“Who can probe a mother’s love? Who can comprehend in its entirety the lofty role of a mother? With perfect trust in God, she walks, her hand in his, into the valley of the shadow of death that you and I might come forth unto life.”

“The Name of Mother”

“The noblest thoughts my soul can claim.
The holiest words my tongue can frame,
Unworthy are to frame the name
More sacred than all other.
An infant when her love first came,
A man, I find it just the same:
Reverently I breathe her name—
The blessed name of mother.”

(Poem by George Griffith Fetter)

In this spirit, let us consider mother. Four mothers come to mind: first, mother forgotten; second, mother remembered; third, mother blessed; and finally, mother loved.” (Behold Thy Mother, Thomas S. Monson, October 1973)

Thank you so much for joining me today on this special Mother’s Day edition of the Let’s Get Edified blog. Today, I want to focus on the Mother Remembered and the Mother Blessed. So grab a snack and make yourself comfortable--and let’s get edified!

Mother Remembered

Recently, I've been thinking about all the ways that my mom demonstrated and taught me about God's love. She was not a spiritual person, yet she believed in God. She never uttered an oral prayer, yet she prayed constantly for her children. Her house adorned no photos of Christ or religious symbols, yet she had unwavering faith in God's plan and in God's timing. The unconditional love she consistently demonstrated for me gave me hope in the possibility that maybe even God could love me unconditionally too. It wasn't until I became a mother myself that I began to understand the depth and power of my mother's love for me. Please join me for the next few minutes as I pay tribute to my mom and the inspirational story of divine design that made us a forever family.

I hope you will enjoy this journey back in time as I honor my sweet mother by sharing her story with you.

Meet My Mom

Bobbye Jayne Westbrook was born on June 30th, 1924. She grew up in a modest home in Caddo County, Oklahoma, and was the fourth of six children born to Andrew and Grace Westbrook. Early census reports identify her as “Roberta,” but she went by “Bobbye.” She loved wooded streams, tree squirrels, and riding calves--bareback.

Around the age of 15, my mom and dad saw each other for the first time. They were walking in opposite directions along a bridge over the Washita River. My dad watched my mom walk past, then turned to his friends and said, “I’m going to marry that girl.” They officially met a couple of weeks later at a party hosted by a mutual friend.

Mom and Dad shortly after they were married

My parents eloped in 1940; Mom was 16, Dad was 20. Mom lied about her age in order for them to obtain their marriage license. Nice one, Mom :-) Three years later, they received the joyful news that they were expecting their first baby. Shortly before the baby’s due date, Mom’s wedding band broke, which my mom took as a sign of bad luck. Two weeks later she gave birth to a stillborn baby girl.

Doctors could give no explanation for the baby's death. Everything had seemed normal right up until birth. The tragic outcome baffled the medical experts of that time.

My mom and dad named their deceased daughter, Cheryl Gay.

I can only imagine the heartache that my parents experienced after losing their baby girl. On the rare occasion that Mom spoke of her, she would say that the baby looked perfect, as though nothing was wrong with her. They buried Cheryl in the Fort Cobb Cemetery in Oklahoma. Instead of celebrating their joy, they mourned the loss of their firstborn child. The gifts she received at her baby shower--receiving blankets, knitted sweaters, booties, infant sleep sets, etc., served as a reminder of her loss and what was not meant to be.

Lightning strikes twice

About a year later, Mom learned she was expecting again. Incredulously, a couple of weeks prior to her due date Mom’s wedding band broke again. This panicked my mom, but logic told her that it couldn't be a sign that something was wrong with her baby. God wouldn't do that to her again, right?

Then, on September 16th, 1945, my sweet mom gave birth to another full-term, stillborn baby girl.

Losing their second baby stunned my mom and dad, leaving them brokenhearted and profoundly devastated. As before, there was no reasonable explanation, and again, the doctors shook their heads in baffled confusion.

Mom and Dad named their second baby girl, Nikki Pamela, and buried her next to her older sister in the Fort Cobb Cemetery.

A few months later, Dad bought Mom a new wedding band.

A memory imprinted in my mind forever

My first memory about Cheryl and Nikki is imprinted in my mind forever. I was five years old, and our family drove back to Fort Cobb to spend Thanksgiving with my dad’s side of the family. While we were there, we visited the cemetery. I listened as Mom explained to Morgan that he had two older sisters. I remember feeling jealous because Morgan had two sisters and I didn’t. Later, Mom explained that she didn't tell me about the girls because she thought I was still too young to understand. She assured me that Cheryl and Nikki were my sisters as well.

When we arrived at the cemetery, Dad stayed in the car with Morgan, me, and my little brother, Wes. I remember my mom crying because the grounds caretaker had mowed over the plastic flower bouquets she had left on her babies’ graves with the lawnmower.

I watched my mom crawling on her hands and knees picking up tiny fragments of flowers, attempting to form them into makeshift bouquets. Seeing my mom so desperate and so sad deeply pained my little girl heart.

I didn’t understand loss at that young age, but I somehow perceived her pain and the ache in her heart. It left a lasting impression on me that remains to this day.

About 18 years ago, Ron and I drove through Fort Cobb, OK. I had one hope in mind—to put flowers on Cheryl and Nikki’s graves. We made a point to drop by the local florist and purchased a large bouquet of silk red roses (Mom’s favorite), and we laid them on the babies’ graves.

Knowing my parents were not religious, I often wondered how they coped with the devastating loss of both their babies. Without fail, they would reply that they knew in their hearts that God wouldn’t take her babies from them unless he had a special plan for them. Their trust in God's plan gave them the courage to carry on during those discouraging and dark days.

Ministering Angels?

One morning, during a morning walk, a vision came into my mind. I pictured my mom and dad in their indescribable grief mourning the death of their first two babies. In particular, I pictured my mom lying in her hospital bed overcome by such profound feelings of loss. In my mind's eye, I picture myself and my four children in our premortal state kneeling around her, crying with her, and whispering words of encouragement and hope. I imagine us telling her to hold on, to not lose faith. Undoubtedly, we reassured her that she would have the family she longed for someday. We were there; I am certain of it.

Who else would God send to comfort my mom and dad in their grief but those who would become her future family? Perhaps, even my two brothers and their families surrounded that hospital bed as well.

It was important for me to share this backstory about my Mom and Dad and the loss of their two baby girls so that you would more fully appreciate the rest of their story. It wasn't until nearly 20 years after they got married that my parents' dream of having a family would finally come true.

Divine Design

In the early 1950s, Mom and Dad loaded up their belongings and moved to California. Most of Mom’s family had previously made the move and settled in Southern California. Mom and Dad wanted to settle in an area further north, so after living in San Bernardino for a while, they began the drive up Highway 101. They never made it past Santa Barbara. The historical Refugio Fire of 1955 caused all roads in the area to close.

Frustrated, and finding no alternative route north, Mom and Dad returned to San Bernardino. Soon afterward, my father answered a “Help Wanted” ad and applied for a job with Caltrans (California Department of Transportation). Mom decided to try her luck and applied at the Security Pacific National Bank in San Bernardino. At first, personnel told her they had no positions, but a wise VP told them to call her back ASAP, and he offered her a job as head bookkeeper. A few months later, abandoning their original plan to move north, Mom and Dad purchased a home in Rialto.

When I think of that tragic Refugio Fire that destroyed nearly 80,000 acres near Santa Barbara, I can’t help but feel grateful. I know that sounds terrible! But I can't help it.

If not for that fire . . . I would not be who I am today. And I mean that quite literally!

Divine Timing -- A Family of Their Own

After 15 years of being unable to conceive a child of their own, Mom and Dad made the decision to adopt. In the spring of 1960, Mom and Dad received word that they could pick up their newborn baby boy. Mom was upstairs at the bank when one of the ladies in the bookkeeping department informed her that she had a phone call from the adoption agency.

Wearing 4-inch spike-heeled pumps, Mom ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She turned down a promotion as assistant vice president because she knew once she had a child, she wanted to be home. And that’s what she did.

About a year and a half later, Mom received another phone call. This time, letting her know that a baby girl (that would be yours truly), had been put up for adoption. The adoption agency told my parents that they could come to see the baby before deciding if they wanted her. They told the social worker that they didn’t want to come and see the baby; they wanted to bring her home. And that’s what they did.

For Mom and Dad, life couldn’t be more perfect. Their dream of having a family of their own was finally complete. At least, that’s what they thought. After nearly so many years of failed attempts to conceive a child, Mom gave birth via Cesarean to a healthy baby boy. And so, 18 years after burying their second daughter, Mom and Dad had three children within three years. And they couldn’t be happier.

Except for the fear that existed in the back of my mother’s mind. Fear that someone would come and take away one of her adopted children. This fear intensified when “open” adoption became popular. Ours was a closed adoption. That’s how my parents wanted it. And it was the assurance the adoption agency gave them.

An Unexpected Intrusion

Mom told me on any number of occasions that when she would put us down for naps, she would sit in the living room to guard the front and back doors. She couldn’t close her bedroom door at night because she wanted to hear if anyone tried to sneak in during the night to steal one of her babies.

Although Mom knew her fears were irrational, for her they were very real. I imagine those fears had roots in knowing firsthand what it felt like to lose a child. Twice.

That likely accounts for why I felt so angry when my birth mother found me in 1993.

When I was 32 years old, I received a certified letter with an unfamiliar return address. I opened the letter and two photos fell into my lap. I cannot explain my initial reaction other than to say that it was like I was staring into the face of three ghosts.

All my life, I looked through family photo albums never expecting to look like anyone. But suddenly, I was looking into the faces of three women, all of who bore a resemblance to me. I would later learn that one of these ladies was my birth mother, the other two were my biological aunts.

My hands began to shake, my breathing became shallow and my surroundings spun in circles around me. I passed the letter to my husband and asked him to read it to me.

Up to this point in my life, I had often wondered about the woman who gave birth to me. I fantasized about finding her someday and letting her know that she did the right thing. That I was a happy child. I fantasized that my birth mother was a young girl who got pregnant and had no way to care for a baby. Sometimes I would even worry about her, thinking that she must have suffered immense guilt, fretting over whether she had made the right decision.

In my case, fantasy far surpassed reality. My birth mother wasn't a young and helpless teenager with nowhere to turn for help. She was a woman in her mid-twenties when she had me. Oh, and I was not the first baby my biological mother gave up for adoption. Somewhere in the world, I have a half-sister two years older than me.

When my birth mother contacted me, I experienced simultaneous emotions of anger, resentment, and gratitude. I felt grateful that she gave me up for adoption because wonderful parents raised me. At the same time, I felt anger and resentment toward her for not wanting me enough to keep me. For not fighting for me.

This woman held me in her arms, and then she gave me away. But another reason I felt angry was that I knew my mom (adopted mom) was hurting. This was her worst fear come to pass. I felt an overwhelming need to protect her and to reassure her that she was my real mother.

Although my plan was to someday search for my birth mother, I wasn't prepared for it to happen the other way around. I wasn't ready for the unexpected intrusion, and I admit that this added to the resentment I experienced. I tried so hard to be gracious and grateful, but I was not in a healthy place mentally or emotionally.

A Six-Week Void

For the majority of my life, I struggled with rejection anxiety, and fear of abandonment, and I never understood why. It made no sense. My upbringing was filled with people who loved and cared for me and who would never abandon me. So why the anxiety and fear of rejection?

After learning about my birth mother and her backstory, I began to understand the root of these fears. Eventually, I contacted a professional therapist and sought help in reconciling my conflicting emotions.

Compounding these early perceptions was the fact that there was a six-week “hole” in my life between my birth and my adoption. What happened during those early weeks of my life will likely forever remain a mystery. I developed a comfort “stim” of sucking my tongue and rubbing my fingers, hands, legs, and/or feet together in repetitive and near-constant movements.

Through research and study, I've learned that these types of “stims” are ways of self-soothing. The constant movement comes from the need for human touch and is deeply seeded in the need for babies to feel connected to their new environment by experiencing skin-to-skin contact. Given what science has taught us over the past several decades, the likelihood that these “stims” originated during my early weeks of life seems reasonable. Back in the 60s, when I was born, babies were not swaddled the way they are today, and the "experts" of the day did not advocate for holding babies. They asserted that holding infants too much would spoil them.

How fortunate we are to know better now, right?

Here is a sweetly beautiful thought that my daughter shared with me after reading my initial post. She said that she likes to think that she was with me during those six weeks. That she stayed by my side to provide comfort and companionship. The vision brings my heart joy, and as soon as she said it the visual implanted in my brain. That is a pretty powerful image for me to hold on to, and it makes me feel so loved.

A Forever Family

Now my mom lives in Heaven, joined by her sweetheart. If not for the power of my parent's love, I honestly do not know how I would have survived and overcome the conflicting emotions I experienced knowing I was adopted. Surprisingly, the conflict had nothing to do with feeling like I wasn't my parent's "real" daughter. No. My mom and dad could not have possibly loved me more if I shared their DNA.

The emotional struggle I experienced was knowing that I had been rejected. Had I not been raised by my sweet parents, I never would have been able to move past the stigma of being an unwanted child. No two parents could have loved me more or wanted me more. How very grateful I am for the divine design that brought us together.

On December 26, 2017, my daughter, Raechel, and her husband, Devon, knelt across the altar of the temple as proxies for my mom and dad. My Christmas gift to my parents that year was to make their 72-year marriage an eternal one.

Moments later, I knelt at the same altar and became Mom and Dad's "real" daughter for all eternity. I cannot express in words what that moment meant to me and the joy I experienced in knowing that I truly belonged to them forever. At that moment, decades of doubts and insecurities vanished and were replaced by confidence and peace.

The reality of divine design

It is abundantly clear that the divine design that brought our family together did not begin with that Refugio Fire that caused my parents to drive back to San Bernardino. It began years prior. Had my two older sisters lived, my parents would never have adopted my brother and me. Our family would not exist! That is a mind-boggling thought.

We are not here by accident, and our lives are not merely left to chance. When we embrace the reality of our premortal existence and the eternal truth that our souls are eternal, it becomes profoundly clear that there is a plan--a grand plan for this earth, and an infinite and intimate plan for each of us individually.

Mother's love is Divine love

My mother’s love for her family truly is the closest thing to godly love one can experience during our mortal sojourn. I may have doubted this at difficult times throughout my life, but I know it now with unshakable certainty. This is the kind of love I feel for my own children--and my grandchildren.

No greater love exists on this earth than the love of a mother. I thank God every day for my angel mother! And for the blessing of being a mother and a grandmother to my children and grandchildren. I love them with a love so profoundly powerful it consumes me at times.

Dashed Dreams

For most of my life, I wanted nothing more than to become the mother that my mom was...and then later, the kind of grandmother she was. It’s not that I didn’t want a career, I just didn’t want a career more than I wanted to be a mom. I dreamed of the day I could quit my job and be home with my children full time. I was able to realize that dream for a short span of about six years. I treasure those years in ways words could never convey. Soon after my fourth child was born, my daughter, Ellen, I chose to stay home, whatever the cost.

That’s about the time when my children’s father decided he was going to become a millionaire by building an Amway business. Instead of working harder at his job, he gave less time to it and focused instead on what, in reality, was nothing more than a pipedream.

By the time Ellen was 18 months old, we had lost our home in foreclosure, and we were going through a divorce. Definitely a story for another time . . .

But as a result, the dream I had of being an at-home mom -- of being for my own children everything my mom was for me, had died. I remember very clearly the moment I sat in the HUD REPO brown house with brown carpet, brown tile, and pukey peach cabinets, and felt the words, “If you want a different life, one with security, you are going to have to build it yourself.”

Up until this point, my children had my full attention--all the time. I volunteered at their school, met them at the bus stop each day, joined an FHE group where we planned FHE lessons each week for our families, and since my parents had moved up the desert to be near us, we visited grandma and grandpa all the time.

But once the decision to divorce was made, everything changed. I could no longer be the “at-home” mom I dreamed of being; I would have to go back to work in order to provide for myself and my children. And so, well over 20 years ago, I chose a career where I would be on the same schedule as my kids --- I became a school teacher.

Our Saving Grace

Everyone knows I went through a crisis of faith following my divorce--so no new revelation here. And that spiritual struggle lasted for a few years. And I know when people are hurting, they make mistakes and do things they would never do otherwise. I was no exception.

I regret the period of time where I was emotionally and spiritually not fully there for my children --- for those times when I was there, but I was not there. The reasons don’t really matter. I was in survival mode. The pain and guilt and loneliness of divorce created within me an intense sense of failure. And well, people don’t always make great choices when they are broken.

Fortunately, my mom (and my dad) became our saving grace. They gave my children the sense of security they were missing from both me and their father. My mom and dad provided a solid sense of safety when I could not. And how very grateful I am for them--and how blessed we were to have them less than a mile away.

I tried to make up for those lost years with my children -- and though they understand and know how much I love them, the reality is they still deal with some residual effects of those lost years.

The Mother Blessed

Today, I have a relationship with my children that means the world to me. I would do anything in the world for them, and I know they love me. They loved me when I was broken, and they love me, now, when I am whole.

And I am blessed because I know that even though I can never go back and undo the damage caused by my mistakes, I know the Savior can. I know through the power of His Atonement, Jesus can heal every hurt my ex-husband and I caused our children.

My children will make their own mistakes with their children --- and Jesus can and will heal those hurts too.

In many ways, I am a lot like my mom. Sometimes I laugh when I see her in me. But I am not her. No matter how much I wanted to be. My path was a different one. I ended up being the mom with the career I never wanted, but a career that allowed me to provide for my children, to give them the security of always having a roof over their head and food in their pantry. A career that today allows me to spoil my grandchildren, just a little bit, in ways I was never able to spoil my own children.

Saying Goodbye, For Now

When my mom passed away, I was vacationing in Hawaii with Ron and my two daughters, Raechel and Ellen. They were with me when the phone call came. Together we mourned her loss and talked about our memories of her and what a blessing she was to our family. Having my daughters with me gave me comfort and helped the sting of death feel a little less painful. But I was also grateful that my daughters had me there to comfort them. They had lost their beloved grandmother.

Mom, Dad, and me at my wedding to Ron, August 10, 2002

On this day, when we honor mothers--I honor mine. Praise be to God for the blessing of my mother! And I honor the sacred calling of motherhood. I love the relationship I have with my children and grandchildren. I treasure those relationships with all my heart.

I know a name, a glorious name

Sweeter than any other.

Listen, I’ll whisper that name to you

It is the name of “mother.”

(LDS Children Songbook)

One of the last photos of my mom before she passed away

The last time I saw my mom, I hugged her and told her I loved her. While I was gathering my things to walk out the door, I heard her call my name. When I turned around, she had gotten out of her chair and was walking toward me clutching her walker. “What?” I said. And she smiled and said, “I love you.”

I thought it was strange because we had said, “I love you,” to each other a moment ago. But I walked over to her, gave her a hug, and kissed her cheek. “I love you too, Mom,” I said.

Those were our last words to each other. And still, it didn’t feel like it was enough.

Do ONE Thing

This week, let us not only honor our mothers for giving us the gift of life but for those of you for whom it is not too late to do so, please tell your mom how much you love her --- and tell her WHY you love her! She needs to know what part of being a mom she managed to get right.

And then? Remember to say it to her often. Not just every 2nd Sunday in May.

Happy Mother’s Day to you--whether you’re a mom, a grandma, an aunt, a sister, a friend, or someone who will become a mother someday, either in this life or the next.

And Mom, happy Mother’s Day to you in Heaven. I love you! 🌺

Below is a link to the video version of this blog.

Resources

Link to information about the Santa Barbara Refugio Fire in 1955

"Behold Thy Mother" Thomas S. Monson, Oct. 1973

Follow me on Instagram @melinda.r.morgan
Follow me on Facebook @Let's Get Edified

Special Mother’s Day Message

Mother Remembered

The Mother Blessed

Do ONE Thing

Transformation