Pat Gudmundsen: What she means to me

Last summer, I attended a 50^th  anniversary reunion of the Midland Ward—the congregation of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the city of Midland, Michigan, which was formed in 1963.  The reunion was a three-day event.  Former and current church members, now of two Midland wards, came to visit and share memories.  Part of the reunion was a Saturday evening fireside.  Selected speakers recounted faith-building experiences in the Midland Wards.  It was a very spiritual meeting.  Tears were shed and a wonderful feeling gratitude to God prevailed as we reflected on the blessings we’d received in Midland.  After the fireside, people lingered to view displays of memory items and old photos in the Primary room.  While I was perusing photos, Pat Gudmundsen approached me and gave me a long hug.  I don’t think much was said between us, and soon she moved on to mingle with other people.  I was touched as I reflected on that hug and the role that Pat Gudmundsen had played in my life.  Maybe she hugged me because she saw me wiping joyful tears during the fireside when a speaker was talking about the temple that was being built in Italy, where I served my mission.  Maybe she was thinking about the years of memories that included me and my family.  I’m not sure of her motivation to give me that hug, but it meant so much to me. 

My relationship with Pat stemmed from my parents’ friendship with her and her husband, and my friendship with her daughter, Kirsten.  We met them when Kirsten and I were toddlers, when my family moved to Midland.  My earliest memory of Pat is when I was two and a half years old, when I was taken aback to see her instead of my mom in the kitchen when I got up in the morning.  She told me my mom was at the hospital having the baby.  Some time later, I remember her putting me to bed at her house when my parents took a trip to the temple in Washington, D.C.   I was very young and felt uneasy going to bed in a different place, but next to my own home, the Gudmundsen’s house was the probably next most familiar place.  I also remember Pat and my mom walking me and Kirsten to school on our first day of kindergarten. 

Kirsten and I, (very often with our friend and neighbor, Betsy Granstra), played for hours at each other’s houses over the years.  Pat always treated me kindly when I visited their house.   For summer day camps at Central Park, Pat drove in the carpool.  When Kirsten and I were going to have a sleepover at her house, Pat was the one who walked me home at 10:00 at night.  I had angrily decided to go home because when it came time to go to bed, Kirsten and I had disagreed about where to sleep in the Gudmundsen’s house. 

When I was 10 or 11 years old, I started going to the orthodontist.  Pat was the receptionist there—a familiar, friendly face to greet me, which was especially comforting during those first several visits when I was nervous.

My contact with Kirsten and her family continued over the years.  When Kirsten and I graduated from high school, Pat and her family were there.  I still keep in touch with Kirsten.  One summer after we were married with kids, we both were visiting our parents in Midland at the same time, so I came over to the Gudmundsen’s house with my kids.  Pat sat and chatted with me and Kirsten.  When Kirsten and I had to discipline our kids, Sister Gudmundsen chuckled and said, “It’s good to see you guys struggle.” 

So, it was fitting that I should see Pat at the Midland ward reunion, and it meant so much to me to get that hug from her.  We never exchanged a lot of words, so I wasn’t able to express to her how much it meant to me, or what she meant to me.  So, I decided to write this post so she will know.