MormonSpeak: Saying goodbye to a beloved prophet

Jon stood in the middle of our family room last night, a confused look on his face, fighting to hide the tears that were welling up in his eye. He had just heard the news that President Gordon B. Hinckley had died, and I could see his sweet, pure 16-year-old soul trying to process it.

Jon, are you OK? I asked.

Yeah, he said. I just . . . you know . . . never really thought about President Hinckley . . . you know . . . He couldnt bring himself to actually say it. Then he sighed: I just sort of figured hed always be the prophet.

And now, suddenly, he wasnt.

Such things can be disconcerting to those who are still coming to terms with things like faith and testimony and what it means to be a Mormon. Believe me, I knew what he was feeling. I felt it myself 38 Januarys ago.

I can still feel the burn in my chubby 14-year-old legs as I ran up the hill toward the Bountiful 14th Ward meetinghouse that brisk Sunday morning in January, 1970. My lungs ached from exertion, and my breath formed anxious little clouds in the cold winter air. I wanted to stop and rest or to at least slow down, but I just couldnt do it.

I had news — real news — for the ward council. They needed to hear this, and they needed to hear it right now. Mom said. She tried calling the bishops office on the phone, but there was no answer. So she had me slip on my Sunday shoes and she sent me up the hill to tell the ward council that President McKay was dead.

The news was stunning. At least it was to me. Sure, President McKay was bazillion years old. Sure, his health was frail. Sure, he hadnt actually spoken in conference for a long time. He was the prophet — the only prophet I had ever known, the only image that came to mind when we sang We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet. I knew he was old — he had all that white hair, for Petes sake — but I hadnt really thought about him dying.

And now he was dead. I didnt know what to think. I didnt know what to feel. I didnt know what it meant. I just knew I felt anxious and concerned. And that I had to get the news to the ward council.

Now.

I didnt hesitate as I approached the bishops office door. I didnt even knock. I just turned the doorknob and burst in. Immediately, every eye in the room — and there were a bunch of them, both male and female, both old and young, both the wicked and the . . . uh, well, there were a lot of them — focused on me, and I just blurted out my news.

President McKay is dead! I said.