There was nothing leading up to Mother’s Day 2006 that indicated impending doom. There was no foreboding music playing ominously; no dark clouds. In fact, that morning there were birds chirping and the light of warm, yellow sun spilling through my bedroom windows. Had the beautiful conditions of the day been any indicator, the day I’m about to describe would not exist in our family’s folklore. But alas, Mother’s Day 11 years ago will forever be known as the day I landed face down on the floor of the chapel, on top of my 3-year-old, in the middle of sacrament meeting, with my skirt flung over my head.
