I'm doing Sharing Time tomorrow in Primary (our combined Sunday School class for kids 3-11) and the subject is miracles.
It's 12:17AM and I should be sleeping. But my mind is racing about what to teach these sweet little children about miracles. I know God is a God of miracles. I know He gives them daily. But sometimes it's easy to see where He's being a little stingy with them. I am of course thinking about my brother, and wishing there could have been a miracle for him. It wouldn't have even had to be that BIG of a miracle. There is a drug that when administered to someone who has overdosed, literally starts their heart back up. It has saved thousands of lives. I have read crazy stories of people who have had this medication used on them twice in the span of a few days. Why couldn't someone have found my brother in time and used this medicine to save his life?
And here's what I'm learning. There's no good in looking for a miracle where you feel there should have been. Look for the miracle that God gave you. Through every single trial we go through in this life, God gives us a miracle. Sometimes we just have to look harder. If my brother's life had been saved, that miracle would have been obvious. Now that he's gone we have to look a lot harder for the miracle. Or miracles, as I believe we're experiencing.
The first miracle I was able to see through all this was that it was a police officer who found my brother. Not my mom, not my dad, and thank GOD not Nanny. Easily could have been anyone of those people, honestly, considering the circumstances at the time. And my dad was actually really, really close to where they found my brother.
The next miracle was a letter I received from my mom a few months after Jesse's passing. It said that she didn't care what religion I was, just happy I believed in God and that she was happy I was married to such a good man. If you know me, and know my life you can fully appreciate the magnitude of this miracle. If not, just take my word for it and trust me when I say this is huge.
And then just tonight I was at my husband's grandfather's 85th birthday party. Grandpa's health is not the best. As we all sang "Happy Birthday" to him tonight his eyes looked so sad, and it broke my heart. And for a moment I realized those who are "lucky" enough to grow old may not be the lucky ones after all. Not that I'm wishing early death for myself or anyone else, but my brother would have made a terrible old person. I remember him once telling me how scared he was of being old. How you go out of this world the same way you come into it, helpless. And he hated that. And I was thinking about we used to say "Jesse was never a baby". He really was like a toddler from birth. Obviously not literally, but he was just always on the go. Never very babyish. He was never a baby, and he'll never be an old baby... that sounds absolutely terrible. It's now 12:30 and I should really just stop. But I really want to make this point that I'm failing at miserably. But the fact that he's now in a better place, is really a happy thing for him. It's only sad for us that are left here to miss him.
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Dear Jesse,
Carly posted this picture on my Facebook wall the other day.
This was seven years ago.
Jesse, what have you done?
What have you fucking done?
What have you fucking done?
My kids worshiped you.
They love you so much, and we talk about you all the time.
Every single they night they ask for "Uncle Jesse stories" before bed.
Jess, I'm running out of stories.
I'm running out of memories to share.
I've told them everything I can remember about you.
And that kills me.
I think I'm in a bit of the anger stage of my grief.
Because I hate you for not being here.
I hate that my kids will never make a new memory with you.
I hate that if I have another baby I'll never have another picture like this.
I hate that, when I first saw this picture my first thought is of what a great dad you'd be, and now you'll never have that chance.
You would have been an incredible dad.
Your kids would have been freaking hilarious, and amazing, and the world needs your kids!
I secretly hope that some day, some kid will show up on Mom's door step and claim to be her grandson.
Because honestly, I can only imagine what your kid would be like.
And it's hilarious, and charming, and amazing, and all the wonderful things you were, that you couldn't see anymore.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Almost 7 months...
The past few weeks I've found myself overcome with grief, almost as much as I was in the beginning. In a flash I'll see my brother laying in that casket and I'm almost brought to my knees, the pain in my chest is so tangible and just so painful. Something, almost everything will remind me of him. And it all feels so unfair that he's gone. The world will never hear his laugh or see his smile again, and that thought crushes me.
But it's been 7 months... why is this grief resurfacing so strongly now?
As I pondered this, I came to a few conclusions. One, is that I've probably gone about 6 months without seeing my brother. We've lived the last 10 years on opposite sides of the country, but I still think the longest I've ever gone without seeing him at all is about 6 months. I think that, without really comprehending it fully, on some level my brain processed this. That this is the longest I've ever gone without seeing my brother. And that makes things sink in more, seem more permanent, more real... I don't know. But I think it's something.
I also think that when Jesse first died, I was so shocked, and it was so much to process that I couldn't wrap my mind around the drugs. I didn't realize my brother's problem was "that bad". And for the past six months my thoughts have been more about how he died. I've spent so much time on opiate websites, and researching drug overdose advocacy groups, that I haven't given myself time to think past that. It's taken my mental energy to just wrap my mind around the fact that my brother was using heroin. Now, seven months later I've finally processed that, I think my brain is allowing me to process the fact that he's really gone.
Another thing is that I keep myself pretty well distracted. Well four of those are unintentional... living with 4 young children is a great distraction. Any time I'm sad they're immediately there trying to cheer me up. Especially my 3 year old little boy. He hates to me sad, and I can see the concern in his eyes. He'll ask me, "Does that make you happy, Mama?" after he does something sweet. Which I can totally picture my brother doing to my mom, and that breaks me heart all the more, but I just smile and nod and hug him, and try to blink back the tears that threaten to pour from my eyes at any moment. Then there are distractions that I form myself, like social media, and reading... I think as long as I give myself time once in a while this is okay.
Part of my grief now is also for my family in NJ. Knowing they're struggling and I'm so far away and there's so little I can do. My heart just aches for them.
But it's been 7 months... why is this grief resurfacing so strongly now?
As I pondered this, I came to a few conclusions. One, is that I've probably gone about 6 months without seeing my brother. We've lived the last 10 years on opposite sides of the country, but I still think the longest I've ever gone without seeing him at all is about 6 months. I think that, without really comprehending it fully, on some level my brain processed this. That this is the longest I've ever gone without seeing my brother. And that makes things sink in more, seem more permanent, more real... I don't know. But I think it's something.
I also think that when Jesse first died, I was so shocked, and it was so much to process that I couldn't wrap my mind around the drugs. I didn't realize my brother's problem was "that bad". And for the past six months my thoughts have been more about how he died. I've spent so much time on opiate websites, and researching drug overdose advocacy groups, that I haven't given myself time to think past that. It's taken my mental energy to just wrap my mind around the fact that my brother was using heroin. Now, seven months later I've finally processed that, I think my brain is allowing me to process the fact that he's really gone.
Another thing is that I keep myself pretty well distracted. Well four of those are unintentional... living with 4 young children is a great distraction. Any time I'm sad they're immediately there trying to cheer me up. Especially my 3 year old little boy. He hates to me sad, and I can see the concern in his eyes. He'll ask me, "Does that make you happy, Mama?" after he does something sweet. Which I can totally picture my brother doing to my mom, and that breaks me heart all the more, but I just smile and nod and hug him, and try to blink back the tears that threaten to pour from my eyes at any moment. Then there are distractions that I form myself, like social media, and reading... I think as long as I give myself time once in a while this is okay.
Part of my grief now is also for my family in NJ. Knowing they're struggling and I'm so far away and there's so little I can do. My heart just aches for them.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
First time going back home
I live in AZ, and my family lives in NJ. I just happened to be in NJ when my brother died because we were visiting for the holidays. This last few weeks I went back to visit.
It was so much harder than I thought it was going to be.
I hadn't mentally prepared myself for how hard it would be to walk into that house and not get a hug and kiss from my brother.
And now everything is so... different. No one talks about you anymore, Jess. Our dad has put you into that part of his brain where he keeps everything that's too hard to talk about. Buried deep in that painful part that everyone's afraid to touch because who knows how he'll react.
It's been too hard for anyone to go through your stuff, so I got to do that while I was there. Opening the door to your old bedroom and seeing those bags... those bags had to go. They're the last physical thing from that day. I emptied them all onto the bed and began sorting all the stuff you had in your car. I tried to fight the twinge of guilt. You had all this crap in your car because you took it out of your room so I'd have space to stay with the kids. All your clothes, books, hockey stuff, and a shop vac?? So much stuff that the detectives thought you lived in your car. The detectives said when they found your body you had no cell phone or wallet on you. They thought you were probably robbed after you died. I couldn't believe that. I went through every single pocket, emptied out every bag sure I would find your wallet and phone. But I didn't.
Someone robbed you while you were dead or dying.
This is probably commonplace in Newark.
It makes me sick to my stomach.
So many people OD and are brought back by Narcan. I hate to think that someone saw you, and instead of trying to help, calling 911, and possibly being able to save you, they just took your stuff.
All $500 worth of your dog grooming stuff is missing as well.
They left the disc golf stuff, which I took and plan on putting to good use. I'll feel like you're with me when I play.
I miss how stupidly excited you got about stuff. Like disc golf. You were just so enthusiastic about it, it was infectious. I miss that so much. You were like that about everything. Passionate, funny, and infectiously enthusiastic about the most trivial things. I'm so sad for my kids, not having you around. There was never a more fun uncle.
I keep trying to think of how you're still here, but it's hard to have that much faith when it hurts so much. I used to dream about you every night, but I haven't now in months.
Our family is falling apart. Mary seems okay, but I know she's a mess just under the surface. Our mother still cries every single day. And we're just trying to go through the motions of this life, but it will never be the same. I want to do something to keep your memory alive, to share your story, but the grief paralyzes me.
Did you see Billy died the same way? Hope you guys are hanging out together again, while your moms are crying together. His girlfriend had a baby a week after he died. He looks just like Billy. Such a roller coaster for his family, but I can't tell you how jealous I am. They get to have a little part of him, they get to experience the joy of watching a baby grow to help soften their grief. I hate that we'll never get to see a Jesse Jr. There was so much happiness left in the world for your to experience. I know you felt like you couldn't be happy without drugs. That breaks my heart. And I wish I knew how to help other people who feel that same way.
Well, it's been almost 6 months and I don't know what else to say. It still sucks. I have no desire to go back to that very sad house any time soon. You are so missed, Jess. So missed.
It was so much harder than I thought it was going to be.
I hadn't mentally prepared myself for how hard it would be to walk into that house and not get a hug and kiss from my brother.
And now everything is so... different. No one talks about you anymore, Jess. Our dad has put you into that part of his brain where he keeps everything that's too hard to talk about. Buried deep in that painful part that everyone's afraid to touch because who knows how he'll react.
It's been too hard for anyone to go through your stuff, so I got to do that while I was there. Opening the door to your old bedroom and seeing those bags... those bags had to go. They're the last physical thing from that day. I emptied them all onto the bed and began sorting all the stuff you had in your car. I tried to fight the twinge of guilt. You had all this crap in your car because you took it out of your room so I'd have space to stay with the kids. All your clothes, books, hockey stuff, and a shop vac?? So much stuff that the detectives thought you lived in your car. The detectives said when they found your body you had no cell phone or wallet on you. They thought you were probably robbed after you died. I couldn't believe that. I went through every single pocket, emptied out every bag sure I would find your wallet and phone. But I didn't.
Someone robbed you while you were dead or dying.
This is probably commonplace in Newark.
It makes me sick to my stomach.
So many people OD and are brought back by Narcan. I hate to think that someone saw you, and instead of trying to help, calling 911, and possibly being able to save you, they just took your stuff.
All $500 worth of your dog grooming stuff is missing as well.
They left the disc golf stuff, which I took and plan on putting to good use. I'll feel like you're with me when I play.
I miss how stupidly excited you got about stuff. Like disc golf. You were just so enthusiastic about it, it was infectious. I miss that so much. You were like that about everything. Passionate, funny, and infectiously enthusiastic about the most trivial things. I'm so sad for my kids, not having you around. There was never a more fun uncle.
I keep trying to think of how you're still here, but it's hard to have that much faith when it hurts so much. I used to dream about you every night, but I haven't now in months.
Our family is falling apart. Mary seems okay, but I know she's a mess just under the surface. Our mother still cries every single day. And we're just trying to go through the motions of this life, but it will never be the same. I want to do something to keep your memory alive, to share your story, but the grief paralyzes me.
Did you see Billy died the same way? Hope you guys are hanging out together again, while your moms are crying together. His girlfriend had a baby a week after he died. He looks just like Billy. Such a roller coaster for his family, but I can't tell you how jealous I am. They get to have a little part of him, they get to experience the joy of watching a baby grow to help soften their grief. I hate that we'll never get to see a Jesse Jr. There was so much happiness left in the world for your to experience. I know you felt like you couldn't be happy without drugs. That breaks my heart. And I wish I knew how to help other people who feel that same way.
Well, it's been almost 6 months and I don't know what else to say. It still sucks. I have no desire to go back to that very sad house any time soon. You are so missed, Jess. So missed.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Nothing chokes me up faster...
Than knowing these hugs will never happen again. My kids LOVED their uncle so much.
These pictures aren't the best, but they capture those genuine smiles and I can just feel the love my kids had for him, and he had for them whenever I look at them.
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These pictures were taken exactly one year ago.
Mind boggling what can happen in a year.
I never, in a million years would have thought this was our future.
Yesterday my oldest was turning this calender I have hanging on the wall back to December. She said, "Look! It's December! Let's go tell Uncle J to NOT go in his car today!"
She was half laughing, being silly, and completely unaware of how much I have wished that we could do just that every day since January 2nd.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
JT,
I honestly still can't believe it. Even as I type this the tears flow freely. I try to go on with my day to day life, but my heart is still so broken. Why didn't you come out here? August, it was August when you called and said you were going to come visit. You have no idea how excited I was about that. I called my best friends and told them. I immediately called Aaron at work to let him know. I even told my mother in law! I thought it would be so great. The kids were so excited. The infamous, loved, crazy, silly Uncle Jesse was going to come to their house. But then you didn't. August came and went. September, ya coming? Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Just figuring some stuff out first. October. My birthday. Come back from NJ with me after I come out for my birthday. November. Your birthday. Come celebrate your birthday with me and stay for Thanksgiving. December. Come out, and then fly back with us when we go out for Christmas. And then you were gone, January 2nd. Gone.
My heart breaks for the relationship we never got to have. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more in high school. I wish I tried harder before it got to the point that you were shooting up heroin. I wanted to be part of your life, but I had to get away from that life. Please understand, I had to. I couldn't stay there and be healthy. I feel so much guilt for having moved away. I worry so much about our sister. I don't think anyone loved you more than she did. I don't know how I can possibly try to be there for her the way you were able to be.
It's so surreal. It's so unbelievable. I keep replaying our last conversations over and over in my head. Talking about Poppy. Talking about Daddy. I wish we saw each other more this trip. I wish things weren't so horrific between you and our father so that you could have come over more. Was staying at Nan's what made it harder for you? When did you start using again? If there was anything I could have done, but didn't, I'm sorry. If there was ever anything I did that got you to that place, where you were doing this, I'm sorry. I thought that I did enough, with my texts, my letter, my phone calls, but maybe I could have done more.
I am going to try to help other people. I want your memory to live on forever, as a warning to others. I don't know where to start with that, but I want to. If you could somehow give me a hint or something, I promise I'll listen.
I made a reddit account. I'm on there every day now. I wish I had looked at this before you died. Then I'd actually have something to talk to you about. TIL that this year's pie is extra special because it will be 3.14.15 .. 9:26 5.35... it will be more pi-ish. That stupid stuff, I just wish we could chat about.
It's just so sad. The thought that you'll never have children. I'll never see you as a dad, a husband, you're already gone, your life is over... I really can't wrap my mind around it, as hard as I try. If I have another child, they'll never know you. Mary's kids won't have an Uncle Jesse in this life. It's so incredibly heart breaking. I don't know the point of typing this out. I don't know if it's helping me or not. But I don't know what else to do, and I really miss you.
I honestly still can't believe it. Even as I type this the tears flow freely. I try to go on with my day to day life, but my heart is still so broken. Why didn't you come out here? August, it was August when you called and said you were going to come visit. You have no idea how excited I was about that. I called my best friends and told them. I immediately called Aaron at work to let him know. I even told my mother in law! I thought it would be so great. The kids were so excited. The infamous, loved, crazy, silly Uncle Jesse was going to come to their house. But then you didn't. August came and went. September, ya coming? Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Just figuring some stuff out first. October. My birthday. Come back from NJ with me after I come out for my birthday. November. Your birthday. Come celebrate your birthday with me and stay for Thanksgiving. December. Come out, and then fly back with us when we go out for Christmas. And then you were gone, January 2nd. Gone.
My heart breaks for the relationship we never got to have. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more in high school. I wish I tried harder before it got to the point that you were shooting up heroin. I wanted to be part of your life, but I had to get away from that life. Please understand, I had to. I couldn't stay there and be healthy. I feel so much guilt for having moved away. I worry so much about our sister. I don't think anyone loved you more than she did. I don't know how I can possibly try to be there for her the way you were able to be.
It's so surreal. It's so unbelievable. I keep replaying our last conversations over and over in my head. Talking about Poppy. Talking about Daddy. I wish we saw each other more this trip. I wish things weren't so horrific between you and our father so that you could have come over more. Was staying at Nan's what made it harder for you? When did you start using again? If there was anything I could have done, but didn't, I'm sorry. If there was ever anything I did that got you to that place, where you were doing this, I'm sorry. I thought that I did enough, with my texts, my letter, my phone calls, but maybe I could have done more.
I am going to try to help other people. I want your memory to live on forever, as a warning to others. I don't know where to start with that, but I want to. If you could somehow give me a hint or something, I promise I'll listen.
I made a reddit account. I'm on there every day now. I wish I had looked at this before you died. Then I'd actually have something to talk to you about. TIL that this year's pie is extra special because it will be 3.14.15 .. 9:26 5.35... it will be more pi-ish. That stupid stuff, I just wish we could chat about.
It's just so sad. The thought that you'll never have children. I'll never see you as a dad, a husband, you're already gone, your life is over... I really can't wrap my mind around it, as hard as I try. If I have another child, they'll never know you. Mary's kids won't have an Uncle Jesse in this life. It's so incredibly heart breaking. I don't know the point of typing this out. I don't know if it's helping me or not. But I don't know what else to do, and I really miss you.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Making The Blanket
A friend suggested to me that something she did when her brother died from a drug overdose. Someone from their church made them a quilt, and the family all wrote their last words to her brother on this blanket. He was then wrapped in this blanket and buried with it. My friend loved this so much, because she felt like she was sending all that love with her brother. And it gave her a chance to say all the things she never got a chance to say.
My family doesn't really do stuff like that... talk about our feelings, hug, write... so I wasn't sure how the idea would be received. But I felt like I needed to do it, and maybe it would help my sister or one of my cousins, or aunts, I don't know. But if nothing else, I wanted to do it for me. So I start looking for a blanket. A blanket that's going to be burned with my brother in less than a week from the time I make it. It was an impossible task. I knew I wanted it to be something easy to write on. Aside from that, what did it matter? But at the same time what was more important? Finding the perfect blanket became the most important thing. I searched store after store, nothing seemed right. I finally decided I would just make it. I'm a rudimentary sewer at best, so this was no easy task. But I found a nice easy to write on muslin fabric, and a soft warm Rangers fleece. The plan was sew the two together. Simple.
But of course it wasn't. The only sewing machine I had access to was my grandmother's antique singer, literally from the 1920's. And it was on her patio. And it was below freezing temperatures. It's really hard to sew when you can't feel your fingers. But I got the first side done. Second side done. And then it jammed. And jammed. And jammed. My phone rang. It was my husband, checking on me. And I just bawled. I was done. I cried and cried, and sobbed, and let all these feelings I'd be holding inside come pouring out, standing there with my half sewn blanket in Nan's freezing porch. Then my cousin showed up, and saved the day. She unjammed the machine and in no time we had the blanket finished.
I was ironing it, and accidentally burned my arm. The scar is now slowly fading, and is barely visible. And I hate it. I want it to stay there forever. I want this physical reminder of my brother. Not this reminder that time is marching on, and each day I'm further from him. Reminded that some day so many years will have passed it will be hard to remember him at all. I hope that day never comes. I hate that for my kids it's not that far away at all. My baby will never remember him. If I have any future children they'll never even know him. I can't believe I may have children that will live in a world void of JT.
We kept the blanket in a private room the night of the viewing and as family members had time they all went and wrote their final words to Jesse. I went in that room and poured my heart into it. I don't know what I wrote, but I cried, and wrote and cried, and I hoped on hope that somehow he could feel it. If not my words, my tears. My pain. My love.
My family doesn't really do stuff like that... talk about our feelings, hug, write... so I wasn't sure how the idea would be received. But I felt like I needed to do it, and maybe it would help my sister or one of my cousins, or aunts, I don't know. But if nothing else, I wanted to do it for me. So I start looking for a blanket. A blanket that's going to be burned with my brother in less than a week from the time I make it. It was an impossible task. I knew I wanted it to be something easy to write on. Aside from that, what did it matter? But at the same time what was more important? Finding the perfect blanket became the most important thing. I searched store after store, nothing seemed right. I finally decided I would just make it. I'm a rudimentary sewer at best, so this was no easy task. But I found a nice easy to write on muslin fabric, and a soft warm Rangers fleece. The plan was sew the two together. Simple.
But of course it wasn't. The only sewing machine I had access to was my grandmother's antique singer, literally from the 1920's. And it was on her patio. And it was below freezing temperatures. It's really hard to sew when you can't feel your fingers. But I got the first side done. Second side done. And then it jammed. And jammed. And jammed. My phone rang. It was my husband, checking on me. And I just bawled. I was done. I cried and cried, and sobbed, and let all these feelings I'd be holding inside come pouring out, standing there with my half sewn blanket in Nan's freezing porch. Then my cousin showed up, and saved the day. She unjammed the machine and in no time we had the blanket finished.
I was ironing it, and accidentally burned my arm. The scar is now slowly fading, and is barely visible. And I hate it. I want it to stay there forever. I want this physical reminder of my brother. Not this reminder that time is marching on, and each day I'm further from him. Reminded that some day so many years will have passed it will be hard to remember him at all. I hope that day never comes. I hate that for my kids it's not that far away at all. My baby will never remember him. If I have any future children they'll never even know him. I can't believe I may have children that will live in a world void of JT.
We kept the blanket in a private room the night of the viewing and as family members had time they all went and wrote their final words to Jesse. I went in that room and poured my heart into it. I don't know what I wrote, but I cried, and wrote and cried, and I hoped on hope that somehow he could feel it. If not my words, my tears. My pain. My love.
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