Reflections From The Wreckage

I know that you’re gone and I wont get you back on this side but sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. I do whatever I can to survive the day and make to my bed. I close my eyes and I hope to see you there in my dreams. Yet. Wake up having missed you again. In the early morning hours after the alarm goes off I stumble my way to turn the coffee pot on. For a moment I think ‘’I wonder if Jake is awake.’’ Then reality sets in all too soon and I am forced to come to terms with your death all over again. Your absence is loud, it screams at me all through the house. I sit with my coffee and I open my Bible because that is what I do. This is my routine every morning, usually the same time sometimes earlier sometimes a little later usually in the same spot.

I look across from me at the empty couch where you used to sit. Sometimes I like to pretend you’re still there in your own world learning about who knows what on your tablet. I dare not sit there because that was your spot. That was Jake’s spot. Your absence is loud. I cant make it through a prayer without crying and the majority of the time the only words that I can get out is ‘’help me.’’ I walk by an empty room that still looks as though you are there. Nothing has been moved or changed but the person that gave that room purpose and meaning is no longer there. Coming out of your sisters room I stop and look into your room and sigh. ‘’I wish Jake was here. I wish you were here.’’

I open the pantry door to find a gallon of apple juice in the corner. Doesn’t take much to remind me of you. We used to joke and say that we were going to buy a lid to fit the gallon of apple juice and give it to you. That was your go to both before and after you got sick. A gallon of apple juice screaming at me that you aren’t here anymore. Your brother and sister have taken a liking to it now. I was just as shocked as you would be, I never thought I would see the day. I think in someways it reminds them of and helps them feel connected to you still.

We stay busy or try to when we all have free time together. We’ve done a lot of shopping since you left. Temporary Grief Relief is what I call it. So momentary so vanishing. Things that bring you some relief or bliss for a moment and yet walk away from it with the same message. Your absence is loud. You’re not here, You haven’t been here in a while. I bought a knife recently at a pop up market. I probably wouldn’t have otherwise but I remember your love of knives. Really anything dangerous but especially knives. You would have loved this one Jake, It’s a fixed blade with a sturdy handle. I picked it out, purchased it and thought ‘’Jake would love this.’’ Little things like this are how I stay connected to you. Little things like this are how I feel connected to you. Something as insignificant and small as knife can make you feel so many emotions all at once. Adrenaline, bliss, quickly followed by sadness and loneliness. Your absence is Loud just like you were when you were here. Noises heard all around from every place I find myself that aren’t audible to many. I hear them though, I hear and feel your absence everywhere I go.