Katie's Journal August 24, 2014 @ 5:26am

I’m sitting in a bathroom stall at the Atlanta airport during a layover, my final destination being Salt Lake City. At 7:20 a.m. it is time to board my connecting flight to Salt Lake, and I am terribly afraid.

Last night I was sitting in a hotel room in Paducah, Kentucky, watching a movie with my husband Clint, filled with anxiety. My mom, suffering with stage 4 lung cancer, had been admitted to the American Fork hospital that morning. My brother Scott called Clint and asked to speak with me. He said that my brothers and sister were coming to the hospital and that Mom wasn’t expected to live much longer. I should come to Utah as soon as possible. I immediately started to cry. It just seemed so unreal. This whole journey seemed so unreal, and honestly, at this point I don’t know what is real anymore. All along this journey I felt peace and had experiences–which I believe to be the Spirit–letting me know that my mom was going to receive a miracle. And that God, only God, would be the one to make her whole.

Living in Kentucky allowed me to be removed from the situation a little bit. In a couple of hours I would no longer be in that comfortable space and would be sitting next to my mom, my best friend, and hold a one-way conversation with her. This would be the hardest thing I ever had to do in my 30 years of living. I am not looking forward to it, but I know I will regret not doing so.

I hope and pray that God will be with me and give me the strength I need to face the hardest trial of my life. I also will not let go of the last little bit of hope (that I still believe) that God will grant my mom a miracle and make her body whole.

As I was boarding the plane in Atlanta, I received a text message from my brother Kurt. He said the nurse had just come in and didn’t think I was going to make it to Salt Lake City, before she passed away.

He asked me if I had any last words that I wanted to share with Mom and he would put his phone on speaker. I glanced around the airport, which was swarming with people, and I knew that there was nowhere for me to go, not even the bathroom stall.

These are the words that I texted him at 7:49 a.m. “Tell her I love her, thanks for being a great mom, I miss her and will miss her until we meet again. And I look forward to that day. Sorry to see her go this way. Please visit me often and allow me to feel her presence.” I then boarded the plane and sat in my front row first-class seat that Clint bought me and immediately broke down.