In my first grade classroom, whenever I need to go over procedural stuff - which can make or break a classroom - I call it housekeeping time. I thought I would do that now.
1. Comments: Thank you so much for your comments. I think I may have scared some of you into not making comments. I really welcome them and would love the dialogue. I am not offended or hurt by any comments that disagree with how I feel. I also don't mind if anyone tries to persuade me to feel differently. I even don't mind if you try to preach to me. Just remember that I ask you to be truly authentic and not give comments that are based on "tapes" that are in your head. I want to hear what you truly feel about your emotions about grief or anything else. I know that sometimes, our first reaction or response to something that someone says or writes is what we think we are supposed to say. I just want to hear what you really feel. Be authentic - can you tell that is one of my favorite words? If I don't agree, don't be offended. I love disagreeing with people. Of course I think I'm right, but I can occasionally change my mind.
2. How you're reading the blog: If you are reading this from another site such as Facebook or Carepages, that is fine. but I just don't have any way of knowing it. I would really appreciate it if you would register on this blog site. You sign in with your e-mail and you can use a different e-mail than you normally do - maybe register with yahoo or hotmail any other e-mail account. If you don't want people to see your name as a follower, just establish a user name with a name people wouldn't recognize (your dog's name or some cartoon name). There are several people registered that I don't know who they are, but they are listed as a follower. I don't know why I want to know how many people are reading this. I really want to know who is, but you can prevent that. I guess I just want to know if anyone really cares. I am going to keep writing anyway, but it's nice to see others are reading this.
3. Suggestions? Anyone have any ideas of ways to improve this. I am going to try and post some pictures when I get home.Don't have any on this computer. Are the postings too long? I can't seem to make them shorter; however, I know it is unwieldy. I'll keep working on that.
4. I have thought about writing some funny and not-so-funny stories about life with Jacob. They would not necessarily go under the topic of grief, but perhaps that is part of the healing process.
That's all for now. Please feel free to give me any suggestions. Doesn't mean I'll follow them - remember, I love to disagree, but it doesn't mean I don't love and appreciate you.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Treading Water
A wise reader of this blog left a comment that I like. It goes something like this: the longer you tread water, the more you get used to being in the water. I think this is where I'm at. For most of Jacob's life, I knew I would one day be at this point. Whenever I would express this thought to anyone, the usual response went something like this:
"You never know what doctors will be able to do."
"Look at all the advances they're making in medicine."
"You just need to enjoy one day at a time and not look in the future."
"God can work a miracle and heal his heart."
Well, Jacob's life is a testament to what the medical community can do. I won't go into all the details, because it is a very long story. I have lots of stories - mostly good, a few bad - about the many nurses, doctors and medical support staff that worked so hard to keep him alive and give him the quality of life that he had.
For the most part, I did enjoy each day with Jacob. I don't think I ever took the fact that he was with us for granted. I also knew that any of my children could be taken from me at any time.
So, this leads to the final statement: "God can work a miracle and heal his heart." Okay, get ready to go to deep here. You knew I was going to go here soon.
I have always struggled with calling Jacob's life a miracle. While I acknowledge the amazing events that led to us finding a doctor in Philadelphia that could treat him, his many surgeries and recoveries, and finally, going through two heart transplants at the point of death, I am just uncomfortable calling this a miracle.
Here's why: from the time I was pregnant with Jacob, people would say to me," I am praying for a miracle - I just know that God is going to heal his heart and he is going to be a healthy baby." Well, that didn't happen.
Another time: Jacob is recovering in the ICU after his first surgery. A mother whose baby is on the ECHO machine and not doing well, says to me, "I know why your son is doing so well and mine isn't:. It's because your husband is a minister and there are so many people praying for him."
Another one: I am in ICU in Philly holding Jacob after his first surgery. The baby next to him, a little girl born to very young parents and abandoned after she was born, dies while I am there. The nurses couldn't get me out of there, (Jacob was connected to so many lines), before she died. She died with no family there. A social worker came and held her after she died. I remember wondering, "God, is this really what it's like? Is Jacob doing well because so many people are praying for him, and this little girl isn't ? I don't think You really work this way, but if You do, I'm not sure I want any part of this."
Well, I think I am going to stop here. I have lots more to say, but I need to come up for air. Here is a statement I heard a very wise man at our church in Houston say one night at a prayer meeting:"If someone you love gets on an airplane and survives a plane crash, we say, 'Thank you, God, for saving my loved one.' If that airplane crashes and kills everyone, we don't praise God then." I am really messing this up, but basically, what he was saying was, "If we praise God in the good times, we have to praise Him in the really, really traumatic times."
I just don't know if I can really praise Him for Jacob's death. Do I blame God for it? No, his heart was flawed and we were so fortunate to have him for as long as we did. Do I think God could have performed a miracle? Well, if I thought He could and He chose not to, then I just don't know if I want to have much of a relationship with Him.
Okay, I am starting to drown a little. I need to tread water a bit.
More later,
Karen
"You never know what doctors will be able to do."
"Look at all the advances they're making in medicine."
"You just need to enjoy one day at a time and not look in the future."
"God can work a miracle and heal his heart."
Well, Jacob's life is a testament to what the medical community can do. I won't go into all the details, because it is a very long story. I have lots of stories - mostly good, a few bad - about the many nurses, doctors and medical support staff that worked so hard to keep him alive and give him the quality of life that he had.
For the most part, I did enjoy each day with Jacob. I don't think I ever took the fact that he was with us for granted. I also knew that any of my children could be taken from me at any time.
So, this leads to the final statement: "God can work a miracle and heal his heart." Okay, get ready to go to deep here. You knew I was going to go here soon.
I have always struggled with calling Jacob's life a miracle. While I acknowledge the amazing events that led to us finding a doctor in Philadelphia that could treat him, his many surgeries and recoveries, and finally, going through two heart transplants at the point of death, I am just uncomfortable calling this a miracle.
Here's why: from the time I was pregnant with Jacob, people would say to me," I am praying for a miracle - I just know that God is going to heal his heart and he is going to be a healthy baby." Well, that didn't happen.
Another time: Jacob is recovering in the ICU after his first surgery. A mother whose baby is on the ECHO machine and not doing well, says to me, "I know why your son is doing so well and mine isn't:. It's because your husband is a minister and there are so many people praying for him."
Another one: I am in ICU in Philly holding Jacob after his first surgery. The baby next to him, a little girl born to very young parents and abandoned after she was born, dies while I am there. The nurses couldn't get me out of there, (Jacob was connected to so many lines), before she died. She died with no family there. A social worker came and held her after she died. I remember wondering, "God, is this really what it's like? Is Jacob doing well because so many people are praying for him, and this little girl isn't ? I don't think You really work this way, but if You do, I'm not sure I want any part of this."
Well, I think I am going to stop here. I have lots more to say, but I need to come up for air. Here is a statement I heard a very wise man at our church in Houston say one night at a prayer meeting:"If someone you love gets on an airplane and survives a plane crash, we say, 'Thank you, God, for saving my loved one.' If that airplane crashes and kills everyone, we don't praise God then." I am really messing this up, but basically, what he was saying was, "If we praise God in the good times, we have to praise Him in the really, really traumatic times."
I just don't know if I can really praise Him for Jacob's death. Do I blame God for it? No, his heart was flawed and we were so fortunate to have him for as long as we did. Do I think God could have performed a miracle? Well, if I thought He could and He chose not to, then I just don't know if I want to have much of a relationship with Him.
Okay, I am starting to drown a little. I need to tread water a bit.
More later,
Karen
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Grief - Shallow and Deep
On my journey of learning to embrace grief, I find myself thinking of a really large, Olympic-sized swimming pool (this could be because this has been an unusually hot day today so I am wishing I really was in a pool). There are some days when I am willing to dive in and go deep and explore the depths of grief in my heart; but there are other days when I just can't allow myself to go there, so I stay in the shallow end.
This post is going to be a "shallow" post. I'm not sure I am ready to write a "deep" post yet. I am also going to try and keep it shorter. I know I keep saying this, but as you can tell, I have a lot to say.
Today is the one year anniversary of Jacob's death. I've been dreading this day, but I really don't know why. There was nothing harder about this day than the other 364 days since June 14th, 2009. I didn't miss him any less yesterday than I did today. I guess it's because we made it through the year of all the "firsts": first Christmas, first birthday, etc.
I've been thinking about how in a different time, women would wear black for at least a year after they lost a spouse or child. Families would often hang a wreath with a black bow for a period of time to show their community that they were in mourning. In a way, I kind of like this tradition because it reminds those around you that your life has been shaken and rocked to its' core. This past year, I was able to go to work each day and teach my class; however, so much of my thought processes and coping skills had been shaken, that just making simple decisions was just too overwhelming sometimes. While I looked the same on the outside, I was not the same on the inside, emotionally and mentally. Perhaps, if I had been dressed in black from head to toe or wore a sign around me that said, "Caution, woman in mourning," than people around me would know that the person they knew from before Jacob's death was not the same person now. This is not a criticism of anybody - family, friends, coworkers, etc. We just live in a culture that wants things fixed quickly and this can't be fixed.
But then, I started thinking about if our culture adopted the "black-only while mourning" dress code - and by the way, it is my favorite color to wear, but really, all the time? - anyway, if this was all I wore, then eventually this would lead to some problems such as:
Okay, I'm starting to have to tread water here and I'm going back to the shallow end.
Good night.
This post is going to be a "shallow" post. I'm not sure I am ready to write a "deep" post yet. I am also going to try and keep it shorter. I know I keep saying this, but as you can tell, I have a lot to say.
Today is the one year anniversary of Jacob's death. I've been dreading this day, but I really don't know why. There was nothing harder about this day than the other 364 days since June 14th, 2009. I didn't miss him any less yesterday than I did today. I guess it's because we made it through the year of all the "firsts": first Christmas, first birthday, etc.
I've been thinking about how in a different time, women would wear black for at least a year after they lost a spouse or child. Families would often hang a wreath with a black bow for a period of time to show their community that they were in mourning. In a way, I kind of like this tradition because it reminds those around you that your life has been shaken and rocked to its' core. This past year, I was able to go to work each day and teach my class; however, so much of my thought processes and coping skills had been shaken, that just making simple decisions was just too overwhelming sometimes. While I looked the same on the outside, I was not the same on the inside, emotionally and mentally. Perhaps, if I had been dressed in black from head to toe or wore a sign around me that said, "Caution, woman in mourning," than people around me would know that the person they knew from before Jacob's death was not the same person now. This is not a criticism of anybody - family, friends, coworkers, etc. We just live in a culture that wants things fixed quickly and this can't be fixed.
But then, I started thinking about if our culture adopted the "black-only while mourning" dress code - and by the way, it is my favorite color to wear, but really, all the time? - anyway, if this was all I wore, then eventually this would lead to some problems such as:
- ,Who determines the proper amount of time to wear black?
- What if someone needed less than or more than a year for mourning?
- If you wear all black, can you accessorize with color? After all, what would I do with all my Vera Bradley bags my kids have given me?
- If we put a black-ribboned wreath on the door, do I use my favorite square grapevine wreath or the one that has the wrought-iron designs?
- If Richard is ready to take down the wreath and I'm not, who gets to decide?
Okay, I'm starting to have to tread water here and I'm going back to the shallow end.
Good night.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Images of Grief
I am going to try and keep this shorter. Here goes...
What images come to your mind when you hear the word "grief?" Here's what comes to my mind:
Now remember, this is my blog and I get to write what I want. You are welcome to write a comment and share your own spiritual take on this, but I am not ready to do this.
While the depth of my grief over Jacob's death is deep, I know that it does not compare to some of the examples I listed above. It doesn't lessen it knowing that, but it does help me put life in perspective. Jacob, despite overwhelming health issues, had a wonderful life and received and gave a lot of joy. He wasn't raised in a concentration camp, he never went hungry, he had the best medical care available and he was loved by so many people. He had a great life. Saying that, I do have some images of personal images of grief related to him. Here goes and I promise this will be it for this post:
So there.
What images come to your mind when you hear the word "grief?" Here's what comes to my mind:
- a widow of a fallen soldier, dressed in black and standing by the graveside, holding the folded American flag
- an elderly woman trying to figure out how to pump gas from the gas station after her husband has died. He always did this for her and she never learned how and now she has to.
- a couple decorating a nursery for a baby that will never come home from a hospital
- a family or friend, losing a beloved dog. They know that it's not the same as a person dying, but dang it, they loved that dog and he was like a child to them.
- the look on people's faces when they are standing by the bedside of someone they love who is critically ill. There is just a certain look you have when you know they are not going to make it.
- a Middle Eastern women, shrouded in black, wailing as her child's coffin is carried through her town or village-another senseless death
- an emaciated mother in a third-world country trying to nurse another child, knowing this child will probably die, also.
- going to the Holocaust museum in Washington, D.C. and seeing pictures of people being separated from loved ones as they are transported to extermination camps.
Now remember, this is my blog and I get to write what I want. You are welcome to write a comment and share your own spiritual take on this, but I am not ready to do this.
While the depth of my grief over Jacob's death is deep, I know that it does not compare to some of the examples I listed above. It doesn't lessen it knowing that, but it does help me put life in perspective. Jacob, despite overwhelming health issues, had a wonderful life and received and gave a lot of joy. He wasn't raised in a concentration camp, he never went hungry, he had the best medical care available and he was loved by so many people. He had a great life. Saying that, I do have some images of personal images of grief related to him. Here goes and I promise this will be it for this post:
- looking at the picture of Ben and Katie's face at the gravesite. They loved him and never complained about his health needs always coming before their needs when they were growing up. I have a lot of stories about this.
- speed-dialing my family on my cellphone and going down the list - Richard (#2), Ben (#4), Katie (5), Jacob (#6) - my heart always hurts when I realize Jacob won't answer anymore.
- memories of my standing by his casket and patting it constantly at the visitation and the gravesite ceremony. I know the part of him that I loved isn't there anymore - the body is just a shell and all that, but this was the shell of my son. I wanted to help him get dressed, tie his shoes, wash his clothes, ruffle his hair, etc., one more time.
- sitting by his bed so many times and wondering if I would get to bring my son home again.
- Finally, I need to stop because this is too hard - watching him go into cardiac arrest and trying to revive him. Constantly saying, "Jacob, Jakey, come on honey, mom's here, stay with me, you can do this. Jacob, I love you, it's okay, I love you, sweetie. Mom's here." And then, watching doctors and nurses trying to revive him, knowing he's gone, but surely he'll rally one more time. Seeing Katie and Richard by his bedside telling him goodbye. And then, Ben and Beth coming in after he's gone and weeping by his bedside. Finally, our extended family - grandparents, aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces, cousins, and of course, so many wonderful friends, telling him goodbye.
So there.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The "A-Team" (sorry, dear brother)
Okay, I had to do this. My wonderful brother, Ben, just posted a comment on Facebook about how stupid it was to have a movie remake of that wonderful television series, "The A-Team." I realize this show was pretty cheesy, but here's what I liked about it and the movie: good guys are obvious and bad guys are jerks. Good guys beat the bad guys, but you don't really see them get hurt. Just some silly, fun entertainment and a good way to spend an afternoon when you are tired of spending it with Grief - your new best friend.
So, what does the A-Team have to do with grief? You knew I was getting to that. Over the last 21 years, I have read a lot of books and talked with many people about the subject of pain and suffering. It would be so noble of me to say that Jacob and I never asked why. Well, sorry, we did. There were many times when he was in the hospital and he would look at me with the huge, brown eyes and ask, "Why, Momma, why me?" I had no profound words to say to him, because I would ask the same question when I was by myself. All I could say to him was that we were in this together. Sometimes he would say, "Mom, this really sucks, doesn't it?" He knew I hated that expression, but he was right. It did and it still does.
Back to the A-Team - some of the wisest advice I have received from friends, family, doctors, books, etc. is that when you are experiencing a very deep loss, it is necessary to surround yourself with an A-Team group of people. Okay, I know that really sounds like something Richard would write, but it just means that I have to make sure I am surrounded by people that will help me through this dark time in my life. I am so fortunate to have a loving, extended family, wonderful friends, and a very supportive work environment. Perhaps one of the best A-Teams I had this year was my class of 19 six year olds. There were many days when I would come to school crying and yet, when my students walked in, I knew I had to get to work and the tears would stop. On the days when they didn't, my wonderful team and other staff members would step in and take care of me and my class. My students were absolutely incredible. They never met Jacob, yet they always wanted to sit in his chair and hear stories about him and my other children. I brought his blue, canvas director chair to my classroom and every day, one child would get to sit in his chair.
Okay, I'll wrap up this A-Team idea: the best A-Team I have is my husband, Richard. After that, it would be my two older children, Ben and Katie. Richard is the perfect mate for me- we have been married for almost 34 years and I love him more now than when I married him. He is steadfast, calm, dependable, funny, really, really cute and quirky (a must for me), and sometimes, really weird. I am not letting him edit this blog - I tried with the first post and we almost had a fight..... seriously. He wants to write for the reader. I am writing this for me. I'll write more later about Richard, Ben and Katie and how they have helped me deal with this overwhelming grief.
Thank you for reading this. I know it is long. I'll try to stay on topic better. This is all new and pretty random right now.
Good Night!
Karen
So, what does the A-Team have to do with grief? You knew I was getting to that. Over the last 21 years, I have read a lot of books and talked with many people about the subject of pain and suffering. It would be so noble of me to say that Jacob and I never asked why. Well, sorry, we did. There were many times when he was in the hospital and he would look at me with the huge, brown eyes and ask, "Why, Momma, why me?" I had no profound words to say to him, because I would ask the same question when I was by myself. All I could say to him was that we were in this together. Sometimes he would say, "Mom, this really sucks, doesn't it?" He knew I hated that expression, but he was right. It did and it still does.
Back to the A-Team - some of the wisest advice I have received from friends, family, doctors, books, etc. is that when you are experiencing a very deep loss, it is necessary to surround yourself with an A-Team group of people. Okay, I know that really sounds like something Richard would write, but it just means that I have to make sure I am surrounded by people that will help me through this dark time in my life. I am so fortunate to have a loving, extended family, wonderful friends, and a very supportive work environment. Perhaps one of the best A-Teams I had this year was my class of 19 six year olds. There were many days when I would come to school crying and yet, when my students walked in, I knew I had to get to work and the tears would stop. On the days when they didn't, my wonderful team and other staff members would step in and take care of me and my class. My students were absolutely incredible. They never met Jacob, yet they always wanted to sit in his chair and hear stories about him and my other children. I brought his blue, canvas director chair to my classroom and every day, one child would get to sit in his chair.
Okay, I'll wrap up this A-Team idea: the best A-Team I have is my husband, Richard. After that, it would be my two older children, Ben and Katie. Richard is the perfect mate for me- we have been married for almost 34 years and I love him more now than when I married him. He is steadfast, calm, dependable, funny, really, really cute and quirky (a must for me), and sometimes, really weird. I am not letting him edit this blog - I tried with the first post and we almost had a fight..... seriously. He wants to write for the reader. I am writing this for me. I'll write more later about Richard, Ben and Katie and how they have helped me deal with this overwhelming grief.
Thank you for reading this. I know it is long. I'll try to stay on topic better. This is all new and pretty random right now.
Good Night!
Karen
The Friendship Begins
I have started to write some comments to myself on what grief is. This is sort of like journaling, which is supposed to be helpful for someone dealing with getting through grief. I have resisted doing it because I don't think you ever get "through" grief. It becomes part of who you are. This is my journey of grief and is something that while deeply personal, is evident to all who see and know me. If you want to read more explanations about Jacob and his life, go to http://www.carepages.com/. and type in "jacob's journey." You will have to register, but it is a secure site.
So.....here goes......
So.....here goes......
Grief has changed me. I will always remember watching an interview of one of the women who lost her husband in the Twin Towers durintg the 911 attack. Here's sort of how it went:
Interviewer: "How has the sudden loss of your husband affected you?
Widow: "I will never be the same. My friends look at me and say they want the old person back. I am the face of grief and I WILL NEVER BE THE SAME."
I just remember hearing the deep hurt in her voice that people actually thought she could get on with her life. I knew that one day I would be experiencing that deep, gut-wrenching kind of grief. I hoped, I hoped, I hoped I wouldn't have to - but I am above all, very much a realist, and I knew I would outlive Jacob. As we are approaching the one year anniversary of his death, I am learning to embrace grief. It is my constant companion, so why not get to know it better? There are nano-seconds when grief is not right in my face -that brief moment between sleeping and waking up when life seems as it should be. That's about it; as my first graders would say, we are BFF - best friends forever.
So, in order to be a good friend, I have decided to embrace this grief and learn to live with it. Many of my friends have said that perhaps I need to see a counselor to help me deal with this grief. My response is that a counselor can not bring Jacob back, so why would I waste that time and money doing that (there's that pragmatic side coming out). My family doctor says that I am doing all the right things: surrounding myself with supportive friends and family members, going to work everyday, exercising, developing new hobbies and interests, taking meds to help, so what else is there to do?
Well, I am going to start writing about what it feels like to embrace grief. I am not writing to help anyone else, though if it does, I'm glad. If you want to share your own journey while I am writing this, please do this. I only ask that you be authentic and tolerant of my and other's words. I am writing this for purely selfish, therapeutic reasons. If you want to respond, please do.
Please don't worry about me if you read something that alarms you. I am not going off the deep end. I do believe in the natural order of the universe, children are not supposed to die before there parents. I know all the theological responses that people are thinking. Please don't tell them to me. I have had a lifetime to explore why life is so hard sometimes. Grief is not unknown to me or my family. My father died after a lengthy illness when I was ten, so grief was something I was raised with. I had a wonderful model from my mother about how to pick yourself after a devastating loss and keep putting one foot in front of the other.
But, back to the reason for this blog.....
But, back to the reason for this blog.....
At this time, one year ago, life seemed to be pretty calm, for once. Ben and his family were doing well in Texas. Katie was well established in her job and busy with friends. Richard was enjoying his new job with Lifeway. I was looking forward to a nice summer with no graduate school to think about. I was even toying with the idea of returning to school for a doctorate, but was going to take the summer off. We were able to go to church as normal people - not as a staff family- and if we wanted to go somewhere on the weekend, we could. This was something we had never been able to do in our 33 years of marriage. We were ready to enjoy the empty nest. We had just moved Jacob into a house in Rome where he was living with three of his good friends from Shorter. He had just completed a Maymester at Shorter and was going to summer school. He was determined to graduate on time. His second heart transplant had set him back a semester and he was bent on graduating with his friends. Before the summer session started, he was going to go to a yearbook retreat with the yearbook staff from Shorter.
I remember that he was so nervous about picking a friend up from Douglasville and driving through Atlanta during rush hour traffic on a Wednesday morning. Jacob was a very cautious driver and had never driven through Atlanta before. I remember that he expressed enough anxiety about this, that I offered to drive him and his friend to the retreat up in Northeast Georgia. I guess being his mom gave me an extra intuitive sense that he was more than just nervous about this. As I look back, I realize that he wasn't feeling well, but he was pushing himself to go to this retreat. We did call the transplant nurse before he left. We were nervous about some fluid retention he was having. This was a chronic problem he had had most of his life. She told me what to do, said she trusted me to know if I though he was well enough to go on the retreat. Oh, how I wish she hadn't trusted me that much. We should have taken him to the hospital then.
But on to reality.....On Friday, June 12th (what would have been my dad's 84th birthday), I was so enjoying my summer vacation. I met my friend, Gayle, and we went shopping (one of my favorite hobbies) to a neat little place in Smyrna called, "Pie In The Sky." I bought a green, overnight bag there. This is significant to me only because for years, I had kept an overnight bag packed and ready for our many emergency trips to the hospital. I had finally unpacked that bag - a big statement to me that Jacob was doing well. I wasn't going to buy the bag because I really didn't need it; however, I thought it would be nice to have when I travelled with Richard during the summer - again, a beginning of a new phase in my life. Memories of those emotions still haunt me when I use this bag, but that's for another post. Gayle and I had lunch with my wonderful daughter and just had an all-around good day. It's funny (not really funny, but don't know the right word), how life changes so fast. I pulled into the garage that afternoon, unpacking all my shopping treasures.
Jacob drove in at the same time. He had survived his first trip driving through the city. I was ready to greet him and congratulate him on his driving trip. He walked into the garage and I will never forget this moment.....he looked at me, started crying and said, "Momma, I don't feel so good." His feet were so swollen, as well as his hands, face, etc. I took one look and knew something was wrong.
So, my pretty, new, green bag was packed quickly for its' initial trip -not for a weekend get-away with my husband, but for frantic, panic-filled trip to Egleston. It's funny how the mind works - I remember quickly packing that bag, throwing my "hospital" clothes into it, hoping this was just for nothing, wondering if I was overpacking. I was sure we were just here for the weekend. We would get Jacob some IV diuretics and be on our way home in a few days. This was just a little bump in my summer plans. We had done this so many times in his 21 years. I knew he was sick and was very worried, but he had ALWAYS rallied and overcome each setback. Little did I know that I was beginning a new lifelong journey of embracing grief.
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