Reflections From The Wreckage

There is a lot about grief that is so incredibly painful. As we near the two year anniversary of Jake leaving us there has been a lot that’s on mind. A lot to process or try to anyways. One of the common themes you hear in grief is ”It’s ironic that the one person you want to talk to who understands is no longer here.” When I see that or hear that I think to myself well yes but Jake was 5 when he left. Then I think well everything that I have heard from people telling stories about their visitations to heaven all say the same thing. ”We knew everything upon arrival, nothing was hidden anymore.” So I think I obviously would love to talk to Jake especially now because He knows everything. He knows why everything happened the way it did. He knows what lies ahead in the future. He knows what heaven looks like, Jesus, all of the family members who went before him. He knows it all, so I think it would be good to talk to him again especially now. I have so many questions and so many things I wish I could say to him. So that part is hard, grieving knowing the person who could make you feel differently is no longer here.

Social media. Most days I hate it. The other days I think of it as an outreach to a world I may never meet but needs to know they’re not alone. I think of it as an entrepreneur looks at a problem that they believe they can solve. I hate seeing the ”before and now” memories that come up. While I am grateful for the memories with him, I hate that I don’t and won’t get the chance to make the ”now” part. I hate that he lives in those photos now. The stories those timestamps tell are the ones I tell again and again and again. It’s not being stuck in the past, it’s keeping his memory alive. It’s saying his name when you no longer hear it from those around you. I’m grateful that we filmed every minute of his life because that’s all we have now. But I hate social media for that.

I can’t get over sitting at the dinner table just the four of us knowing there was another person there. Seeing an empty chair that a whole real person used to sit in. Now that chair is empty. Somedays I think they feel it too because there is a certain silence that falls when a person passes away. A certain silence that isn’t easily filled with noise or conversation. That kind of silence is heavy. Especially when that person was Jake. You always knew when he was around. He was loud. A force of nature. A presence bigger than life though he was only a kid. That part too.

Mostly though my grief is one thing and it sucks and I hate that it is a part of my life now. Seeing your child grieve as a parent also grieving is a pain I cannot imagine wishing on another person. You can’t stop your own heart from breaking but you can’t stop theirs either. A child knowing the pain of death and loss so young is awful to say it lightly. I hate that the last image they have of him is cancer. A bald head, weak body, hospitals, medicines, wheelchair. I can’t ever full articulate how painful it is to hear another little person tell you ”When can we see Jakey again?” “I miss Jakey. I miss my brother.” ”Maybe we will see him again in 3 days. 3 months. And he will open his eyes so he can see that we are there.” ”I have a little water in my eyes, but it’s okay. I can just rub it out.” There is a lot that happened from the time he got sick that has stuck with me. Images and sounds I will never forget. Seeing your child grieve your other child though? Yeah. That part too.