’t he want me? It had to be some type of drug . . . or something that was making him act that way. Why was he being so mean to me, and why wasn’t I enough for him? …I need you to tell me that you found something . . . so that it wasn’t me he was rejecting. If he wasn’t taking drugs or doing something else that was altering his thinking . . . then that just leaves HIM. I have nothing to blame for the reason he didn’t want me. This isn’t good news for me . . . like I thought it would be. If there was no sign of drugs . . . it means . . . it means he didn’t want me! I can’t breath . . . I can’t breath . . . I . . . I . . . I just . . . I just hoped . . . a part of me just needed to know that there were drugs in his system, so they could be the reason he wasn’t coming home. … They could be what I’m mad about . . . and they could be what I blame when I look into the mirror tonight . . . all alone . . . and wonder WHY I wasn’t enough.”

   

“Ashlee,” he replied. “I am so sorry.  I . . . I . . . was just trying to help give you what I thought would be some good news for a change. ... I thought . . . I thought this might help you.”

And that was the moment I hated Emmett. I hated everything he was, and everything he’d been in the past. I hated the fact that there weren’t any drugs in his system . . . and that any excuses about why I hadn’t been good enough for Emmett were now gone. There was no longer anything else to blame. I hated the fact that Emmett left me, and I hated that he died. I hated that he refused to see me when I was standing right there, waiting for him. I hated that every time I looked into the mirror I just saw nothing, not because I was nothing, but because he had treated me like I was nothing. I hated hearing his name. I hated the fact that there was a town nearby named E M M E T T, spelled just like his name to the letter. I hated that he chose to share the intimate part of our marriage with another woman. I hated the fact that that other woman had held my baby, and that he had let her! He slept with her . . . not because he was high on drugs . . . but because he wanted to! He did this to me . . . and I hated him for it.

The bitterness swelled inside of me like a sea of ice cold blood. While my babies slept soundly in their rooms, hatred filled my heart. I looked up at our mantel to the giant family portrait that graced the room. I didn’t want to see his damn face. I ran over to the photo and tore it off its perch. It had no place in this room. I had no desire to stare at it any longer. I didn’t want to feel him near me. I didn’t want to hear his voice.

   

I no longer craved his presence at my side, but just in case he was there, I screamed at him to let him know how much I was hurting inside . . . and how much I hated him!

“Emmett . . . I know you can hear me . . . and I need you to listen to me right now. I didn’t deserve any of this. YOU did this to me . . . and I hate you more than anything I have ever hated before. I hate your face, I hate that I gave you my heart . . . and that you ripped it right out of my chest. I hate that I saved myself for you, and that you spit at my feet. I hate that everything I see in this picture means NOTHING to you. You did not deserve us . . . and I hate you for making me believe that I should have shared it with you. I TRUSTED YOU! This family deserved the world, EMMETT . . . and our children deserved to see us live up to all the covenants and promises we made. ... They deserved to know that we believed in them! We created them together, Emmett, to give them a wonderful life . . . and you chose THIS . . . and I hate you for it! YOU did this to us . . . you brought us down . . . and we deserve to fly. WE didn’t push you away! … We were there waiting for you. YOU chose her . . . her? Why weren’t we worth it? …Why . . . why . . . why wasn’t I . . . WHY WASN’T I ENOUGH?”

After that day, I never wore my wedding ring again. As broken as I had felt before, I was now at the lowest point possible. Before that day, in the back of my mind, I truly believed Emmett must have been taking drugs and that I could blame drugs for the changes in him. It wasn’t really that he didn’t want me . . . it was that the drugs had clouded his thinking. But, that call from the detective changed everything. I could no longer blame drugs for Emmett’s behavior, and that hurt more than I could have ever imagined.

   

In addition to never again wearing my wedding ring, I never put that family picture back up on the mantel again. The pain and anger mounting in my heart took on a whole new aspect that day. The feeling of not being enough seemed to be growing deep inside my soul. My hair began to fall out; my skin was a mess. I spent most mornings trying to push the nausea aside long enough to force myself to eat. Hatred was my constant companion, and fear was its best friend.

I remember the first time I really felt hate in my heart. I had been invited to a good friend’s birthday party. She was turning eight years old. I was so excited to go and was counting down the days until the big event. One day at lunch time, on my way to recess, I stopped in the girls’ bathroom and was taking my time in the stall when I heard two girls walk in. It was my friend talking about her upcoming birthday party with another girl. All of the sudden, she said in a snotty little voice, “Well . . . I wish I didn’t have to, but my mom made me invite stupid Ashlee . . . so that is the only bad part . . . but we can still have fun.”

   

Never in my life had I struggled with friends, and I didn’t know what to say or do. I sat quietly, slowly pulling up my feet so that they wouldn’t notice me inside the stall. I stayed in that bathroom the entire recess . . . wishing I could get that feeling of hate out of my heart. I didn’t even cry . . . but just sat there angry that my friend was not really my friend after all. We had made so many great memories together, and I was shocked and hurt that that was how she talked about me when I wasn’t there. It didn’t make any sense to my little third-grade mind. Why didn’t she like me? What had I done to make her not want to be with me? Why wasn’t I enough for her?

  

Since Emmett’s death, I have spent hundreds of hours asking myself those kinds of futile questions . . . questions that cannot be answered. Why wasn’t I enough for Rob? … Wasn’t the fact that I existed . . . another spouse suffering from the pain of infidelity . . . enough for him to know how badly those two bullets would impact me? Bullets. … Why didn’t the fact that he also had children help Rob to understand that he should have used words in their place? At the trial, I would later learn that Rob had reminded Emmett of his five children at home . . . just minutes before he aimed at Emmett’s heart. Why didn’t Rob tell that gun that it had better stay hidden . . . because Emmett was a father of babies . . . babies who still wanted and needed him, in spite of the poor choices he was making? Why weren’t we enough for Rob to just stay home and wait . . . as we were doing.

Why wasn’t I enough for Kandi? She knew I existed. She saw the picture Emmett once proudly displayed of us. She shook my hand and looked me in the eyes. Why wasn’t that picture enough for her to know that Emmett had a great life . . . one that had no place for her? Couldn’t we have been enough for her to just stick to her job description and then go home to her own family?

These three individuals—the creators of the crossroads that destroyed my world—proved to me that I was not enough. Not one of them thought about me as they took that next step along their chosen paths. I was not worth any of their time or consideration.

To all of you who have ever felt like you were not enough for someone else, I want to share what I have come to learn in the last three years. It isn’t about you. It is about the selfishness of others.

     

Emmett didn’t cheat on me because I wasn’t enough for him. … He cheated on me because he gave in to selfish impulses. However, until I found that out for myself . . . I hated him because I believed it was his fault that I couldn’t find myself again. Kandi didn’t have an affair with my husband because she wanted to punish or hurt me. No, she only had one person in mind, and that was herself. Rob didn’t stop to think about me when he reached into his pocket for that gun . . . because he was only thinking about himself and his own anger.

   

Until about four months ago, I walked around with hate permanently implanted in my heart. I dreamed about it, I cried about it, I ran from things because of it, and I couldn’t let myself be fully happy . . . with it in my heart.

Hate will destroy you. Its power is greater than almost anything that has ever brought me down before. Hate will make you want to turn everyone else’s worlds upside down . . . merely to make their views match your own. Hate will take hold of your heart . . . and it will try to ruin you.

My hate was a REACTION to the selfishness around me, and not an ACTION that I intentionally chose.

We must learn that there will be explosions in our faces. In one way or another, there will not be anyone who lives in this world who will not suffer from one of life’s nasty blasts. What I wish I had known before having to walk down the aisles of the school of hard knocks, is that I could have chosen to stand. But I know it now. I can stand. I can stand against hate. I can leave no place for it in my heart. I can stand against the actions of others. I do not have to react to anyone else’s choices, or words. I can stand in the truths that I know. I can stand even when others’ selfishness tries to pull me down.

   

Sometimes—because of the selfishness of others—the answer that is the most difficult to find is to the question: AM I ENOUGH? The damage others may cause us leaves a pain that is hard to console. At times, we are left not only with the fear that we are alone . . . but with the belief that we were not worth fighting for . . . that we were not enough.

     

However, the truth that can prove us wrong in our thinking is always close by. There is a message of hope that we can all seek, and it will teach us what is real:

I am enough, for myself . . . and I am enough for God.

  

Everything else, well . . . frankly doesn’t really matter. Husbands may cheat; wives may leave. Bosses may fire employees; children may mock. Strangers may steal; neighbors may offend. Spouses may die, and tragedies may come . . . but even after the dust settles . . . you are still you. No person or event can take that away from you or determine who you will become.

     

The selfishness of others may make you feel as if you are being thrown into a pack of wolves . . . and you may feel like you are all alone with just a stick with which to fight them off. But . . . YOU ARE NOT ALONE. The wolves may snap at you. They may even take a bite out of your heart . . . without a second thought as to how it might affect you. They may slink away, leaving you to die alone, or they may howl out to the world that you weren’t enough for them. You may be left with nothing but your insecurities and despair . . . and even after the blood dries and the wounds close . . . their voices might still echo in your heart. They may even howl each night at the moon . . . and you may wonder if it is your nothingness that they continue to shriek about. Their powerful wails may be heard for years to come . . . but their lies do not have to define who you view yourself to be.

   

I have two words for you about all the wolves in the world who have tried or continue to try to bring you down: who cares? It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Even if you are standing alone . . . at least you are not falling into the darkness with them.

   

Their cries may be overpowering . . . but you do not have to listen. You may feel the darkness as their howling seeks you out . . . but you can move back into the light. You will be presented with many reasons to doubt yourself and Satan will keep sending the wolves . . . over and over to convince you of the worthlessness of your soul . . . but you can remember who you really are. The wolves may claw at your door every hour of every day . . . but you can FIGHT.

     

Satan does not own you, and he hates you for that, but he will continue to send selfishness and hate to consume you. He will send packs of wolves to try to rip you to shreds. FIGHT.

And don’t stop fighting.

  

You are enough. I was enough then . . . and I am enough now. I have to tell myself that every single day. I am not alone, and I am worth dying for. Emmett may not have died fighting for me, but Jesus Christ did.

Every time I want to just give up, and every moment I focus on the fact that Emmett was shot fighting for her . . . darkness envelopes me. All the months I let those thoughts fester and focused on my pain . . . I was literally eaten alive and consumed by hatred. Once I realized that my pain wasn’t worth living with, and that my hatred was not allowing me to breath . . . I felt free. The only way I was going to live through it . . . was by letting it go.

     

I fight the darkness now when it surrounds me. I try hard not to let it find a corner inside my heart for even a second. When I feel it come, I immediately get down on my knees and pray for Christ’s light. I have felt Him send Angels to take my pain back to Him. He promised He would carry me when I could not stand alone . . . and He has. He died for me because I was enough, and He wants me to live for Him . . . because He is all I need. He is enough for me.

      

He wants each of us to know that we are worth dying for. He wants us to know that He loves us. He wants us to fight to be on His side. His way does not always come easily . . . especially when we have made a home for hatred in our hearts. When the “good news” of the world brings you to your knees in pain . . . Christ is the only one who can help you let go of the hate in your heart. The world will tell you that His way is not enough. It will promise you a life full of passion and excitement and lead you to believe that you deserve better than the simple life you are living. The world will try to convince you that it isn’t enough. The world is wrong.

You are the perfect creation of a perfect Heavenly Father. He sent His Son to die for you . . . because you are enough for Him.

Something is Wrong

The detectives investigating Emmett’s murder had put items from his office they no longer needed into a giant plastic box. I put the box in my garage, afraid to throw anything away . . . I just knew that something in that box had to be evidence. Sometimes I would go out there in the middle of the night looking for clues . . . looking for something they had missed. I would rummage through all the paperwork, reading every bank statement, every chicken scratch on every sticky note. When I found receipts for purchases at the mall or restaurant bills, I created stories in my mind about what might have happened on that particular day. To me, everything had to be a clue, a clue to what? That was the only problem. Something was wrong, I couldn’t wait around for the trial for answers. I had to dig deeper for myself. I spent hours out there pretending that it was my job to find answers for the detectives . . . to do their job for them. I guess realistically, I knew I wouldn’t find what they needed, but I still searched for something . . . that I needed. Maybe by chance, I would find the missing family portrait. Maybe I would find a hidden letter he had written to me telling me how much he loved me. I hoped to find correspondence between the two of them . . .  maybe Emmett telling her he wanted out because he already had a wife whom he loved. I don’t really know for sure what I was searching for—because I never did find it—but I sure knew how to waste a lot of time trying.

One of those weak moments came in the middle of the day . . . an urge that something was wrong pushing me to go and search through the box for clues. The little ones were napping. It must have been a Saturday because everyone was home. I took the three older kids out into the garage and told them they could play, but that I had some ‘work’ to do. As I searched my box, they began to wander out of the garage over to where some neighbor kids were playing. I was actually proud of them for leaving my side, and I enjoyed searching for my ‘prize’—all alone—in that box full of emptiness. This time, I was convinced I would find the missing piece to the case.

Soon, I found a file with some bank statements I hadn’t seen before. I began to scan through the dates and places where our credit cards had been used, trying to picture where I had been on the days in question. I turned the page over to skim through the other side. February 14^th . . . Valentine’s Day. Victoria’s Secret. A hotel. A fancy restaurant. My heart dropped. We hadn’t spent any time together that day. No, on that Valentine’s Day—just a few months earlier—I had been at home with the kids . . . waiting for my husband. I remember having wondered that day why Emmett’s work was more important to him than me. Valentine’s Day was not that big of a deal to me . . . but oh how I had hoped to see him walk in the door with some flowers and kisses to let me know that he loved me. He hadn’t . . . and at the time, I had soothed my loneliness by helping the twins make elaborate Valentine’s boxes for their cards. We had spent the holiday without him, but apparently, all those things he should have done for his wife, he had spent the time doing . . . for her. My blood was boiling. How could he have done that to me . . . when I was at home taking care of our babies, with Tytus less than a month old? I read through the purchases he made that day—over and over. Each time I glanced back at the date, my heart thumped out of my chest, as if that day were happening all over again, right then.

All of the sudden, I heard Bostyn screaming. It sounded like she had been hurt. I dropped the file back into the box and ran towards the sound of the cries, but she came running to me first. She grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the garage. “Something is wrong,” she cried. “Why are guns real? Why, Mom? Why is this world so bad? … Why do we have to do this? I hate that we have to live here. Why are guns real . . . why does this world not care about anyone? Nobody cares . . . why are guns even real! SOMETHING IS WRONG!”

She had no idea about what I had just read in her father’s files and how badly, at that same moment, I hated the world as well. I stumbled for the words to say to her. “Bostyn, I . . . don’t . . . what happened?” She threw her hands over her face and started screaming. “Those kids out there are playing with guns and one of them shot the other one. Why did Heavenly Father make guns at all? Why can’t everyone just go away? They don’t understand that guns will ruin them. They think this is fun. I wish we could just never do this . . . I never want to play ever again . . . something is wrong.”

I wasn’t sure how to comfort my daughter. Nothing was really wrong, it was just a couple of kids playing with some toys. I looked out to the street where innocent children were laughing and chasing each other. I glanced over at my box . . . it was just a box full of garbage and some law books. If I told her that “nothing was wrong” it would be hypocritical. After all, just look at me, with my box full of crap . . . pretending I was finding answers to what was wrong . . . in that moment. No matter what I found in that box, nothing was going to change for me. No matter how many times I poured through the information in that box . . . I was still going to be right where I was. Nothing NEW was wrong. But it felt like it. Just like my little girl sitting there blaming her tears on the events of that day, I too was taking the horrible events of the past and transforming them into brand new horrible events in the present.

A few days before Emmett died, I sat in a counselor’s office for the first time, pouring out my heart to him . . . begging him to fix me. “I just have trust issues,” I told him. “I just need you to fix me. I just need to believe in things and not question them. I am here so you can fix all the issues from my past . . . and help me stop feeling so scared all the time. So if you can just let me know what I need to do to fix myself, I will do anything. I have a husband whom I love more than anything! He insists that everything is great. WE are great . . .  and so if you can just tell me how to trust . . . I will do whatever you think I need to do. This is how I can save my family . . . I have to let go of my trust issues from the past!” The counselor sat and mostly listened to me that day. He listened to all the fears I had been bottling up inside myself. I told him of the loneliness I had been feeling. I felt as if I had been pushed away by my husband. I told him I was worried that Emmett didn’t love me or the children anymore, and that something felt wrong. He sat there, quietly. I could tell he was listening with his heart. Finally, at the end of my begging him to fix my trust issues he said, “Ashlee . . . you know those feelings that come from way deep down . . . those times when you feel like something is very wrong . . . ” I cut him off. “Yeah, those . . . those are the feelings I need you to FIX,” I said. “Ashlee,” he continued, “those . . . those feelings are there for a reason. Maybe you were hurt in your past, maybe you are afraid to be hurt now . . . but those deep feelings inside of you . . . are there to keep you safe. In marriage, and in any relationship, you have to work through those feelings together. It is the job if each partner in a marriage to really take a step back and look at how to support each other through those fears . . . as irrational as they may seem! Every single person on this earth has insecurities and fears. Sometimes they are because of our past, but other times, they are there for an immediate reason. So each person in a relationship has the role of helping the other person find safety, through trust, love and respect. The things you are telling me today . . . I really believe you are right. It sounds to me like those feelings are there for a reason.”

That answer gave me hope that I wasn’t totally crazy, but it also left me stirring in my fear. If those feelings were there for a reason . . . then maybe something really was wrong, and how could I find answers to that? I had begged for help—from him and from others—but no one seemed to know how to quiet my fears.

A few weeks before Emmett was killed, my friend Emily stopped by to spend the day with me. It was one of those days when sheer panic had stopped me in my tracks. She finally asked me what was wrong, and it was as if she had turned on a faucet! I told her about all that was going on. I opened up to her—for the very first time— about how frightened I was that I was losing my husband. I told her about all the clues that led me to believe that something was seriously wrong. She said, “Well, let’s go follow him. Let’s go find out what’s going on.” At the time, a part of me had thought about doing that very thing . . . like removing a band aid . . . just rip out the truth and find out for myself, and quit waiting around for him to tell me. I knew that following him might lead to answers that could be very hard to accept. It was like my heart longed for some reassurance that I wasn’t crazy, but my mind knew that ‘curing my crazies’ might mean facing some very harsh realities. Maybe Emily and I should have followed him, and found out right then what was going on, but I was afraid to see it . . . I was afraid to feel it. I was afraid that if I did find out what was really wrong, our blaming it all on my ‘trust issues’ wouldn’t hold us together any longer. So I just sat there and did nothing . . . allowing the “something is wrong feeling” to just fester inside of me.

I remember the first time in my life when I got that “something is wrong” feeling. I was in third grade and my best friend lived just a few blocks away. We had permission that day to walk over to her house. As we approached her doorstep, I could hear crazy screaming and yelling inside. My friend looked so scared. She whipped her head around to me and said, “Hey . . . uh . . . my mom has probably been drinking. Wait here, and I’ll be right back.”

I waited outside, but I could hear everything. Her mother was screaming at everyone, and then I could tell she had started beating my friend. I could hear her begging her mother to stop . . . but she didn’t. She hit her a lot. I was nauseous as I listened . . . but I did nothing. I just sat down near the side of their house, literally scared out of my mind, crying my eyes out. Something was wrong . . . and there was nothing that I, a little seven-year-old girl, could do about it. Until then, I had not realized that the world could be mean. My only experiences up to that point in my life had been all about pretty things and kind words. That was the day I learned about fear. I learned that day that there will be moments when everything inside of you tells you “something is wrong!”

Later that same year, I was walking home from school with a friend. As we turned a corner, a little, white car pulled up along side of us. There were two older men in the car. The man in the passenger seat said, “Hey we need some help . . . we need you to get in our car and come help us find where our friend lives.” He grabbed onto my arm. Something was wrong! I could feel it. Everything inside of me told me to run. I screamed, “Run . . . RUN!” I ripped my hand out of his grip and my friend and I took off and ran around another corner. We hid behind a huge bush before the men had time to catch up to us. We stayed behind that bush for some time . . . silently breathing in deep breaths, watching the car drive past us, over and over again. That little, white car must have passed that bush about six times before the scary feeling finally left and I knew it was safe to head home. Later, as the police sat in my driveway and asked us questions about the car and men . . . I felt frozen in fear. I learned more bad things about the world—that it didn’t care, and that there were real-life bad guys!

Trust issues. Pain from the past. Fear. We all have them. We all need them to some degree . . . to keep us safe in situations when the spirit tells us to run. But then at other times, we all need our insecurities to be calmed and to go away so that we can continue on and live through our past pain. It is our job, in any relationship, to be loving, and to be respectful of the fears others might have. If someone you know and love comes to you with a concern, or tells you that something feels wrong . . . listen.

I had seen things go wrong in the world, I had felt the urgency to “get out” in an emergency. But with Emmett, I sat there for months silently suffering . . . not knowing how to let those subtle urges move me to action, blaming my fears from the past from allowing me to move forward. It wasn’t because my parents got divorced the summer after I had learned—outside my friend’s front door—that there was darkness in the world. It wasn’t because I had dated a bunch of jerks when I was younger. It was because my marriage was broken . . . and I didn’t even know it, until it was gone. And then, I had to find the answers to my insecurities all by myself. My husband wasn’t there to stroke my back and tell me that everything would be all right. He wasn’t there to hold my hand as I learned to trust again. Emmett was dead . . . and somewhere inside of me . . . I was still searching for answers . . . searching for clues, searching for signs in my garage. I was pretending that finding the answers now, would somehow make everything better.

I believe there is a gift given to each of us to help us discern right from wrong. It is the Gift of the Holy Ghost. Just as there is a force in this world that tries to bring us to darkness, there is also a power of light, and I have felt the power of the Holy Ghost lead me to that light. The Holy Ghost has been for me what a Disney movie describes as our ‘conscience.’ The Holy Ghost works as our constant guide: those silent whisperings in our hearts when something is not quite right. There are moments that stop us in our tracks, when something much greater than ourselves is trying to reach us. I believe these gentle urges come from the Holy Ghost.

When my twins were babies, I remember a day when I had just tucked them into their beds for a nap. I shut their door and began walking down the stairs. Halfway down the stairs, I got an overwhelming impression to go back up and check on them. At first I thought, “No . . . they are fine. I was just in there.” But something kept telling me to turn around and go back in their room to make sure they were okay. I opened the door and heard the weirdest sound coming from Bostyn’s crib. Somehow, she had rolled over and her blanket had wrapped around her head. She was gasping for air, but the blanket over her face was hindering her attempts to breathe. I quickly unwrapped her, and she took a giant breath.

I know I was prompted that day on those stairs. I hardly ever went back to check on the twins during their naps . . . because the door would squeak and wake them up. A power much greater than my own instincts had told me that something was wrong . . . and it was . . . and I did something about it.

Sometimes we are quietly searching alone in the darkness of our garages . . . for answers to our problems, trying to grasp onto anything to help our lives make sense. Wasting hours on nothing. I was so afraid not to know everything Emmett had done . . . but I was even more afraid of the answers I was searching for all by myself. On those days, I didn’t ask for professional help . . . and I certainly didn’t seek guidance from the Lord. Absorbed by complete self-pity . . . I did it all alone.

You don’t have to search alone. Ask for the Holy Ghost to be your companion as you search for what is wrong. He will guide you. And in those moments when you need to stop searching and just look within yourself . . . He will comfort you. He will send you the still, small voice to lead you to what is important. He knows you are searching alone . . . but if you search for Christ, instead, His voice will guide you to the light that only He can bring. Don’t spend your hours searching for clues in the dark. Use His love to light your path. Use His peace to still your soul. Allow His spirit to guide you in your search when you feel that something is wrong. And when you are confused about whether you are suffering because of past hurts, or whether there is something happening right now, His spirit will enlighten you . . . and give you peace.

Bostyn had those fears for a reason . . . but the reason wasn’t in that moment. It was from something that had happened in her past. I was looking for clues about past hurts in a box . . . not because it would change anything for me, but because my fears of the past still motivated me to seek peace. It hadn’t helped to have others tell me I was crazy, but if I had been able to find the love I was searching for, it would have changed me. If Emmett had been there for me in my moments of fear . . . a lot of things would have been different. Bostyn didn’t need me to tell her that she was crazy. It was my job as her mother to comfort her and help calm her fears. She didn’t need to hear how over-dramatic she was being. She needed to find peace in a moment when everything inside of her was telling her that “something was wrong”.

We all have insecurities. We all have fears that drive us to question . . . ourselves . . . our doubts . . . even the truth. It is easy in life to get mixed up about what is an unfounded doubt and what is a truth. Let the Holy Ghost guide you . . . and help you determine if those fears are there because something really is wrong, or because something was wrong in the past, and you haven’t been able to let it go.

What people in your life are begging for your patience and love as they work through their insecurities? How many times have you just told them to stop being so paranoid . . . to blindly trust? Maybe it isn’t a lack of trust in you, maybe those insecurities are there because they are failing to see how to let go of their past. How have they felt when you squelched their fear instead of acknowledging it through your trust and love? We have a responsibility to be there for those around us who are afraid. Yes, maybe their fears are not because of anything we did or didn’t do . . . maybe their feelings that something is wrong come from their lives before we knew them, or a part of their past of which we were not a part, but it doesn’t change the fact that the fears driving them . . . feel so real.

Before he died, Emmett had spent months telling me I was just hallucinating . . . that I was crazy. I remember a few times I would run out to his car as he was driving away for work. He would roll down his window to say goodbye. With tears in my eyes I would ask “Is everything okay . . . I feel scared, what is happening? … I need your help.” He would get frustrated with me and tell me to stop being so paranoid. As he would drive away, I would just stand there feeling completely empty inside. The fear in my heart felt more than just my past pains creeping in . . . something felt very wrong.

In my case, something had been wrong. … I wasn’t crazy! I remember when the detectives shut the front door that night after telling me about Emmett’s death, as I sat there with my sister Ali and her boyfriend, Will, my first reaction was to hit the couch and scream, “I told you I wasn’t crazy!” Screaming and punching . . . relieved that I wasn’t crazy . . . punching my hand into the cushion, letting that cushion know I had been right! I punched the couch for all the times I had opened up and no one could help me. I punched it for all the clues that had been leading me to the answers I had been seeking, but mainly, I abused that cushion for all the important people to whom I had pled for help who told me that I just needed to “get over it . . . because this is real life!” Something had been wrong, but nobody, not even me, had known what to do about it. I was humiliated that I found out the truth on the same night everyone else did. Yes, I was scared because Emmett was gone. … I was devastated that he had been murdered . . . and furious that he had been unfaithful to me . . . but my very first emotion was a sense of relief that I finally had an answer to my impression that “something was wrong!”

I will never understand how shock works. In my case, it was as if it shut off my ability to choose which emotions came over me. The first emotion that came for me—as crazy as it sounds—was relief . . . relief that all my feelings that something was wrong . . . were real. I wasn’t crazy. That feeling of relief . . . it scared the hell out of me. I felt like a horrible person. Out of all the emotions I should have been feeling in that moment . . . I was relieved that those impressions that had been churning inside me and eating me alive . . . had been there for a reason. My heart had been right. I wasn’t feeling those things because I was broken from my past. The counselor had been correct . . . but unfortunately, now it was too late. My sense of relief was brief . . . but when it hit, it felt so good to know my instincts had been right. It wasn’t just because I had trust issues . . . it was because the Holy Ghost had been whispering to me and impressing upon my mind that something was wrong.

Understand that your spouse needs to feel that he or she is the most important person to you. Cherish that relationship. If you have any other  relationships—a co worker, an old high school friend, another parent in your kid’s class—that make your spouse feel uncomfortable, no matter how irrational it may seem to you, PLEASE put your spouse first, the person who matters most in your life. Don’t fight over relationships that aren’t worth fighting for. Comfort the fears of those people who truly matter in your life. Eventually, after they see that they come first no matter what, their fears will be calmed . . . but work together until they do. It is not your job to bring others happiness. That is a choice they have to make for themselves . . . but sometimes their fears . . . might actually protect you from unbearable heartache . . . if you will just listen. Emmett thought I was just being insecure when I shared with him the feelings I had the minute I heard Kandi’s name. But my fears were right. Em and I were a team . . . but in that moment . . . he ignored my fears, and placed his desires above our partnership . . . and eventually, our team was shattered.

There will be moments when a feeling will come into your mind . . . telling you that something isn’t right. Yes, sometimes it is something we need to let go of from the past . . . but when it is deep down . . . insisting that something is really wrong . . . don’t let it go. It may be there for a reason. It may be there trying to lead you. It may be there for you to open up a lie that is hiding. Don’t wait until all you have left are the clues in a dark garage in a box full of dead ends. Whatever that moment is for you . . . ask for love as you find answers. Seek for guidance until you find peace. Don’t wait until it is too late, and as in my case, have the answers come to you at the same moment they are told to the rest of the world. Follow the still small voice. It is a voice of warning. It is a voice of comfort. It is a voice of guidance in all the roads you travel. And its power can be a voice of truth to you in the moments when something is wrong.