Clouds in the Sky

Translated by Gisel R. Lance

When I was a little girl, I was always looking up at the sky—morning and evening, any chance I got. I don’t know when I stopped doing it, but in my childhood, I couldn’t imagine a day without finding shapes in the clouds, without being able to say to God: “Thank you for this beautiful sky.” I, honestly, don’t remember when I stopped doing it.

I always wondered why I never saw my parents kiss, and it wasn’t until I got married that I figured out why. On one occasion, I told my husband I didn’t understand why my parents never showed affection—at least not in front of me or my siblings. That day, I told my husband that would never happen to me. But just as I stopped looking at the sky one day, it happened. The days came when there were no kisses—just a lot of love—and that’s when I finally understood my mom and dad.

I remember that every Sunday I would jump out of bed to get to church early, in my heels and looking as sharp as possible. I watched the older sisters arrive a little disheveled and would say in my mind: “How can they come dressed like that, without any makeup. How horrible!” And I would tell myself, that will never happen to me, but it happened. One day, I simply found myself sitting, in one of the pews in the chapel without makeup and holding my first baby in my arms, next to my patient husband who helped with the stroller.

And so things happened in my life that I never thought I would allow. One morning—sometime in January or February—I can’t tell the exact date, but I do remember exactly what I felt: The doctors confirmed that my third child, just two years old, had leukemia. That was the day the earth stopped and everything I used to worry about no longer mattered, and my life took a definite direction for ever and ever. That day we were all shaken, and what I thought I knew was put to the test. I held onto a hope only God could give me.

After two years of a lot of work and chemotherapy, and countless mornings in the middle of that storm—his body could not take it any more. Jonathan departed to his heavenly home. He was a month away from turning five years old. Those were the five most beautiful years of my life, of the lives of all of us who loved him. I remember how he loved finding shapes in the clouds. I still can’t talk about him without crying; I don’t think I ever will—only now I do it filled with hope, because what God called the Plan of Salvation took shape in my life. It became real, tangible, and necessary in order to keep going.

Nine years have passed since that day. Not a day goes by without me looking up at the sky, without me kissing my husband and my children, without me telling them how much I love them. I have not worn heels again, but I do put on makeup, sometimes, because pain taught me to find the true meaning of life, to understand that others embrace pain and don’t let it go, dying every day without noticing. I must confess that I also went through that at first and sometimes I have my moments when I slip back, but I have several things in my life that help me not to fall back into what I call the loop of depression.

God and Jesus Christ, Their everlasting love, along with my husband, my children, my parents, and my siblings give my life color each day, so it never turns gray. The years went by. Time is so unpredictable and unrelenting. The kids grew up—at least in age, because to a mother they’ll always be her little ones—and all I can do is gather the experiences and lessons that keep pointing me back home. Jonathan taught me that, because even the grayest skies are beautiful.

Sometimes, I watch my family while they are asleep or when they are distracted, and I understand the suffering of those who have no one, the joy of those who do, and how fortunate and blessed I am. Because God gave me a beautiful sky to see every day, a wonderful husband to love eternally, the restored gospel that teaches me that death is not the end, children who will be with me forever, and a real sense of what it means to fulfill a mission and be an instrument in God’s hands.

In the middle of all this, I have no time to do anything but help those who need me and tell you—if you’re reading this—that the trials of life are meant to show us the way back home. Maybe in the moment you cannot appreciate the lesson God is trying to teach you or understand His will, but God rescues us in many ways.

We will all see Jonathan again; we just need to live a life worthy of the sacredness of heaven, worthy of a loving God, worthy of our divine nature, and remember that God always keeps His promises. That’s what helps me get up every day, keep smiling, and try to bring smiles to others who feel alone and don’t realize they’re not. My life has a before and an after—and what an after it’s been.

My phone rings—someone needs my help. I have to go.

Trained as a political scientist (Central Venezuela University), Katty Preciado is a passionate teacher. Above all, she is a tireless seeker of beauty through writing. She is a faithful daughter, mother, and friend, and her faith in God is the rock upon which she stands through all the countless trials in her life.

Art by Elsa Andrada (1920–2010).

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