Sharing my mourning journey as my family learns to live a new normal after the death of my 19 y.o. son in an auto accident on 10/12/08.

Archive for the ‘friends’ Category

Unexpected Gifts, Good Sleep and Exercise

Today I went back to my exercise class for the first time since early fall. A foot injury prevented me from going before and it felt so good to exercise and dance and see familiar faces happy I’d returned. The last few days have given me renewed energy and I’m so grateful.

Every 4 weeks I receive one of the drugs for my lupus by IV infusion.  The appointment is something that I’ve worked into my routine knowing that when I arrive I’ll be weighed, have my vital signs taken and then have an IV inserted. While the medication drips I’ll read, sleep or talk to my nurse until it’s time for the 15 minute vital signs check. This past week’s appointment had an added bonus. As I rose to leave my nurse stopped me, handing me a box. “I’m sorry I missed you last month but here’s a gift for you. I like my patients to know how special they are to me.”

I sat feeling surprised and special saying, “thank you,” before I even opened the box. “Can I open it now?”

“Of course you can. I hope you like it.”

I opened the box to find a beautiful scarf woven with all the colors I love. “It’s beautiful. I’m going to put it on right now.”

“You really like it? I’m so glad.”

I hugged her goodbye and walked out into the cold, loving my new scarf and grateful that on that day, I left my appointment so much better than when I came.

My beautiful new scarf

*

For the first time in months I’ve been able to rest, really rest where I fall asleep and wake up refreshed. I even took a nap on Thursday and Friday. I’m stunned that restlessness and a worried mind have quieted enough for me to fall asleep without having to work too hard. But last evening when I woke up I was cold and feeling sadness seeping in. Jordan, I miss you. I don’t know how to not to miss you so much.

I went downstairs joining Mark and the kids who’d already started eating dinner. After dinner I got out my laptop and checked email. I honed in on an email from one of Jordan’s friends. She told me that she’d been dreaming of Jordan all week, waking up to a tear soaked pillow. She went on to say that she finally had a dream last night where they were off on an adventure as though they were amateur spies. It was the first time she didn’t wake crying. She ended her note saying, “Whenever I’m having a hard time with classes or friends I find myself asking how Jordan would handle it. He was a great student and an even better friend.

I miss him a lot.”

I took a breath then reread her note. Not an hour before I opened her email, I’d asked Jordan how it was possible to keep going while missing him so much. Then, there was this note from one of his friends who’d never written me before to tell me how much Jordan is still a part of her life. The reverberations of loss don’t stop with my family or me. I wrote her back acknowledging how hard tough dreams about Jordan can be, but how wonderful the special dreams are. I ended my note to her telling her to please keep in touch and letting her know, “We can miss him together.” I showed Mark the email and my response and then showed him a line from one of my blog posts:

Jordan’s spirit is in the coincidences of his name appearing or being overheard when I miss him most. He is in the emails and notes from his friends reaching out to me when I ache for him.

I think Jordan was again reminding me of his presence. His friend reached out to me and I can reach out to her and to others. All of us who love and miss Jordan can ease our pain and sorrow, even if it’s just a little bit by knowing that we can miss him together.

Category:

chronic illness, friends, gifts, Jordan, loss of child, lupus

Glimpses of Senior year and wondering, “What if?”

Jordan’s friends are seniors in college. They are at the points in their lives when it is decision-making time, job hunting or grad school applications? One of Jordan’s best friends came out to support Merrick last night as he performed in his high school’s Spoken Word showcase. Merrick told Q about his performance and invited him to come.

After the showcase, I watched Q interacting with Merrick, congratulating him on his performance and reminding Merrick, “Let me know when you’re performing and I’ll be here.” Q is a man now. I hope I didn’t stare but I intently watched him, his maturity exuding from his easy banter with Mark and I and his comfort in his own skin. Where was the shy boy who used to play video games in my basement? Time does not stand still. Even though Jordan only got  to spend 6 heartbreakingly sweet weeks as a sophomore in college, his friends are now making plans for the next stages of their lives.

When I got home later that night I checked my email and saw that another of Jordan’s friends had sent me a message. K excitedly told me that she had been accepted in the Teach for America program and had been assigned to the city she’d requested. I’m so honored that she shared her news with me and that finally she is comfortable enough to call me Jackie although I love when she introduces me as, “Jordan’s mom.”

Reading her email it is clear that I’m on the sidelines. I’ve been left wondering about Jordan and what his next steps would be. What would he look like now? Would the mustache he was earnestly trying to grow be a part of his look now? Would he have shifted from jeans and a hoody to a different style of dress? Would he be applying to law school? Would he be following his love of music and seeking out an internship in the music industry? Would the pull of politics have him travelling back to DC to further his social justice and policy reform interests or would this be the year that he travelled abroad? Jordan what would you be doing now?

Jordan’s amazing friends pull me to the present and future that I otherwise could only imagine my son occupying. At the same time they are a haunting reminder of what Jordan is missing, of what my family is missing. Flashes of pride, envy, anger, and joy strobe inside of me as I wonder, “what if,” and “why,” about my son and stay connected with these children who are now young adults. They give me glimpses, a small enticing taste of what Jordan’s senior year in college may have been like. It is a beautiful, delicate, sometimes burdensome gift, but I would never reject it.

Jordan is forever 19. His friends have futures that are promising and bright. Their love for Jordan and care of my family is a glimpse of God’s grace that I’m embracing. Gratitude, sorrow, tears and respect commingle as I willingly witness the passage of time in the form of Jordan’s friends. As our pastor friend who eulogized Jordan said, “It is living with the roses and the thorns.”

Category:

college, death of son, friends, Generation Y, grief, Jordan, loss of child, Mother of Four, motherhood, mourning

Tagged with:

So Grateful For Jordan’s Tree

Jordan's tree with his elementary school in the background

In the days leading up to October 12th, the anniversary of Jordan’s death, I was thrust back into the pain and numbness I felt right after he died. Walking down the hall towards the front door of my house or hearing the phone ring, shifted me back to 2008 and all those traumatic October days. As much as the leaves changing signals fall, it also starts the anniversary days. One thing I knew I needed to do to and I hoped it would make me feel some peace was to visit Jordan’s tree.

Jordan’s tree is a crabapple tree that was donated by his sisters’ Girl Scout Troop through a Park District Program. In the summer of 2009, their troop leader called me asking if they had my family’s permission to have a tree planted in Jordan’s memory. My answer was of course an emotional, “Yes.” I was so touched by their offer and also the courtesy and grace they showed by asking how we felt before proceeding with the tree planting.

On August 8, 2009 the day before what would have been Jordan’s 20th birthday we had a tree dedication ceremony, which was attended by family and friends. The Girl Scout Troop had a plaque made for us to use at the ceremony because the permanent plaque that would be placed at the base of the tree wasn’t ready yet. The plaque given by the Girl Scout Troop starts with a line from a poem by Margueritte Harmon Bro, “We thank thee for special trees which will always stand large in our memory.” The quote so fittingly expressed the sentiment of the day.

To conclude the ceremony, the Pastor of our church said a prayer and also placed a piece of cloth over one of the branches. He called the cloth, “Jordan’s Mantle.” He encouraged all of us to cut a piece from the cloth and keep it with us as a symbol of some aspect of Jordan that we wished to carry forward. He spoke of Jordan’s passion for social justice, his love of music and reading and his dedication to family and friends. Everyone that was there cut a piece of the cloth. Many of our family and friends keep their piece of mantle cloth in their wallets

Last week, I went to see Jordan’s tree for the first time this fall. I walked up on his still young tree thinking of Merrick’s words to me the summer before, “I want to tie a piece of the mantle cloth on one of the branches, so when I’m 80 I can come and stand under the tree and look for the cloth.” The spirit of hope and looking towards the future embodied in Merrick’s words made Jordan’s tree even more of a legacy. I came to visit the tree and to see the permanent plaque that was finally in place. The plaque was supposed to be placed at the base of the tree in the months after it was planted. There were problems with the manufacturer, then the weather made installation impossible. When it was finally installed, it was put at the wrong tree. The irony of the Park District’s placement is that they put the plaque at a mature tree that shaded the baseball diamond. Jordan took many practice swings before going up to bat under the shade of that tree. When I first saw the plaque under the “baseball,” tree, I wondered if Jordan was in on the joke. I know he would have found it funny that the plaque started off at the baseball diamond and not near the park bench.

The plaque stayed at the “baseball,” tree until this fall because cold weather and frozen ground settled in early last year and prevented it from being moved to its rightful place. Unfortunately the Spring thaw did not quicken the actions of the Park District, despite the efforts of a very determined volunteer in charge of the tree dedications. As fall approached this year, I urgently called the volunteer again alerting her that Jordan’s tree still did not have its rightful marker. When October 12th arrived,  I wanted to be able to go and sit near his tree with everything in order. The wonderful volunteer, Mrs. Holmes, must have stood and watched them move the plaque because the day after I called her, she left a voicemail message telling me the plaque was moved.

On October 13th, I sat on the bench near Jordan’s tree as its branches framed the children playing in the distance. It is a tree that overlooks the baseball diamond where he played little league baseball and the field and playground where he ran, jumped and climbed as a little boy. It is the perfect place for his tree.  I look at his elementary school in the distance and remember my son as a boy getting every bit of use out of his 30 minutes of recess. His clothes were always the proof that he played hard. His pants were worn at the knees and he came home with unexplained rips in his shirts. There is also the infamous day that he called me, needing a whole new set of clothes including socks because he and some of his friends couldn’t resist jumping and splashing in a mud puddle. Jordan’s tree anchors those memories now.

As much as fall hurts now with its memories of late night calls and police visits broadcasting loss, it is still a time of  beauty. I am amazed that in the shock and numbness of grief, the Technicolor show of nature still beckons me. Even in the days after Jordan died I couldn’t help picking up beautiful leaves as I walked. Two years later I know that the fears I had right after Jordan died, that fall would annually mock me with its brilliance as I stood with my loss are unfounded. The brilliant colors of all the trees still thrill me just as they did before Jordan died. I don’t look away from all the beauty. I stand beneath the trees looking up at the brilliant golden, red and orange leaves with the sun filtering through them. Beauty can coexist with sorrow.

The plaque at the base of the tree shows a beginning and ending year for my son’s life. It will never feel right or fair that Jordan’s year of death precedes my own. In the midst of my grief, I’m so grateful that I can sit and look at a living monument, honoring Jordan’s memory. Everyone that walks by can look at Jordan’s tree and hopefully pause and read the plaque, knowing that he is loved, honored and remembered. 

Category:

anniversaries, death of son, friends, Jordan, loss of child, Mother of Four, mourning

Tagged with:

With Friends Like These

There are so many people in my life who have shown me what true compassion and grace look like. Yesterday my family and I received so many communications of love and support and we are forever grateful.

I have one friend from college who showed me I could laugh again in the months after Jordan died. We had been out of touch over 15 years, even though mutual friends kept us updated on each other’s lives. I saved every email she sent and reread them finding wisdom, comfort and laughter in her words. I’ve already told her that she will have her own chapter in the book I’m writing.

The emails I received from her started 2 weeks after Jordan died. I would hear from her at least weekly. She offered comfort, “remember when” stories from our college days and so much understanding. Some days I would look out the window after receiving an email from her wondering if she’d been watching me. How else could she know exactly the comforting words I needed to hear? Laughter and tears accompanied my reading of most of her emails. It got to the point that as I sat with my laptop and would randomly start to laugh aloud or at times cry, Mark would simply say, “Bev?” and I’d read to him what she’d written and he’d share in my emotion.

Today I wanted you all to get a glimpse of my friend Bev. Here are condensed versions of emails she sent to me after learning of Jordan’s death and the one she sent on the 2nd anniversary.

What Bev Said

October 27, 2008 4:02:52 PM CDT

My  Dearest Jackie,

Beautiful, kind,  Jackie….Girl with  a smile and a kind word for everyone. I miss you dear friend and I am so  very very sorry.   All words seem inadequate. Because they are.  I won’t speak of religion, or espouse lay philosophy  in an attempt to comfort  or bring sense to your loss.   I know, there is not much that anyone can say  or do…there is only time.  We have been out of touch for far too long. But I want you to know, that you are loved.   I and so many of  our classmates  are thinking of you, hurting   for you, sending out prayers and love,   and lifting you up.  We are all with you right now.   I  want you to know that you are Sunflower- with a life force and a spirit full of light- outshining all the other flowers in the garden. I see pictures of Jordan , and I know who gave him that smile and that same bright, blinding life  force.   Consider this communique, my arms and heart,  extended across these many years and miles, to you.   Please know that I will do whatever I can to help you –  [  ]The only thing that  has changed with  me is that my figure is no  longer an hourglass, it is now a beer glass.

I  was laid off in June and (I have been throwing confetti ever since). …..and pretending I have a husband, a house and an income. I get my nails done, drink coffee at the local coffee shop, and  am in the middle of reading Anna Karenina. Sure, I am about to be evicted but.. ..could someone pass the  half and half?  Anyway, I say all of this to say, I have some free time on my hands.  And I want to see you. Let me help you in any way that I  can. [ ]I am calling you. Feel no obligation to talk if you are not up to it, or are busy. We go back too far to be worried about being polite.

I will be calling.
(If my phone ain’t disconnected)

Please be patient with yourself …. know that you are loved.

Beverly

October 12, 2010 7:38:34 PM CDT

Jackie,

I want you to know that today and everyday, you are in my thoughts, my prayers, hopes and wishes.  I am simply wishing for a measure of relief for your weary heart.   I don’t think I can ever tell you enough times how very, very sorry I am. Life proves itself to be so very unfair sometimes.  All references we make to karma,  and reaping what you sow,  can so quickly prove false and fall away when the unimaginable happens – leaving our point of reference, our guide for an ever changing, unpredictable world, shattered.  What karmic adage can make sense of the chain of events that took your precious Jordan away?    I know your world and everything you believe has been turned upside down by Jordan’s accident.  You follow the rules of life. You give the love. You nurture, raise, and shape this beautiful boy. You give him to the world, shiny, polished and perfect, and the world does what it will, as it will. as it has, making no sense and undoing  everything we have ever believed about how to be, how to do, right and wrong, good and bad.
Jackie, everyday, I imagine your mind still asks and wants to know why. Everyday, you  seek answers to a question that cannot be answered in a way that makes sense, and will give you peace. No because in this universe can explain and justify the loss of Jordan. My prayer for you today is that this unanswerable question, one day, will cease to gnaw at every level of your conscious and unconscious mind.  I wish peace inside your mind for you.  Fight on for the sake of your children, your parents, your husband, your friends. Fight on, because Jordan is right beside you, and wants you to know that he loves you, he has changed forms but he has never left you.  Beautiful mother, he is okay.  You will see him again.  Feel him now. Reach out and just hold him quietly.
Keep going Jackie. Sometimes the universe is cruel and senseless, yet it continues to require that we make our way through it sensibly and with sensitivity.   I’ve said this before, and I know, Jordan would not want his mother to be so sad forever.  The  depth of your love is greater than your tears, and your sorrow.  You will overcome. Everything is going to be alright. It may not be today. It probably won’t be tomorrow. It may not be any time soon. But Jackie, I promise, it will be. It will be . Keep going.
Love you much,
Beverly

Category:

anniversaries, college, death of son, friends, grief, Jordan, Mother of Four

Tagged with:

Fight, Flight or Freeze

Fight, flight or freeze. Most of us have heard of the “Fight or Flight” response exhibited when we sense a stressful situation or danger is approaching. Researchers have shown that as our stress levels rise, the brain relays a message to the body that it is time to run or to defend one’s self. Freezing in the face of danger is another observed response to perceived danger. Those who have suffered a trauma know that there are sometimes triggers that elicit the “Fight, Flight, or Freeze,” response. For soldiers a trigger may be hearing a car backfire and be reminded of wartime shooting. For those traumatized by a natural disaster, a crack of thunder or lightning brightening the sky will engender a response. For me, a grieving mother, late night calls, and the sound of sirens causes the anxiety and stress associated with reliving a trauma. Until today I’d equated my freezing in “awkward” situations as a sign of my weakness and desire to appear well-mannered instead of taking care of myself. I didn’t realize that hearing certain words triggered a response that would cause me to stand immobile and hope the person talking would stop soon. Words spoken by another caused me to freeze at my son’s open house last year. This weekend I froze because of words overheard at my neighborhood block party.

Our neighbor was hosting breakfast (you got it, the block party starts at 9am!) and I was looking forward to attending. I was pleasantly surprised but still guarded that I wasn’t dreading the day. Last year I was unable to attend any of the block party festivities because everything connected with it reminded me that the year before was our first block party at our new house, and our last summer with Jordan. The summer of 2008, I watched from a folding chair set up in the blocked off street as Jordan and Merrick drive to the end of the block, so that they could pick Mark up and go to the movies together. Jordan and Merrick coaxed Mark into going to see, “Tropic Thunder” saying they didn’t expect it to be good but it would be worth a few laughs. Through muffled fits of laughter they convinced Mark to go to the movies instead of staying at the block party. When Jordan drove up to the barricade at the end of the street, he got out of the car and waved to his dad. Mark was so proud as he said his goodbyes to our neighbors, telling them he was going to see a movie with his boys, that they, “Twisted his arm.” Last summer, the thought of attending the block party was overwhelming. I knew if I went, I would sit and stare at the barricade the entire evening thinking of our car pulling up and Jordan waving to his dad. I cried off and on that entire day.

This year when I saw the flyer for the block party mixed in with the mail I didn’t feel apprehensive or sad. I still thought about Jordan and Merrick picking Mark up for the movies but it made me smile. I was looking forward to finally introducing myself to our neighbors who were hosting the breakfast. Although we’d waved at each other and spoken on the phone once, we’d never officially met. After Jordan died, they sent us the most heartbreaking yet compassionate condolence card. They expressed their sorrow at our loss and told us of losing their daughter-in-law who died during childbirth. They wrote that when they saw all the cars parked in front of our house and so many people going in and out, it brought back memories of their son’s wife dying. Even though we had never met they offered their prayers and hopes for our comfort.

Although a little wary and weary, Mark and I took the cue from our daughters who had already made their way to our neighbors as we stood on the porch preparing to go to the breakfast. We walked across the street making our way onto the porch and introduced ourselves to our hosts. The four of us stood for a moment and then I thanked my neighbor for the beautiful card she sent us after Jordan’s death. As she said in the card, she repeated to me on her porch, “Seeing all those cars brought back all the memories. I felt so badly for you all. I just sat here and cried.” We shared a look that I hope conveyed my appreciation of the grace she and her husband showed my family. She then urged us to help ourselves to the breakfast buffet they’d put together.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and chatted with some of our neighbors. I stood with Mark for a while as we talked with a few others of a local house under perpetual renovation. As they continued talking I excused myself to get more coffee. After I filled my cup, I turned to see a friend standing with three other women that I vaguely recognized. I decided to join their group and say hello. As I entered their circle of conversation I heard the words, “You wouldn’t believe what a mess my daughter left her room when she left for college.” I stood there frozen. I looked down at my coffee and tried to figure out what to do. My mind was trying to coach me, “Of all the conversations to walk up on.” My next thought was, “You don’t have to stay, just smile and walk away.”

As I was having this internal dialogue, the conversation continued and one of the woman said, “I told her I’m not letting her have her diploma until I know she can take care of it.” The group laughed appreciatively. I stood rooted to my spot, staring at the freckled arm of the woman across from me. I have no idea what look was on my face. I tried telling myself, “Merrick is going to college soon, put this conversation in the context of Merrick, then it won’t hurt so much.” The word diploma started reverberating inside my head and I started wondering how I was going to get out of that circle. I still couldn’t move though. Suddenly I felt my friend’s hand on my arm. She pulled me away, gently smiled and picked up on a conversation we were having earlier. I could feel the muscles in my face soften as she and I talked.

Later that day I told Mark about standing in that circle of women, and being frozen in place, when all I wanted to do was leave. I blamed myself, “What’s wrong with me? Why is it more important for me to be polite than to take care of myself? I just stood there.” My dissection and analysis of the events was that I didn’t respond appropriately in an awkward situation.

I met with my counselor today and told her of my weekend “Freeze”experience, sharing how I have been chastising myself for not responding differently. She gently but firmly stated that my response was not strange for someone who has experienced a traumatic loss. Politeness and being manner able had very little if anything to do with my response to hearing a conversation about college and diplomas when Jordan would be a senior in college this year. As she talked to me she concentrated on the positive outcome that happened when my friend pulled me aside. She urged me to have a friend ready to help when a situation gets overwhelming. I told her that in the months after Jordan died I kept a buffer zone of friends who did just that. Clearly I need to ask for support in situations where I feel uncertain or overwhelmed. I definitely need to cut back on thinking, “What’s wrong with me?” I now know that in the face of triggers aka “awkward situations,” I sometimes freeze because my traumatic grief is too much for me to bear alone. Fortunately on Sunday, a friend saw my distress and pulled me to safety.

Category:

college, death of son, friends, grief, loss of child

Tagged with:

Still Going

The girls’ open house is tonight. They are so excited for Mark and I to go to each of their classes. Kendall has told me more than once not to lose the schedule she filled out for me. “Mom it has the room numbers for all of my classrooms. It’s very important.” I tell her I have her schedule and don’t plan to lose it. I’m laughing inside because while the middle school is new for my daughters it’s old ground for me. They know that both of their brothers attended the same school, and one of their brothers had the same teachers they now have. It’s new to them and that’s what matters. I’m feeding off of their excitement. I’m taking this opportunity to look at the open house and “their” middle school from the perspective of excited 6th graders’. My daughters have no need to expect  less from their parents.

Thanks to you for all of the comments, compliments, which I sheepishly accept, and offers to come with me to the high school open house. I am fed emotionally by the support of my online community and neighborhood friends. All of you are gifts. Just knowing that I have such a strong, wide net of support is comforting. I do believe my online friend Claire, would travel here to go with me to the high school  even though we’ve never met in person.

I’m not sure why I’m so haunted by the high school and the memories of Jordan that may pop out at any time. Jordan always loved “his” school. He like most teenagers was excited for the independence high school would bestow. Four quick years (and they do go by so fast) and then he’d be off to college. High school is the place where I witnessed the beginning of Jordan’s transformation from child to young adult. Having my oldest child start high school was symbolic for me as well. It was a new adventure for both of us. At the beginning of Jordan’s freshman year of high school, I wrote the following in my journal,

We’re turning a corner I’m not sure I’m ready to turn. Suddenly you’re pulling me along, eager to see what lies ahead. You’re not my little boy anymore. There are so many glimpses of the man you’ll become. The set of your jaw, the shape of your mouth and eyebrows, especially the bass that is pushing it’s way into your voice.

I can’t hold you back. I don’t want to. But your pace and mine have suddenly changed. You’re turning the corner and you still check in to see if I’m watching and following. But you had to let go of my hand to make the turn. I’ve got to let you explore and embrace this time, even if it means you’re not my little boy anymore. I’ll always be here for you, to support you and love you. Don’t forget to turn and wave.

Jordan in the high school newspaper room

The high school holds much symbolism, rewarding memories and reminders of the changes to come for my family and me. I have a son who is now a senior in high school and has college on the horizon. Just as I did with Jordan, I’ve got to let him explore and have his adventures. I’ve never been one to let my fears rule me for too long. Mark and I will attend the open house with the other parents tomorrow night. I may clutch his arm tighter than usual but my husband understands me, which is my blessing. I’m hoping this year will be easier than last; it certainly can’t get much worse! I’ll keep walking the grounds and the halls of the high school. By the time my daughters are freshman there it will feel so good to say, even if a bit wistfully, “My kids school.”

Category:

death of son, friends, grief, high school, loss of child, Mother of Four, motherhood

Tagged with:

Express Yourself

My daughters Lindsay and Kendall were amazing to watch as they switched back and forth between planning their 11th birthday party and planning the, “Express Yourself ” celebration to honor Jordan for what would be his 21st birthday. They talked one moment of the elaborate sparkly cake they wanted for their sleepover and then the next asked if we could have mint chocolate chip ice cream and Oma’s pound cake at Jordan’s celebration. They wanted all of his favorite foods, songs, and people to be represented. Their energy and enthusiasm was awe-inspiring. I tried to keep up but sometimes as they reminisced about Jordan and the things he loved I looked away. I started to wonder why I decided to have with this event. Getting through Jordan’s birthday on 8.9.10 had been filled with laments. The “Express Yourself” event was five days after his birthday. How was I going to make it to that day without being engulfed in sorrow? The only purpose reminiscing about Jordan seemed to serve for me was that it made me want what I couldn’t have. I wanted Jordan back, so he could tell us too much fuss was being made about his birthday. I wanted to watch him turn 21 and go out with his dad for a beer. “How did we get here?” was ringing in my head.

Two weeks before Jordan’s celebration, I called my sister and told her I was going to cancel it. I felt more sad and apprehensive than any desire to be festive. I felt more like I was planning a memorial service. I couldn’t put my family or myself through that pain again. My sister Julie was the only one I let know of my plan to cancel the event. After I spoke with Julie, I wondered why this year it seemed harder than last to have a celebration of Jordan’s life. As I went to shower I realized the difference between this year and last, my friends. Last year my friends sat around my kitchen table asking me what I wanted the celebration to include, and then they handled the details. They told me I was doing enough by being there.

I realized why planning “Express Yourself” seemed so hard. Unlike last year’s celebration of Jordan on his birthday, this year I hadn’t let any of my friends in on the planning or the ambivalent feelings I was having. I’d put my own measure on time and decided that I should be able to plan this year on my own. Because it has been almost 2 years since Jordan died I decided that I should be able to handle planning the event. I knew my friends were busy with their own lives and I didn’t want them to feel burdened by my grief. I didn’t even ask my sister for help until late in the planning stages. The word “should,” I’d broken my own rule about grieving. There are no “shoulds.” There are no rules. Grief and mourning don’t follow any linear path to some final point of acceptance and healing. Every day is different.

Just as I was finishing my shower, clear now that it was not the celebration that was causing my sadness, but the isolation I had imposed on myself, Mark told me that my friend Jeanne called and wanted to know if I was free for lunch. Twenty minutes later I met Jeanne and Amy at a nearby Indian restaurant. We hadn’t talked, really talked to each other in months. As we sat and caught up over Indian food I finally told them how my summer has been fraught with sadness and anxiety, something I’ve managed to simply endure. It has been drenched with sadness and anxiety with “good days” being few and far between. Then the questions came:

“Why didn’t you call us?”

“I didn’t know what to say? I was just trying to make it through each day.”

“You can’t suffer in silence. We’re here for you.”

“I know you are. I didn’t know what I needed. I didn’t know what to ask for.”

As we sat and talked I told them how I’d considered cancelling the “Express Yourself” event. Amy gently reminded me of why I wanted to have the celebration. She said, “It is a lovely idea to honor Jordan’s memory by being with friends who love your family and who loved Jordan. Don’t over think it. It will be what it will be.” She and Jeanne went on to tell me that if at any point I got overwhelmed then I could go home, even if I only stayed for 5 minutes.

Once I accepted help and expressed my apprehension and confusion, I was met with such generous spirits. I watched as my apprehension turned to excitement. Amy and Jeanne deemed themselves the food committee and told me they’d have everything ready the night of the celebration. Julie kept in touch with Jordan’s friends and they planned the performances that would occur. I put myself in charge of tablecloths, candles, and of reminding myself when I felt down that celebrating and honoring Jordan was a source of energy and light. I held on to those feelings and looked forward to an evening spent with friends, many of whom I hadn’t congregated with since the memorial service.

On August 14th, friends and family gathered at the “Express Yourself” event. We looked at pictures of Jordan where we couldn’t help but smile. The spread of food was enough to feed an army and included cupcakes lovingly made by Lindsay and Kendall. The music playing in the background was from Jordan’s IPod. Throughout the evening people signed the “Express Yourself” guestbook and made donations to “Jordan’s Fund.” The evening of performances started with listening to “Jordan’s Rap” which I cry every time I hear. Hearing his deep, beautiful voice I imagine what wonderful things he would have done in this world. Julie read a poem written by Lindsay, which talked about the shade in her heart since Jordan’s smile is gone. Merrick and Jordan’s friends performed hip-hop and jazz music. I listened to the words of Jordan’s sister and watched Jordan’s brother captivate the room and I knew Jordan was proud.

Julie sang accompanied on saxophone by Jordan’s friend Lucas, “Look to the Mountain,” a beautiful song she and her husband wrote over 20 years ago upon hearing of the death of one of our dear high school friends David Saidel. She talked of the irony in singing again a song about a wondrous life that ended too soon. Later in the evening, Lucas with his brother Nick on clarinet and friend Jack on bass played, \”All Blue\”“a selection from Miles Davis’s, “Kind of Blue” album. Lucas introduced the piece by saying that it always reminded him of Jordan and him driving around together. He said that Jordan was his only friend that he could listen to jazz with, and they both loved Miles Davis. I took a turn as well, reading in a shaky voice “To Jordan on His 21st Birthday.” It was a good and necessary thing to socialize, laugh and cry with those who love my family and I. All those in attendance had their own sweet, memories of Jordan, which they so eloquently conveyed. I left that evening feeling grateful to be a proud, humbled, still hopeful mother of four.

Collage I made of pictures of Jordan that make me smile. The center picture of Jordan holding the sparkler and singing is my favorite.

Merrick and Jordan's friend Billy preparing to perform. Mark is acting as DJ

Preparing to read my letter to Jordan

Category:

birthdays, friends, loss of child, Mother of Four, party planning

Tagged with:

Party Planning

I’m planning two parties right now, a sleepover for my daughters and a gathering for family and friends to honor my son Jordan. The paradox is not lost on me. My twin daughters’ birthday is exactly a week before Jordan’s birthday. My girls will turn 11 on August 2nd. Jordan would be 21 on August 9th. Sometimes I have to shake my head to clear my thoughts enough to do such parallel planning. I want my daughters birthday to be special and silly and fun just as 11-year old girls are. I’m putting extra care into their party because this year their attention has been more focused on their brother’s birthday rather than their own.

My daughter Lindsay was the first to ask about Jordan’s birthday. “Are we having a party again this year for Jordan’s birthday?” The thought had been running through my mind for weeks, but I wasn’t sure if I had the emotional energy to make it happen. Watching my family as August 9th approaches I realize we are all feeling Jordan’s absence even stronger than usual. We need to have a party for Jordan to soothe our hearts and make the equivalent of a shouting of his name from the rooftop. We need the world to know, “Jordan was here.” 08-09-10 is the birthday Jordan couldn’t wait to celebrate. Not just because of the freedom and status that being 21 brought but also because of the magical flow of numbers: 8,9,10. This flow of numbers as magical as his birth date, 8-9-89.

Banner hung at our house to welcome guests to 2009 celebration of Jordan's life

Last year I was compelled to have a gathering for Jordan’s friends in honor of his birthday. It was the first birthday we’d celebrated since his death. I worried about Jordan’s friends and wanted those friends who couldn’t attend the memorial service and even those who had, to have a place with our family knowing they were with others who loved and missed Jordan. The party was beautiful. Jordan’s friend Luc who plays the sax with the same talent and passion as any jazz great brought his band to our home and performed. Another friend Matt made a video of silly moments from their elementary and high school years and we watched and laughed together. I watched with gratitude as bridges between Jordan’s high school friends and college friends were crossed as they met and shared their own Jordan stories for the first time. It was almost perfect. I mingled with the kids and my friends in attendance until the moment when it was all too much. There came a point when all I could think was, “How could we have a party for Jordan without Jordan?”

“I miss my boy. I want him to come home.”

I made my way to my bedroom, quietly closed the door and lay on my bed and sobbed. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door and my sister Julie peeked her head in. Seeing my face she simply asked, “Is it okay if I stay in here with you?” I nodded yes and she lay down beside me and touched my shoulder. I cried and wailed and called Jordan’s name and she cried with me. I thought back to Jordan’s first birthday and the party we held. The party Julie and I planned together. Julie and I joked back then that we could go into the party planning business.

It is now weeks from Jordan’s birthday. Twenty years later Julie and I are planning a party for Jordan again. Jordan’s 17- year old brother has repeatedly said to me, “I want it to be huge.” He misses his brother and best friend so much and needs to see the love and longing for Jordan reflected back to us so we don’t feel so alone in missing and honoring him.

As August approaches my daughters’ excitement for their birthday is rising. The night of their party my husband and I will listen to the karaoke singing, glee filled laughter and whispering that sleepovers bring. We’ll hand out goodie bags as the guests leave and look at our daughters for signs of hazy contentment that comes from sleep-deprived fun. Then, on August 14th we’ll have an “Open Mic Night,” as suggested by Lindsay. Friends and family will gather to express themselves through poetry, song, dance, storytelling, however they see fit. We’ll pass the hat for “Jordan’s fund” and provide scholarships for college students. Great effort is going into both parties. Generosity and love is bestowed upon my children.

Category:

birthdays, friends, grief, loss of child, party planning

Tagged with:

Facebook-Generation Y Keeps In Touch

Right now I’m trying to prepare myself to wistfully watch college kids trickle back home for the summer. I know I’ll do my usual double take at young men that remind me of my son Jordan. I know they’re not he but my gaze will linger on their walk or the backs of their heads. I will imagine for just a moment that it is my boy and he’s come home.

Jordan can’t come home anymore and some days that fact is easier to bear than others. One day a few weeks ago I was cleaning out my inbox on our main computer. I’d hesitated to do this task because I wasn’t sure how I’d react to seeing old messages from Jordan. I shouldn’t have worried. Every message I found from him made me smile. I sat at the computer reading his sometimes too brief notes with such contentment. I felt as if I’d rediscovered a cache of letters buried deep in a drawer. Every email was a treasure no matter how banal. They were notes from my boy to me; nothing could be more priceless.

Email was one way I kept in touch with Jordan while he was away at Amherst College. Some of his emails were his paper assignments from his History or Political Science classes for my review. I was so honored that he trusted my opinion. It marked a milestone in our relationship, him seeking out my advice. He like most adolescents went through the phase where any suggestion I offered had to be debated or rejected. Looking over his papers in middle school and high school were torturous sessions. College though, was different. The maturity Jordan was showing made me so proud. We shared a love of reading and then he allowing me into his world of writing.

Jordan and I also routinely emailed articles we thought the other would find interesting. Jordan’s wit and his opinion of my generation were exemplified in the articles he chose to send me. I found emails from Jordan in my inbox that included an article from the July/August 2008 Atlantic Monthly, http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2008/07/is-google-making-us-stupid/6868/, also articles from his college newspaper, and my favorite, an article from the NY Times entitled, /Text Generation Gap: U R 2 Old (JK) by Laura M. Holson.

I have never been very technically savvy. My husband and children lead the way in all things new and computers are no exception. Jordan and I had the same type of cell phone and he taught me as best he could how to send text messages. I realized that if I didn’t learn how to text I wouldn’t have much contact with him when he was away at school. He rarely checked voicemail messages but would respond quickly if I left him a text message. I used the cell phone to make calls; he used it to send text messages. I remember asking him about the feature that showed in “ghost writing” an anticipation of the word you were typing. I asked him to show me how to text faster by using this feature. He explained how it worked and I must have looked as confused as I felt because he finally said, “That’s the advanced class, just work on regular texting for now.” I still haven’t made it to the “advanced class.”

Jordan and his friends used forms of communication that at times led me to wonder how close their friendships were. Everything seemed virtual. They texted in clipped abbreviated grammar, they “talked” on Facebook but rarely unless they were face-to-face did they hear each other’s voices and hold conversations. Jordan and I would debate the lack of what I considered “real” talk between he and his friends. I teased him that their lack of talking and writing, would make it hard for them to communicate more broadly when they needed to. He always gave me the same response; I didn’t understand his generation. They didn’t need to communicate the way I did with my friends he would tell me. They stayed in touch with each other and that in his mind was the important thing. He also predicted that my mode of communication would become outdated and I would find myself texting more and talking via phone less. Time will tell.

When my sons were younger, I signed up for Facebook after reading about and hearing from friends how it could be misused for bullying and harassment. Jordan and I were never Facebook friends though I did attempt once when he was in high school to “friend” him. My friend request to both of my sons was ignored. When I gullibly asked them if they got my request they told me as politely as they could that letting me into their Facebook world wasn’t something they planned to willingly do. I quickly learned from Jordan and Merrick that they would have to be forced to let me into their virtual friend space. I didn’t press the issue. My relationship with each of them was open and strong. I told them I trusted them and would continue to do so unless they gave me a reason not to. They understood my meaning and my Facebook page lay dormant until well after Jordan died.

“jordy! been blastin the cool thinkin bout u, missin u and lovin u.”

I have now become a voyeur in my late son’s world. Messages like the one above greet me when I go to visit my 19-year-old son Jordan’s Facebook page. Looking through the messages left by Jordan’s friends since his death on October 12th, 2008 have provided comfort and community on days when all I want is for Jordan to be a sophomore in college preparing like his friends to come home. I am so gratified to know that by dropping in on his Facebook page I’m connected to his friends who let me know with heartbreaking beauty that they miss him too and that he has not been forgotten.

After Jordan died I learned first hand about what Jordan meant about his friend’s communication skills. They’ve reached out to my family with grace and a maturity that belies their years. His close friends who were unable to attend the memorial service, some we’d never met before, made a point of coming to our home to sit with us and pay their respects. Remembrances of Jordan in the college newspaper also let us know how he was thought of:

“[Jordan] was one of the coolest, most chill dudes on campus. He had a way about him that was quiet, but he never let you forget he was in the room. He just never said anything that didn’t need to be said. He was real at all times and he was an honorable person that was fair and loyal.”

Those that weren’t able to visit, sent cards or letters with their own fond memories of Jordan that I wouldn’t otherwise know. One letter from Jordan’s friend who couldn’t attend the memorial service talked of her time working with Jordan on their high school newspaper. She wrote of a time travel game they used to play in their down time. The game involved describing what era you’d like to visit and what you would do when you got there. She ended the letter by telling me she would never forget Jordan and that all of those who played the time travel game voted Jordan most likely to fit in no matter where he landed. I treasured her words and have my moments thinking of Jordan time travelling and fitting in oh so well.

I’m still learning of the impact Jordan had on his family and friends in his time on this earth. In the hours after Jordan died I learned by accident that his younger brother posted a plaintive message on Facebook page that was the virtual equivalent of a wail. His post read, “Merrick is lifeless. A piece of him died.” Merrick left our computer open to this page and I found his message the morning of Jordan’s death by accident. I sat numbly after reading his words and for a moment was taken back to my conversations with Jordan about his generation’s way of communicating. Here in two sentences were the echoes of grief that Merrick had been unable to verbalize directly to his parents. On Facebook he laid his soul bare. Merrick expressed his sorrow and reached out to his and Jordan’s friends using the medium that reached many quickly without concern for showing his vulnerability. I ached for my son and knew by reading his words the depths of his pain. I also knew that we had to quickly find a way to let Jordan’s close friends know of his death before they learned of it virtually without benefit of comfort by family or friends. I didn’t want any of them sitting alone facing a computer screen when they learned their friend had died. My husband and I placed calls to the parents of Jordan’s closest friends who informed their children and I assume spread the word. Jordan’s college sent out a mass email alerting everyone to his death. Word spread the way of Jordan’s generation and that is one of the ways they chose to pay their respects.

After hearing of Jordan’s death, two of his friends set up a public R.I.P. page on Facebook so that his friends could post messages. I went to this page expecting to see it filled with messages honoring Jordan. I was so disappointed and confused to find it empty except for information about the memorial service. Where were Jordan’s friends? Then it hit me. They had gone to the place they always went to communicate with Jordan, his profile page. Since Jordan and I were never Facebook friends my only entry was due to Merrick leaving his Facebook page open. I went from his Facebook page to Jordan’s and was met with a flurry of postings from Jordan’s friends and acquaintances who as they said had, “dropped by.” Here was the place that held the messages meant for Jordan.

The virtual reality that is Facebook allowed Jordan’s friends to stay in touch with him in a metaphysical way that is so fittingly a part of their generation. Their shock and disbelief leapt off the page. For so many of them, Jordan’s death marked the first loss of one of their own. They came to his page to try and make sense of the unfathomable, and also I think to try and be with Jordan. There was no hint of self-consciousness as both male and female friends openly expressed their love for Jordan and their sorrow. Their vulnerability and pain were evident in all of their posts.

His friends paid their respects with transparent eloquence:

“i dont know how or why this happened to you. You were one of the nicest people Ive ever met and your smile could light up any room. you will be missed”

“Damn this is crazy Rest in peace man…”

“Jordan you are the kind of guy that no one could ever say anything negative about. A quality man I know your already making a positive impact somewhere and you will continue to do so here.”

“I don’t know if this counts, but I lit a candle for you and said the mourner’s Kaddish. I’m sure I was terrible with the Hebrew, but I don’t think you’d mind (hah, you ain’t even Jewish). You are in my thoughts and my prayers. I hope that we’ll meet again somewhere.

Sincerely, respectfully, sadly,”

The earnestness and sorrow with which they spoke to Jordan surprised and touched me. Jordan was right. There were things about the way his friends communicated that I didn’t understand. I prayed as I read their messages that they would take the time to read the messages left by others. I needed them to know that they weren’t alone in their grief. Jordan would not want them to suffer alone. In spite of the virtual nature of their contact there were tangible benefits. They like I could drop by anytime and not have to grieve alone. These children/young people/friends were spread all across the country but when they visited Jordan’s page they grieved together and celebrated Jordan’s life together. The miles that separated them didn’t matter. They didn’t need to see each other’s faces or hear each other’s voices. Their words were enough. Their words meant everything because they took the time to drop by to the one place where they all knew that they could come together and talk to and about a life well lived.

After the initial rest in peace messages, the Facebook communications did not stop. For Election Day 2008, messages to Jordan showed how well his friends knew him and his love of politics. It was a day where my husband and I casted our votes with tears in our eyes. We voted thinking of our Political Science major son Jordan and how he’d voted early via mail-in ballot. How he watched every debate with the same intensity and fervor that he watched sports on television. As we stood in disbelief casting our votes for Obama, knowing how much Jordan had been looking forward to this day, his friends posted notes on his page showing they too were thinking of him:

“Jordan as I went to the polls this morning bright and early at 6am… i thought about u… i kno u were right over me watchin witnessing this legacy that has taken place…. our votes counted and we helped change the world…. we in here Jordan -Love always and 4ever”

“Your legacy has been made. Ill see u in heaven someday. Catch u on the flip side son, Im gonna miss ya. Your vote is what changed the country.”

“JORDY!!!!!!!!!! i kno how happy you are to kno that we have a black president!!!!!! miss u much!”

I continue to be comforted every time I visit Jordan’s Facebook page. His friends wish him Happy Birthday, Happy Holidays and update him on their lives. I love that they bring Jordan forward with them in their lives. I hope they don’t mind that I drop by to gather a bit of the love they leave for my son. Some days it is what keeps me going.

Since Jordan’s death there are days when my biggest fear of him being forgotten comes forth and overpowers me. Even as I’m reassured that he won’t be by the outpouring of love towards him by his friends, my mother heart is still uncertain. When I’m having my doubts all I have to do is visit his Facebook page. There plain as day are the many notes of love, longing and good wishes from his friends. As one of his friends put it, “See you in the later.”

I’ll see you in the later too sweet son. You are missed by so many.

Category:

college, facebook, friends, Generation Y, guilt, loss of child, motherhood, mourning

Tagged with:

Wish You Were Here

“Jordan should be here.” The ache of sorrow that courses through my body can be boiled down to that one statement. He should be here because his birthday came and went and we celebrated his life without him. He should be here because there were no calls for his siblings or his parents on their birthdays. He should be here because of the empty seat left at our table at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and because of all the presents I didn’t get to buy that would have been perfect for him.

Clothing, pictures, videos, anything Jordan ever wrote, have become my treasure chest of memories. I rediscovered what is now one of my most cherished pictures of my son and I together. It’s a picture taken on my birthday about 4 years ago. It is the birthday I received an iPod nano and felt I could share in the music “techy” talk with my sons and husband. Jordan sat next to me as I opened my gifts that year and leaned his head on my shoulder as I looked at my gift. I look at that picture many times during the day seeing the joy on both of our faces and wondering what laugh we were sharing. I touch his face, I whisper to the picture “you should be here.”

Jordan and I sharing a joyful moment on my birthday.

I watch my 17 year old son Merrick as he prepares for his final exams, full of his typical anxiety as he has never felt comfortable with tests and becomes more nervous the closer the exam date gets. The attempts his dad, teachers, and I make to ease his anxiety are met with compliance some days but on other days when it’s all too much, the cavalier bravado that only a teenager can master rises to the surface as an annoying weapon as he yells out from his room on the mornings he’s running late to school, “I’m keeping it real.” He’s “keeping it real” and I’m standing outside his door not knowing whether to bang my head against the wall while screaming, curl up on the floor and cry or bang his door down and drag him to school myself. Fortunately, these scenarios happen only in my mind. I breathe deeply a lot and I go downstairs determined to ignore his attempts to push my buttons and try to sift the chaff from the wheat, the grief from the typical teen angst. I stay calm on the outside because I know we’re all suffering and ignoring his nonchalance, which covers so much pain and confusion seems the best tact to get him out the door and started with his day. We’re all changed. In our own ways our behavior, words and sleepless nights echo what we’re all feeling and hoping could be true-“Jordan should be here.”

Merrick talks to me about wanting the week of exams to be over so he can rest. I remind him that junior year is tough and yes “you will be tired”. He always asks, “Did Jordan get nervous about finals?” I tell him “yes. “ Jordan should be here” because he is the person I would be calling now to give Merrick a pep talk. As a sophomore in college, he would have wise words for his brother about studying and not getting overwhelmed and telling Merrick, “you can do this.” Merrick would leave the call feeling focused and less burdened. He would have had the chance to complain about his dad and I and how “we’re on his back” in a way you can only do with your siblings. Jordan would have told him, “That’s how they were with me too.” The camaraderie they shared would have shored Merrick up and given him the boost he needed to get through that day.

I watch Merrick alternate between studious and weary and wonder how should I interject myself into my son’s process. He wants to do well, he has to study, but his mind takes him to so many places beyond the walls of high school and the upcoming exams. He sees the images of Haiti’s destruction and death and like his dad and I have a kinship with the grief we see on the faces of the survivors. A part of us reaches back to the first moment of knowing of the death of Jordan and we wail inside and shudder with the faces of the people of Haiti whose grief is so graphically displayed. After losing a loved one, viewing others’ displays of grief is with a lens tinged with fraternity and sorrow. I recognize the sobs and the wails, because I’ve cried them. I see the women holding their heads in their hands in grief and pain and I know it is done to try and block out if even for a second the new reality and life they must face, because I’ve held and still hold my head the same way. Total destruction did not befall my family. Our house still stands, food, water, medicine, all the necessities are in ample supply. But like anyone who has lost a loved one, how that person died is secondary to the tragedy of loss. There is an ever present longing to have your loved one back. Talking to mothers who have lost children in a variety of circumstances has taught me this lesson about grief.

As we manage our loss we are grateful for the friendships we’re forming with Jordan’s friends. As has become one of our new and treasured traditions, all of Jordan’s closest friends drop by whenever they are home from college. Two of his lifelong friends were over the day before they went back to school and sat and talked with Mark and I for a couple of hours. Football was on in the background and I sat across the room and observed Mark and Jordan’s friends watching the game together and talking about who they saw going to the Superbowl. Bouncing off the walls were the words “Jordan should be here.”  As the talk turned to how they were doing in school, and what they were thinking of majoring in they told us of their latest venture to form a music production company and the time they spent over break recording their latest mix tape. “Jordan should be here”, continued to echo in my head almost to the point where I thought I would have to leave the room. All of these young men, friends since childhood stepping into a new venture and maintaining the bond of friendship that saw them through grade school, block parties, sleep away camp and going off to college. “Jordan should be here.” As they got up to leave Mark and I walked them to the door, happy as usual to see them, but feeling all the while how bittersweet their visits are.

As they were leaving Merrick came in from hanging out with his friends and Jordan’s friends remarked on how tall Merrick is. I looked at him and realized he’s taller than both of them.  I wonder, “When did he get so tall?” and how is it I hadn’t noticed. I say my final goodbyes and leave them to talk with Merrick. I hear their voices in the entry as they stand and talk for another 30 minutes about music. I listen for a bit and hear how easily Jordan’s friends embrace Merrick into their conversation and respect his point of view. I hear the energy and excitement in all of their voices. For me, it is time for this day to end. I go upstairs with the words of the guys’ talk of their new music group wandering through my thoughts, knowing that Jordan would have played a big role in their group if he were here. I go upstairs only wishing to sleep and not linger too long on the thought that is permeating my being, “Jordan should be here.” As soon as I get upstairs I take the medicine my doctor has prescribed to help me get the sleep that has eluded me for months. I take it even as I hear the guys still in our entry talking to Merrick. I need sleep to come quickly. I need to focus on a new day. The unfairness that is surging inside me must be quelled. I’m hoping sleep will quiet the longing for my son, if just for a little while. Jordan should be here.

Category:

brothers, death of son, friends, motherhood

Tagged with: