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.

Posts tagged ‘kid’s grief’

Celebrations

Celebrations

Brothers that were buddies from the start

On October 20th, 2008 I wrote the following in my journal:

Jordan’s gone. The pain is everywhere and there’s no place to put it.

It’s Merrick’s birthday. I got up, got the kids off to school and stumbled back to bed. Mark held me as I slept and he stared.

Later, I got up and curled my hair, put on make-up and changed my clothes. I made sure to put on a necklace, earrings and a bracelet, the things Merrick has seen me in before. The things I wear when I want to feel like I look good.

My heart is so heavy and aching with missing Jordan; I also have joy and this wonderful gift whose name is Merrick. Today is his day and he will be celebrated.

Those are the words written in my journal 8 days after Jordan died. Within 8 days were the death of one child and the birthday of another. I was saturated with pain and sorrow and my son’s 16th birthday was here. He was upon one of the “big” birthdays, the one that puts you on the threshold of independence and starts the pull from adolescence into young adulthood.

Since the age of 5, Merrick claimed the month of October as his own. The first day of October he would come downstairs and in a loud voice announce, “It’s Oc-toh-berrr” just like one of the World Wrestling Federation announcers. It was his signature call that we all awaited. Then every day until his birthday he would count down and ask me the same question, “Hey Mom, you know my birthday is in 19 days?” Then the next day the same question as the countdown continued until finally his birthday arrived. My response everyday to the countdown question was the same, “Yes Merrick I know your birthday is in 19,18,17… days. I was there for the actual birth.” Last year like clockwork came the “It’s Oc-toh-berrr” call. He was so excited at finally being 16. He talked about getting his learner’s permit and then his license. He told me he knew he’d have to run errands and pick up his sisters “Just like Jordan.” He was so excited that he was about to be 16.

I asked him if he wanted to do something special with his friends for his birthday. He gave me an exasperated look and explained that girls got together for birthdays and had “little parties” but that’s not what guys did in his generation. He told me, “let’s just do what we always do.” Our family tradition for the kids’ birthdays was to go to Cheesecake Factory for dinner, order cheesecake to go, and came home to sing “Happy Birthday” and open presents. I told Merrick, “then we’ll do our regular routine”.

Celebrations

Jordan helping Merrick celebrate his 13th birthday

Our regular routine, even saying those words is difficult now, but planning for Merrick’s birthday is probably the last time I said or felt anything that was like “our regular routine.” October 12th, 2008 the day Jordan died has taken the words “regular routine” from our vocabulary -at least for now. There may come a day when those words feel right to say again. We celebrated Merrick’s birthday last year, all of us with such heavy hearts. Merrick did his best to be cheerful but there are pictures from that night that make me cry every time I look at them. Pictures of Merrick with a faraway look, lost in thought, clearly not thinking about celebrating. Every time I look at a certain picture I wonder if Merrick is thinking what I was thinking, “Jordan would/should be calling right now.”

Celebrations

Merrick lost in thought as we sing "Happy Birthday" to him on his 16th birthday.

Merrick hearing his brother’s voice wishing him a happy birthday was missing from the day. That birthday call was part of the regular routine since Jordan had been away at college.

Right after Jordan died Merrick and I talked and he expressed his sadness, but also his belief that Jordan’s spirit would be with him always. He admitted to me however, that he was relieved that Jordan didn’t die on his birthday. He said to me, “I don’t think I could take it if that had happened. This is already too hard.” Even though Jordan didn’t die on Merrick’s birthday it has changed October for all of us, but especially my son who lost his only brother and his claim on the month of October.

This year as the first day of October came; I waited but knew there would be no cry of, “It’s Oc-toh-berr”. Merrick no longer claimed October. Merrick was so subdued and didn’t mention his birthday at all for the first week of the month. One day as he and I sat at the kitchen table eating lunch, he said to me, “Mom, there are two good things happening in October.” I asked him, “What are they?” His reply was about a new video game and a new movie coming out that month. I looked at him across the table and then gently said to him, “And your birthday.” He looked at me and said quietly, “Oh yeah, that too.”

How I ached for my boy. He needed so much gentleness and care. The 8 days that separated his birthday from the loss of his brother weren’t lived in real time. They were more like one extended day that should never have been. I didn’t push any false cheer on Merrick. I knew the result of that would be him forcing himself to act happy to make his family feel at ease. I had to let him feel whatever he needed to feel as his birthday approached. It hurt seeing how changed he was from years past. Merrick had gone from treating his birthday as a national holiday to seeming wary and just trying to make it through the day. It was one of those moments as a parent when you stand helplessly by watching the pain of your child and know that it is a burden you cannot fix. There is no way to take away the pain.

As Merrick’s birthday approached, Mark told me what gift he planned to get for Merrick. He was planning on buying him the Sony Playstation 3, even though we couldn’t really afford to right now. Mark’s only care was trying in some way to see a glimpse of excitement and joy in Merrick’s eyes. Any talk of money and budgets from me were futile. Mark was determined that whether it worked or not he was going to surprise Merrick with a gift he knew he wasn’t expecting at all. He wanted to see a glimpse of joy amidst the quiet pain haunting our son’s face.

A few days before his birthday I asked Merrick what gifts he wanted since he hadn’t asked for anything.  Merrick told me that he needed a couple of sweatshirts and a new wallet. He needed a  wallet because his had been stolen from his gym locker a week before. Most of the contents of the wallet had been found in an empty classroom including his school ID and learner’s permit, but he was most upset that “Jordan’s mantle” was gone. The mantle Merrick referred to was a piece of cloth that had been cut from a larger cloth our Pastor used during the tree dedication ceremony we had for “Jordan’s tree”.

Celebrations

Friends cutting cloth from "Jordan's mantle"

The tree was donated by my daughters’ Girl Scout Troop and planted in Jordan’s honor at the field overlooking the elementary school all four of our children attended. Our pastor explained that the cloth represented a way for all of us to honor Jordan’s memory by carrying forth Jordan’s work, loves, interests and personality. The pastor placed the mantle cloth on a branch of the tree and urged everyone to cut off a piece and keep it with them and decide what aspect of Jordan’s personality and life they wished to emulate and keep alive. He talked of Jordan’s sense of adventure, his social activism, love of family, love of reading and learning new things, and his loyalty as a friend. The mantle cloth represented all of these attributes and Merrick as did everyone at the ceremony cut a piece for himself. He told me that he kept the cloth in his wallet. He was most upset that when the contents of his wallet were found, the mantle cloth was not among them. I assured Merrick that we still had the larger piece of cloth and that he would be able to cut another piece.

The day of Merrick’s birthday arrived and with the help of his sisters who had excitement to spare Merrick began to look forward to the celebration we would have after school. I tried to glean and soak up the excitement and energy my daughters were feeling but it wasn’t enough. The reality that my family was starting year two without Jordan to participate in our celebrations weakened me and made me weary. I struggled for most of the day trying not to concentrate on how many celebrations we’d have to have without Jordan. Last year shock had acted as a buffer to the pain of losing Jordan. This year, the first anniversary of Jordan’s death, reinforced that my boy can’t and won’t be coming home. Imagining having to muster the energy and excitement for all the holidays to come overpowered me. “How could we every truly celebrate again when someone, our Jordan, was missing from the table?”  “Would any holiday, or vacation ever feel right?”  “Could our family make new memories without Jordan that felt joyful and not tinged with sadness?”  Those were the thoughts swirling through my head on my son’s birthday. I was so anguished and upset with myself that I was having so much trouble preparing my mind and our home for Merrick’s birthday.

I spent most of the day in bed, crying off and on and so tired. I tried to figure out how I was going to get the things done, and get myself in the right state of mind to be present for my family and especially my son. The list of errands I needed to run to make Merrick’s day special was on a reel in my head: pick up balloons, get cards and gift bags, and have everything out to welcome Merrick home. The list of things was minimal but my weariness made it feel close to impossible to accomplish these simple tasks.

Then it happened, the part of me that never lets me fall too deep into despair took hold. There came the point during the day, when my sorrow and fatigue started to feel like wallowing and self-pity. I knew I had to shake the depression and take care of my child. I reminded myself as I have times before, “I am the mother of four.” October 20th was my beloved, amazing son’s birthday, he would be celebrated and it would include all the traditions he had come to expect. Despite Merrick’s hesitation and the strangeness all of us felt at celebrating a family event without Jordan, we had to, and we needed to. As parents it was Mark’s and my responsibility to help Merrick reclaim his birthday in a way that showed our joy at celebrating him and the day he was born.

Merrick changed our routine a bit and asked that we order dinner “in” since his birthday was on a school night. When he came home from school, his chair was festooned with balloons as is our tradition and after dinner we sang “Happy Birthday” and took pictures as he blew out his candles and opened his presents. He opened the presents and cards from his grandparents and his aunt and uncle, the gag gifts his sisters bought for him, to make him laugh, and the presents from Mark and I. He liked the clothes I’d chosen for him, and then I handed him a gift bag that was just from me. He opened it and saw that it was a wallet, exactly like the one that had been stolen from his gym locker. I told him to open it and he saw that I had put a dollar inside. I explained that his “Oma”, my mother, had always taught me that you never give a person a wallet without money inside. I then told him to look into one of the folds. He opened one of the folds and pulled out the piece of “Jordan’s mantle” that I had tucked inside. Merrick looked at me tearing up and said simply, but with so much gratitude, which is his way, “Thanks Mom.”

Celebrations

Merrick and I after he opened his gifts.

Then it was on to the final gift. Mark had spent the afternoon setting up the Playstation 3. He had wrapped one of the controllers as Merrick’s clue to the “big” gift. Merrick opened the package and very quickly put two and two together. All he could say was, “Wow, I never expected to get this. This is awesome. Thank you. Thank you.” The look on his face erased any worries I had about our budget. Excitement and joy crossed the eyes of my son who has been weighted down with so much loneliness and sorrow. No matter the cost, that gift was worth every penny. We all went upstairs so Merrick could check out his new system. For the next couple of hours he and Mark were upstairs tinkering and making sure that it worked perfectly. After I came downstairs I heard Mark and Merrick laughing and talking and knew that Mark had done right by our son.

Celebrations

Merrick checking out his new gift

That night as is his nightly routine, when he was about to go to bed, Merrick came into my bedroom to hug me and say goodnight. Before he left to go to bed he looked at me and said, “This turned out to be a good birthday.” I looked at him and said, “That’s what we wanted for you. I’m glad.” With everyday my family is relearning a new normal and celebrations are no exception. We keep going.

Category:

birthdays, brothers, celebrations, grief, loss of child, Mother of Four, mourning

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Pet Therapy

Our Nessy

Our Nessy

Pet Therapy

On June 14th, 2009 our family became the proud, slightly anxious owners of a terrier mix puppy. My children had wanted a dog for years. They had used every argument imaginable as to why our family needed a dog as a pet. The timing was never right though. Jordan started asking for a dog when he was in elementary school. With his prepared list of rationales he would detail how a dog would enhance our lives. He of course promised to take care of the dog and his dad and I wouldn’t have to do anything. Of course he got his younger brother in on the begging. They made quite a convincing pair. The only drawback was Jordan’s allergies, which were so bad an allergist recommended in Jordan’s presence that we wait a year or two to see if the medication he was taking would stabilize his symptoms.

Not to be outdone, and as if he were checking the days off on a calendar, Jordan at around the one year mark came back again requesting/begging for a dog. This time he was armed with information. He had been on various websites and researched the best types of dogs for someone with allergies. He also reminded his dad and I yet again that we both had dogs growing up and “didn’t we want our children to have a pet too?” When Jordan set his mind to something and did his research I always thought, “future lawyer in the making” and imagined him before the Supreme Court. I had always taught him if he was going to have an opinion, have an informed one. He certainly took that message to heart and when it came to getting a pet, my direction to my son was coming back to bite me in the butt.

Just as Mark and I started researching breeds and giving serious consideration to adding a dog to our family, we were startled to find out that there would be a different sort of addition to our family. I learned the surprising news as I went in for my annual exam that I was pregnant! A few days later the news went from surprising to shocking as an ultrasound showed that I was having twins. I can still hear my husband’s voice when I called him after the ultrasound appointment to tell him the double news. All he said over and over was, “You are lying”, “You are lying”. I assured him that I saw the two beating hearts for myself so the news was true that I was pregnant with twins. Any thoughts we had of getting a dog were put on indefinite hold, and there was no argument that could sway me. I explained to Jordan and his brother that raising a puppy was like raising a baby and I couldn’t raise three at a time. I knew even though they didn’t believe that no matter how much they promised to do everything for the dog, I would be the one who would end up being the primary caretaker.

Luckily, twin sisters proved a great diversion for the boys and talk of dogs ended- until the girls started asking for one. My response to them was, “I’ve got four kids and that’s all I can handle right now.” They soothed themselves with every toy dog that was on the market. Whenever someone asked them what they wanted for a gift it was always some type of stuffed animal dog.

As the girls got older something shifted in my doubts about pet ownership. I saw how much the girls loved dogs. I also saw how responsible they were. They would ask people walking their dogs past our house if they could pet their dogs. They volunteered to walk our neighbors’ dogs. They also asked me if they could sign up as volunteers at the local animal shelter. They wore me down. Now that the girls were older and I wasn’t as exhausted as I had been in my first years as the mother of four, I was willing to consider getting a dog. Unfortunately, there were two problems: 1) Mark suddenly was totally against the idea. He thought our lives held enough chaos, noise and energy, and 2) Jordan was a senior in high school. When I told Jordan we might get a dog his response to me was simple and succinct, “You can’t”. He reminded me that he always wanted a dog and I said no, and now that he was about to go off to school it was unfair that we would even consider getting one. His guilt trip worked. I knew I could make Mark come around to the idea of pet ownership, but I didn’t want to make Jordan feel left out of such an important family experience.

Then suddenly everything was different, Jordan was gone and our family struggled everyday to redefine and feel our way into what family life meant for us without Jordan. After Jordan’s death, the girls continued asking for a dog and I hesitated, more because of my own physical and emotional state than any dislike of owning a dog. I felt that I spent most days crying or catatonic and knew I couldn’t care for anything else. Time moved on and Mark and I began to feel that a dog might offer a distraction to our family. The unconditional love a dog gives in the midst of all of our heartache and sorrow sounded comforting and right. We were pushed over into the yes column when our son Merrick spoke privately with Mark and asked in such a plaintive voice, “Dad can we please get a dog?” Clearly our family needed some pet therapy. On June 15th, 2008 we became the proud/anxious/slightly reluctant owners of a 3-month-old terrier mix puppy that we adopted from a shelter.

The name we decided on was Nessy. It was my Merrick’s idea. “Ness” was Merrick’s favorite character from a video game called “Earthbound.” A running joke in our family has been Merrick’s long time affinity for unusual names and when he hears one he likes proclaiming, “I like that name. I’m going to name one of my kids that.” So far he’s up to about 60 kids. “Ness” was the first name he liked so much that he bequeathed it to his firstborn. Jordan used to tease Merrick that no matter what he really named his first child, Uncle Jordan was coming to the hospital, picking up the baby, looking down on him or her and calling the baby “Ness”. We would all laugh as Jordan teased Merrick. I would sit watching my family and imagine the scene of brothers moving to a new stage and becoming uncles to each other’s children. What a beautiful image. Merrick never forgot the “Ness” exchanges with Jordan. He could no longer have the brother/uncle moment with Jordan. He had lost that day, that memory; Merrick would be given naming rights of our new dog.

Merrick wanted to call the dog Nessy and no explanation to Mark or me was needed. His sisters resisted at first. They had names they had chosen that leaned towards things like “Sporty” or “Fluffy”.  I explained to them that the name Nessy represented a special bond between Jordan and Merrick. I understood even if they didn’t that the memory of Uncle Jordan coming to the hospital would never happen. This was Merrick’s way of honoring that occasion that would never be realized. The girls understood Merrick’s need to honor Jordan and agreed to the name Nessy.

Nessy has been a godsend to our family. The girls are so happy and excited and our new pet is proving to be a wonderful diversion for them. They take their responsibility seriously and don’t have to be reminded to care for her, so far. She has also been a source of comfort to both of them. Nessy always finds her way into their laps when they are heartbroken and weeping and having a “missing Jordan” moment. As Mark and I sit holding and talking to them, Nessy sits quietly nuzzling their faces. I’ve watched Mark after a long day of work relax as he sits and is welcomed home not only by his children but by the tail wagging and nuzzle that our little dog offers.

For me Nessy has eliminated my ability to stay inside all day, even on the days when the world outside seems too much and all I want is to curl up and undo all the pain my family has suffered. There have been moments when I’m lying on the couch staring out the window with my chin on the armrest and I’ll suddenly feel a paw on my arm and see this little tail-wagging machine that will not be ignored. I know she needs to be walked. With her big brown eyes she speaks volumes, “I can pee outside or in here on the rug, it’s up to you.” She is persuasive, and I get up, put my shoes on, get her leash on and we’re off, out into the world. Suddenly the place I’d been peering out onto from my grieving spot, I’m now a part of and it feels okay. I walk; I look at the sky, the trees, nod at passersby and realize I have more energy than I thought. I always return home feeling better than when I left and I am renewed. I’ve been outside and taken a walk I would not have considered if it weren’t for my dog. Nessy makes sure that I connect to the world and nature everyday.

She has done so many things for our family but the thing I am most grateful for is how she has become a barometer of my teenage son’s mood. The days when he is too quiet and I can tell grief and sorrow are overtaking him, I can ask him if he’s okay and he’ll reply, “Yeah, I’m just tired”. I know it’s more than fatigue that keeps him in his room, lying in bed with his arm covering his eyes. Nessy however can jump onto his bed and he never turns her away. I’ll hear him quietly say “hey girl” and pet her as she snuggles next to him. Merrick has forged a bond with Nessy that calms him and gives him peace. This bond took awhile but it was certainly worth the wait.

When we first got Nessy, I noticed that Merrick unlike his sisters was hesitant to hold or pet her very much. After a couple of days of noticing his reluctance to get attached to our new pet, I asked him what was wrong. He said that Jordan wanted a dog more than any of us and it didn’t feel right that now we had one. I had to admit to him that I too experienced a similar sadness and regret the entire ride home after we picked up Nessy. Bringing our new dog home was the first family experience we had that didn’t include Jordan. I struggled with the fact that we were making new memories and moving forward and Jordan wasn’t a part of them. Merrick and I both experienced that “Jordan should be here” feeling.  Merrick was facing such ambivalence. I knew how much he wanted a dog. Watching him struggle with the guilt of feeling he was betraying his brother was so painful to watch. I offered him a story that I hoped would ease his guilt and allow him to love our new pet.

I relayed the conversation Jordan and I had last summer 2 months before he died. One afternoon as we stood in the kitchen, Jordan out of the blue pronounced that it didn’t matter to him anymore whether we got a dog or not because once he had his own place he was getting a dog. As I relayed my conversation with Jordan, Merrick looked at me surprised because he had no idea Jordan had made such a statement. I then told Merrick about the first dream/vision I had of Jordan after he died:

Jordan was standing in his blue sweater and jeans; hands in his pockets with a huge, beautiful smile on his face. Seated right next to him was a beautiful collie.

Through tears I said, “Jordan got his dog, Merrick.” Merrick just looked at me and said “Thanks Mom.”

Category:

brothers, death of son, family support, grief, mourning, pet therapy

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Opening the Boxes

Jordan on his way to check out his new dorm room sophomore year.

Jordan on his way to check out his new dorm room sophomore year.

We knew they were coming. Jordan’s college dean had given us almost to the hour the time when FedEx would deliver the boxes that held all of Jordan’s belongings. His dean has told us that at some point between 10am and 12pm the boxes would arrive. The clothing, books, school supplies, all the things a 19-year-old needs to live away from home, were winding their way back to us separate from him. To ease the arrival of the boxes, the dean had told us how the Amherst staff that packed the boxes had labeled them. We had already made special arrangements to donate certain items. His refrigerator, rug, lamp, etc. would go to the A Better Chance (ABC) program. Jordan volunteered there his freshman year, mentoring and tutoring high school boys and had planned to do the same his sophomore year. We knew Jordan would want ABC to have things that would benefit the boys in that program.

Out of denial, bravado or plain shock, Mark and I decided we needed to be alone when the boxes came. We had gone back and forth as to whether we should have someone with us when the boxes were delivered. We knew it was going to rip our hearts out to stand and watch as the possessions of our 19-year-old son came home without him. Mark insisted that placing these boxes in our basement was something he needed to do. He cleared a space in the basement to make room for the boxes and then we waited. We had helped Jordan buy, pack and unpack all of his college things for the last two years.  In our grieving parental logic it made sense to us that we should bear the responsibility and the honor of putting them away.

Mark had taken Jordan back to school for his sophomore year. It had been just the two of them. The first time they had extended time together in such a long while without Jordan having the distractions of competing for his father’s attention from siblings or another parent. Once they got to Amherst, Mark took Jordan to Target to buy toiletries, school supplies, snacks for his refrigerator and anything else they could think of, or whatever I called to remind them to get.

Father and Son together.

Father and Son together.

The two of them also had time to just be together, hanging out as father and son. Mark let Jordan choose where they ate every night and came home gulping down Tums after all the junk food he forced down. They went to the movies together and as Mark said, “Talked for the first time man to man about anything and everything without reservation or embarrassment.” Mark glimpsed the adult friendship he would have with his son.

Jordan indulging his dad's need to capture every moment. Here he is about to open the door to his dorm room.

Jordan indulging his dad's need to capture every moment. Here he is about to open the door to his dorm room.

Mark was there with Jordan as he got to his new single room and unpacked the boxes that had been in storage. Jordan unpacked, Mark forever the photographer catalogued every moment, much to Jordan’s annoyance. When most of the boxes were unpacked they took a break and had lunch together before Mark made his way to the airport and back home. They hugged goodbye knowing Jordan would be home for Thanksgiving. We would all see him then.

At the beginning of October as Jordan’s sisters missed their brother more and more, I suggested they write him letters to help tide them over until they saw him in November. One sister wrote about how she couldn’t wait until Thanksgiving because she missed him so much and added a drawing of our family, complete with sunshine, flowers and a rainbow. Jordan’s other sister wrote him a song entitled, “Miss You”, called him and sang it to him before we mailed the letters. We all eagerly awaited Thanksgiving when our whole family would be together again. Thanksgiving held out a promise that would not be fulfilled. October 12th, 2008 forever changed our trust in events happening as we assume they will. Jordan wouldn’t be coming home for Thanksgiving. We wouldn’t sit at a table as family of 6 again.

Even though Mark and I decided that only the two of us would be home when the boxes came, I decided I couldn’t watch them being unloaded and stored. I didn’t want to see them. They represented remnants of a life, my child’s life that shouldn’t be packed away but should still be flourishing. I told Mark, I wasn’t ready to see the boxes and would busy myself in another part of the house until they were stacked in the basement. Fate had other plans. The doorbell rang with that double/triple ring of deliverymen as I was downstairs and Mark was finishing a call. I was willing to wait for Mark to open the door until I heard the thud of the first box on the front porch. I had to tell the FedEx deliveryman that we needed the boxes unloaded around back at our basement entrance not on our front porch. He looked at me with annoyance and I had to let him know this wasn’t an ordinary delivery and we needed gentleness. I explained, “Our son was killed in a car accident while he was away at school. These are all of his possessions. I know it’s extra work for you to take them around back, but if you wouldn’t mind we’d appreciate it. My husband is waiting for you back there.” Tears caught in my throat and compassion covered his face. He apologized, told me he was sorry for my loss and quickly started taking the boxes to the basement entrance. I looked out the kitchen window to make sure Mark was back there and I saw one of the boxes. There it was, labeled, “Jordan Moore-Fields ’11” on the first line and “Shoes” on the second line. Class of 2011 was how he was still known at Amherst, even though that dream was gone. The box marked shoes contained the shoes Jordan and I had bought at the beginning of the summer before he set off for DC for his internship. Once again glimpses of the man he would be as he chose styles appropriate for the workplace and extended his fashion beyond sneakers.  That memory flooded back by reading the word shoes on a box. I never made it upstairs. I sat at our kitchen table and wept as I heard box after box being loaded into the basement. Finally tears turned to screams as I called out Jordan’s name and just kept saying, “No!” Soon Mark was beside me and we wept together for all we had lost and the irony that these boxes labeled with Jordan’s name could never contain all that he had or was. The deliveryman finally called out to us and told us everything was unloaded. He left a note on the receipt again expressing his condolences.

My younger son came home the day the boxes arrived asking if he could go through them. I kept saying, “No your dad and I aren’t ready to go through them yet. Give us a little time.” He would let a day or so pass and then ask again. It took me days before I could look in the direction of the basement where the boxes were stored. I finally asked my son, “Is there something specific that you’re looking for?” All he said was, “I want his clothes. I want to wear them.” I realized that we were all grieving Jordan’s loss differently. What I wasn’t ready to face, my son need to have close to him as a symbol of comfort from his brother. The next day I went downstairs and opened one of the boxes marked clothes knowing that giving Merrick a few items until we went through all of the boxes was necessary. I found what I was looking for and took them up to his room and placed them on his bed. When he came home from school I told him as he ambled up the stairs, “I put a couple of Jordan’s shirts on your bed.” He looked at me and asked, “Is it the Malcolm X t-shirt?” I said, “Yes, and the Run DMC.” He gave me a grateful, relieved look and said, “Thanks mom.”

The weekend after I gave my son the t-shirts, Mark decided he would unpack some of the boxes. He wanted to make sure Jordan’s laptop, mpc and other electronic equipment were in working order. These items held the links to Jordan’s thoughts and creativity. Mark unpacked these things and then decided to keep going and open the box marked desk items. He was stopped short as he opened the desk items box and there on top laid the letters from Jordan’s sisters. The letters that talked about seeing him for Thanksgiving had been sitting on Jordan’s desk. Mark came upstairs weeping, needing to be held as we both sat, grateful that we’d raised a son who was not ashamed to display the letters of his younger sisters for all his friends to see.  Jordan loved his family, it is a truth that will always bring us comfort.

Weeks passed and one day I decided it was time to demystify the box corner and go through my son’s things. I went through box after box. Making piles of things I knew Merrick would want, books that we would keep because we knew they were special to Jordan, and a box of toiletries and cleaning supplies that brought me to tears. That box beyond all others showed just how little time Jordan got to be a sophomore in college. Most of the items were still unopened. An entire box filled with unopened bottles of lotion, deodorant, laundry detergent, tissues, soap, etc. We didn’t want him to run out of anything. He never got to use them.

Then I came to the box that made me laugh and talk out loud to my son. I opened a box labeled clothes that contained his dirty laundry.  That box brought back the running discussion Jordan and I had on a weekly basis, and all the wonderful talks we had. Jordan would typically call me during the day a few times a week as he walked back to his room after class. He would call me with his trademark deep-voiced, “what’s up”, telling me about his classes, his assignments and how nasty the lunch selections were in the cafeteria. I would listen and laugh then ask my trademark question of when he last did laundry. He always evaded the question or spoke of the amazing powers of Febreze. Now, here I sat in our basement with a box of his dirty laundry. I said out loud, “Boy I told you to do this before you went away for the weekend. I knew you weren’t going to finish it even when you said you would.”

I dragged the box into our laundry room, and started sorting it so I could wash his clothes. Mark called while I was starting this task to check in and see how I was doing. I told him I was going through Jordan’s boxes and was washing his clothes. He immediately became alarmed begging me to wait until he got home. I told him I was okay and I needed to go through the boxes, for me it was time. He still worried about me doing the laundry wanting to spare me any undue pain. He suggested that we get someone to do the laundry because it seemed like it would be too much for me. I took a breath and told Mark, “I have to do this. Don’t you realize this is the last time I’ll ever be able to do his laundry, to do something maternal like this for him? I can’t cook for him, or send him care packages or shop for him anymore. Doing these loads of laundry is the last thing I can do for Jordan.” I knew I would probably cry as I folded every piece, but I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing this job. It was my last maternal act of caring for my son.

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brothers, college, grief, Mother of Four, motherhood, mourning

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