Embracing Grief: February 2015

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Katie & Andy's Parental Blessing (dated 12/5/14)

by Richard Edfeldt

After Jacob's death, Karen created this blog to record insights in her grief journey. I would periodically write my insights on notes posted to my Facebook page. We feel it would be best served if we combined our efforts so I am beginning the process of copying those notes to this blog. They won't be in chronological order but I will put the original date on each one.

I've had several people mention to me how special Katie and Andy's wedding ceremony was and I couldn't agree more ... it was a very special day. Some have commented about my little 'inquiry' prior to giving my parental blessing asked for by Ben (who co-officiated the ceremony with me). Here is what I said:

Parental blessing

Andy, for all of Katie’s life and even before her birth, I have both dreaded and gleefully anticipated this day. But it has become very obvious, through the spring in her step when she’s with you, the lilt of her voice when she speaks of you, the shining countenance of her beautiful face anytime you are in the room ... All of these give testimony that you are the one for her and this is the day we knew would come.

Throughout her life, Karen and I have tried to teach several things to Katie, by our words and by our actions. They that all revolve around one word – precious:

She is precious to God and to us: We have faithfully shared this incredible belief to her. God created her and broke the mold. She is truly one of a kind; a unique blend of beauty, wisdom, personality, quirks, and capability. And just as we have taught her that she is precious and unique to God, we have also taught her to be respectful of others and their God-given uniquenesses.

Friends are precious: We have taught Katie that friends are a great source of joy, a source of strength when you have little, a source of wisdom when you are lacking, and yet, occasionally, a source of disappointment. We have been there when, enviably, she has been hurt by a friend, like we all have experienced. In those times we have consoled her, bolstered her, and encouraged her. We have helped her to always see the positive in her friends first but don’t let the disappointments catch her by surprise. Above all, we have encouraged her to be the type of friend to others that she desires from others.

Family is precious: We have always told Katie, ‘friends come and go, but whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with the family God gave you for life so you better get along with each member of it’. And she does. She has welcomed and loved every expansion of our family. And she has grieved over the tragic loss our family has experienced. Through both experiences she has learned the final lesson we have taught her.

Life is precious … so enjoy it, embrace it, run with it, don’t be afraid of it, and hold it dear.

So Andy, before I answer the question presented to me, I have a few questions to ask of my own:

Will you continue to build upon these premises that Karen and I have taught Katie?

To Doug and Janice: Thank you for raising a son that brings out the best in Katie. Do you give your blessing to this marriage and promise to support them in their life endeavors?

To Karen: This has been a team effort from day one. Thank you for raising such a precious daughter. Do you join me in blessing this marriage and promise to support them in their life endeavors?

Katie and Andy, I want you to look around you. All of these people in this room, by their very presence and by the smiles on their faces, are also expressing their approval of this union and their pledge to support you in your life’s endeavors.

To Ben: To answer your question: Without any shadow of a doubt, her mother and I proudly do.

Hospitals are Exhausting! (dated 6/25/14)

Recently my mother was stricken by a severe stroke. Thankfully, she was quickly attended to and received excellent care by the emergency medical team and the hospital staff. She was in the hospital for a number of days and today she was transferred to a residential rehabilitation center where she faces some extended rehabilitation time. Karen and I rushed over (if you consider driving five hours rushing) to see her, my dad, and to help my sister, who is the primary caregiver, out last weekend. We spent several days in the waiting room and in mom's ICU room. One thing I was quickly reminded of was from our many previous stays in the hospital, mostly with Jacob's frequent time in the hospital - hospitals are exhausting! Since I had little else to do I tried to figure out why. Several things started to crystallize in my mind.

1. A sense of powerlessness is overwhelming.

There's nothing you can do to help the situation. A fear of future possibilities and a frustration that you can't do anything to influence it is emotionally draining. Plus, all you CAN do is sit! You are out of your routine and away from the affairs of normal life. You just sit - maybe talk - maybe read - maybe play games on your phone, tablet, or book of games & puzzles. There is little sense of accomplishing something as your mental list of things to do keeps growing longer. That's exhausting.

2. You can only talk about so much for so long.

I know this statement may be shocking to see, given my loquacious personality (yes, my tongue is firmly planted in cheek). Waiting room conversations can be draining, even for an accomplished conversationalist like myself (yes, the tongue has not moved from its in-cheek location). Weather and sports only consume so much time and some people don't even care about those two subjects. Religion and politics are taboo for obvious reasons. Some people can keep a conversation going with the coffee table but for most people .... it is exhausting.

3. The only energy expended is emotional.

When you are on 'sitting' duty at the hospital you exert very little physical energy but it is emotionally demanding. It is difficult to see a loved one suffer and/or struggle with their illness or injury. You ache to hear or see any signs of good news. Most of the time it eventually comes, but not always. With any sickness or injury, the recovery has peaks and valleys - times of rapid progress and times of setbacks. You yearn to hear the doctors and nurses share their latest test results or you fixate on the constant readings on the various machines in order to grasp onto any tidbits of good news. The emotional toll is exhausting.

4. You're living in a parallel universe.

When you are involved in an extended stay experience at a hospital it begins to feel like you have been teleported to a parallel universe or a space station. You lose touch with time, days of the week, and with the current events of the day. You feel cocooned from things going on outside the walls of the hospital. Sometimes you'll look out a window and wonder what it would be like to be 'out there' much like an astronaut does when he looks out his capsule's window. Occasionally, you catch up with 'the outside' via the TV or a day old newspaper. Other times, you are blessed to have visitors who have passed through all the checkpoints to see you and help you catch up with things that are going in the 'other world'. From time to time you're able to get a pass and re-enter the real world for a short period of time in order to wash clothes, pay bills, grocery shop, etc., like normal people do. Even then, it feels odd to be back in real life while what concerns you most is in that parallel universe. Trying to maintain your balance in both worlds is exhausting!

Now, more often than not, I am one of those 'visitors' (I even wear the sticker that says so) from the real world coming to bring news and/or supplies to those who are stuck in that parallel universe. And I understand the exhausted look in their face ... because hospitals are exhausting!

Five Years of Living on Memories

Five years ago today, Jacob died….at the age of 21. This day, more than any other day of the year, is a difficult one to deal with. The date, June 14th, dredges up the memories of THAT day.

Jacob was in intensive care on that fateful Sunday, battling his body’s rejection of his second transplanted heart. The doctors had just completed the first cycle of an anti-rejection regimen when he suddenly seized up and went into cardiac arrest. Karen and I were at the bedside when it happened and immediately called in the nurses and doctors who were in the hallway composing notes and putting away equipment. They quickly escorted us across the hall and began, vainly, to try to bring him back. Those images are permanently and horribly seared into our memories despite the many times we try to wash them away with our tears. No parent should have to watch their son (or daughter) die!

But other memories also come and they bring some comfort and healing.

Obviously, many of the memories revolve around Jacob. We close our eyes and see snapshots of happier days contained in those 21 years.

You know the odd thing about death …. it freezes memories of that person at that age or younger. We can always imagine what Jacob would look like and what he would be doing if he were alive today, but Jacob will always be twenty-one or at an earlier age when a memory comes to mind.

· We see his impish smile as a toddler … or a preschooler … or as a young child.

· We remember his sense of humor in the face of hospitalizations.

· We see the hurt caused by bullies at school and, sometimes, even at church – but we also see him grow resolute to not allow them domination of his spirit.

· We remember times of him sharing his fear of a short lifespan due to his weakened heart.

· We are reminded of his love for worship through songs we hear.

· We remember the absolute adulation he had for his brother and sister.

· We remember his pride in being an uncle, which then leads to a dismay that he had such a short time to enjoy those moments with Tucker and those moments that never came for Libby.

· We smile at memories of Jacob at home or on trips with the family, or the times we visited him at his college home at Shorter.

· We remember a scrapbook full of experiences at school and at church, and many trips that involved one or the other.

These memories are all we have now. They are stirred by pictures, by ‘works of art’ he created, songs we know he loved, gifts he gave us, or a stuffed T-shirt he wore given to us by his dear college friends, and many other mementos that surround us. The memories comfort us, bring us smiles, make us laugh and bring us tears. Admittedly, they are a very poor substitute for having him still with us, but they are all we have.

But there are other memories that comfort us. These memories are shared with us by the plethora of people we have met because of Jacob. They have shared what an impact he has had on their life.

We are thankful for ….

· Our wonderful extended family that shares with us their love for Jacob and the empty place they have in their hearts because of his absence.

· School teachers and college professors who have shared how he always lit up a room when he entered.

· Sunday school teachers who speak with great fondness of his eagerness to chase rabbits instead of Bible verses.

· Little league baseball coaches who reacted like they had just won the World Series when Jacob, who had to wear a flak jacket to protect his heart, got his only hit in ‘coach’s pitch’ baseball.

· Neighbors who commented how he always smiled and waved to them when he arrived at home or when he was leaving.

· His two sets of ‘second parents’ (John & Helen Tegg and John & Kim Moore) who entertain us with stories and memories of their own.

· Fellow students from high school and college who have kept up with us through Facebook and share with admiration and love of his friendship and how it has changed their life.

· Church members who would speak of how his devotion to God, in the face of great adversity, challenged them to grow deeper in their faith.

These are the other avenues of memories that help defend us when despair is pounding on our door. We are thankful for these people.

Philip Yancey (my absolute favorite author) describes these people this way in his book, ‘Where Is God When It Hurts?’ They are ….”Someone who was there whenever needed, who listened more than talked, who didn’t keep glancing down at a watch, who hugged and touched, and cried. In short, someone who was available, and came on the sufferer’s terms and not their own.”

So now we live on these memories for they are all we have left to sustain us.

Thank you for helping us survive and thank you for your impact you made on Jacob’s short life here on earth.

Karen Edfeldt, It's Your Time (dated 12/19/13)

Tomorrow will be the last day of a superlative teaching career of my wife, Karen. I need to express my deepest love and admiration for her and what she has accomplished throughout her years of teaching – teaching that occurred in the classroom and many other places as well.

Karen started her teaching career late because of me. We married young, while both of us were still in college, though I was two years ahead of her. Following my graduation, we set out for Texas in order for me to attend seminary that would prepare me for my career in church ministry. Karen had to give up attending college in order to work to pay living expenses. She worked as a bank teller and a doctor’s secretary so I could get through my schooling and secure a staff position.

Following my seminary graduation, we set out for a tiny town in west Texas called Kermit. Karen was carrying our first son, Ben, when we made that move. During our short time there, Karen felt the urge to resume her college training and began taking classes at a junior college.

We moved on to Houston as I secured another church position there. Karen soon enrolled at Houston Baptist University and it was there that a spark ignited her passion for teaching. She was like a sponge soaking up educational principles and philosophy. In her ‘spare time’ she gave birth to Katie and continued to excel as a mother and as a spouse.

She graduated with honors (no surprise) and secured her first teaching job at a very challenging elementary school. Then we discovered that she was pregnant with Jacob and a few months later the trajectory of Karen’s teaching career took a very serious detour when we learned of Jacob’s potentially fatal heart defect that would require several open heart surgeries in far off Philadelphia.

Once again, Karen had to put aside personal career goals to become a stabilizing force in my life, a loving and caring mother for our three children, and to be Jacob’s life advocate.

After several moves to and in Florida, Jacob’s health was at such a place where Karen felt comfortable to resume teaching and taught several years at Deerwood Elementary in Orlando until an ugly situation developed at church that necessitated my moving on to another position, this time to Georgia.

Moving from Orlando was traumatic for our family. Both my parents and Karen’s mom and sisters lived there. Karen was forced to watch silently as I was pummeled professionally and yet she taught me what love really was about. She helped me to analyze my station in life and stood behind my decision to stay in the ministry (though she had grave reservations about it). It was very difficult to pull our family from local family and friends.

It was with our move to Georgia that Karen’s teaching career really took off. She secured a first grade position at Long Branch Elementary in Dahlonega and flourished there. She kept me entertained with stories of her ‘kiddos’ (my favorite part of her career). She went through the Masters program at North Georgia and had her sights on administration (she would have been a fantastic principal).

Once again, my career interfered with hers and we made a move to Cobb County. She taught for a few years at Compton Elementary School. She supervised a student teacher named Kim Russ and when Kim was interviewing for a position at Abney, the principal, Susan Culbreath, called Karen for a recommendation. As they called ‘shop’, Susan soon offered Karen a position as well.

Karen’s years at Abney have been a delight to her. She has continued to regale me with stories of her students and our home has filled up with gifts and mementos given to her by her adoring ‘firsties’.

The Abney family stood strongly by Karen during the many dark days of Jacob’s illnesses, heart transplants, and the darkest days following his passing. For that, the entire Edfeldt family will be forever thankful.

The classroom has always been a place of refuge for Karen. Each year her number one desire has been to create a safe place for the kids so that they can discover the love of learning that Karen so brilliantly displays to them. She fights fearlessly to let each child know they are loved and respected and they, in turn, need to show love and respect to their fellow students. Some have said she was too strict a disciplinarian. I won’t argue that she is tough (just ask her own children) but she believes that a structured atmosphere provides the security needed for learning to occur. Her students have discovered that through a disciplined approach to self-control and through an orderly discipline to acquiring and using knowledge they can achieve so much more than what they thought possible. Each child knows they are loved unconditionally and sometimes that love comes in a tough wrapping. But at the appropriate time, that tough love is always expressed with a hug or affirming word.

I have frequently sat in the corner of her room on ‘meet and greet’ nights with tears in my eyes as I watch a stream of former students and their parents come in expressing their love and appreciation to what Karen had done for them.

I regret that my career has always knocked Karen’s career off the path. And the challenges of being Jacob’s advocate for so many years have taken a dramatic toll on her. And now we face other life challenges in our family that has necessitated her, once again, to sacrifice her career for the sake of others she loves dearly. The absence of these life challenges could have resulted in her influence being extended to many more children. But as a favorite saying used in our family goes, ‘It is what it is.’

I will miss the stories of the many antics her ‘firsties’ provided that entertained me nightly. I will miss the sparkle in her eye when we spoke of her many ‘kiddos’ that had the light come on in mastering a skill. I will miss seeing the pictures of pumpkin rolls, little pilgrims and Indians, the seasonal group pictures by the tree, and being a secret reader.

But Karen and I know it’s time. In recent days as we agonized over this decision, she kept asking me when she should retire. Like a baseball coach coaxing a pitcher to give him one more inning, I would say, ‘just a little bit more’. But both Karen and I now recognize that she has given her all, given her best (and it was the BEST), but it’s time bring in the relief.

Karen, thank you, for your wonderful teaching career, despite the many unforeseen detours and obstacles you were forced to address. Now it’s time to enjoy the next phase of life and I look forward to enjoying it with you.

Moving On (dated 6/14/13)

It’s been four years since Jacob died and people have moved on. Family and friends have graduated from schools, married, gained jobs,switched jobs, moved to towns, settled into life and have ‘moved on’. We have witnessed marriages and funerals. The world has continued to experience its share of tragedies and heartwarming stories. Everyone has ‘moved on’ in life.

In many ways, so have Karen and I. We have continued in our jobs. We continue to enjoy our hobbies and interests. We see retirement peaking over the horizon and have begun to execute plans to prepare for it, including the purchase of the cabin home where we’ll enjoy those years.

We adore our grandkids and seek ways to spend more time with them (and Ben and Beth). We yearn for time to pass quickly in order to greet our new granddaughter from Ethiopia. We love spending time with Katie doing things she enjoys – shopping with Karen, Braves games with me. So in many ways we have ‘moved on’. But …

In many ways, we have been left behind while everyone else has ‘moved on’. There is and will always be a part of us that will be stuck on June 14, 2009. Jacob will always be 21 or the other ages of our memory remembering when Jacob ….

Was born
Played tee ball
Was enduring one of his many hospitalizations
Performed in church, school, or community plays
Went off to church camps
Enjoyed concerts by Mark Schultz and Avalon with the family
Got his first car …. and had his first accident
Bickered with his siblings
Argued with his parents
Caressed his nephew
Was enthralled by Wicked, The Phantom, and the other Broadway musicals we saw
Enjoyed our Ridgecrest vacations
Entertained family with concerts with Katie
Danced with his grandmothers
Worshiped with upraised arms
Went away to college ... and thrived
The list goes on and on and on

We understand how time goes on and how people move on. It’s expected. It’s healthy. It’s inevitable And, for the most part, we have too. But,there is and will always be a part of us that will stay behind in order to remember… and to honor a radiant life that we miss terribly.

A Different Deja Vu (dated 3/11/13)

It’s déjà vu all over again … but this time with a twist.

Today is Jacob’s birthday. He would have been 25. I spent many a night with him in the hospital. I slept in the fold out bed in his room. I helped him to the bathroom and I manned the rolling ‘Christmas tree’ (The rolling pole that held all the various instruments that monitored him and his meds. Those instruments were all lit up like a Christmas tree, hence came the derisive name). I would maneuver the ‘tree’ while he relieved himself (he would be so embarrassed for me to divulge that family secret, but what can he do about it now …. except maybe ask God to strike me down with a lightning bolt). There even times when I helped bathe him because he couldn’t allow the IVs to get wet so I would take the removable shower head and hose him down.

Now I find myself celebrating Jacob’s birthday by spending the night in another hospital room. Once again I find myself sleeping in another uncomfortable fold out bed, but this time it is beside my 90 year old father who has suffered a small stroke. I am, once again, helping with a rolling Christmas tree, but this time as dad needs assistance to and from the bathroom.

Yes, I’m having some flashbacks …. and, yes, my dad has flashed me a few times, just as Jacob did. And finding humor in dire times like these is how you survive … otherwise, the tears will overwhelm you.

But such is life for a parent of a chronically ill child or the child of an aging parent. You do what you have to do for them. Not out of obligation, though I owe my father oh so much. Not out of responsibility, though I was blessed to be the father of Jacob.

You spend nights in a hospital. You hold bedside urinals. You push ‘Christmas trees’ up and down halls and into bathrooms. You bathe adult children (and, if needed, a parent). You feed them – from ice chips to potato chips – and anything in between. You watch them suffer … and suffer for them and with them.

You do all these things, not out of obligation, not out of responsibility, not out of guilt – though all of those things apply. No, you do those things because you love them … and they love you.

So today I celebrate Jacob’s birthday and honor his life by spending the day loving my father as he recovers in the hospital.

Happy Birthday, Jacob. I love you and miss you.

Get well soon, Dad. I love you and am so thankful you’re still here to love.

Helping the Hurting (dated 8/23/12)

I recently came across this excerpt from a booklet called “Helping the Hurting” by Philip Yancey. I found it both insightful and instructional. Take a look:

I believe we in the body of Christ are called to show love when God seems not to. People in pain, especially those with long-term pain, often have the sensation that God has left them. No one expressed this better than C. S. Lewis in the poignant journal he kept about his wife’s death (A Grief Observed). He recorded that at the moment of his most profound need, God, who had seemed always available to him, suddenly seemed distant and absent, as if God had slammed a door shut and double-bolted it from the inside. Sometimes we must voice prayers that the suffering person cannot voice. And in moments of extreme pain or grief, very often God’s love can only be perceived through the flesh of ordinary people like you and me. In such a way we can, indeed, function as the body of Jesus Christ.

To many, they may find that Yancey conveys some surprising words, except to those who have experienced or who are in the midst of experiencing the deafening silence of God. If you have been brought up in the church, you have been taught to believe that God is always a prayer away. And in technical terms, I guess that’s correct. However, I can attest from personal experience, similar to C. S. Lewis’ recollections, that in times of deepest stress or distress, there is that distinct feeling that we have been shoved out the door and hear that sickening sound of the door locking and being double-bolted. And as we pound on the door for re-admittance, pleading for God’s voice and intervention, all we hear is our own sobbing.

Those times are times of bewilderment, times of introspective doubting, times of anguish and of anger, and times of self imposed ostracism from our support system. We feel deserted by God and abandoned by others. So Yancey is point on in his description of where people are in times of extreme and/or extended times of pain.

But Yancey also provides some wonderful words of instruction to those who are witnessing friends or loved ones that are wandering in a spiritual desert. In those times when we can’t, won’t, or refuse to see God and His love – you who are a part of the body of Christ can be the representation of God and His brilliant love to those of us who are in a season of darkness. Through your expressions of concern, actions of love, words that provide encouragement (but are not explanations of why or of unintended judgment), or just by giving your mere presence, you help us experience the touch of God that we so desperately need but often times resist and you can voice the prayers that have gone silent from our lips. Through your faith, you can begin to restore faith to those who’s faith has been fractured or devastated.

And in those times, we who are in pain may not say the words, but we are very thankful to those special friends and family for helping us experience the body of Christ.

Jacob's Song (dated 7/26/12)

I was walking the dogs this morning, trying to get back into the routine, and I was listening to my iPod. This is the one I bought for me when we bought one for Jacob after one of his many surgeries – yes, it’s that old! I’m guessing about 10 years ago.

I love these times early in the morning, when I can overcome my slothfulness, get out of bed, and put on walking clothes, and harness the dogs. I strap on the iPod that’s full of praise songs. This is my way of quiet time with God and it’s a time when I feel a particular closeness with Jacob.

I grew up in a singing family and I loved to sing. Jacob was the same way. He loved to sing even though his throat was so scarred by intubation tubes following his many surgeries that his voice had a permanent raspiness (new word!). But that didn't deter him from making a joyful noise. Many times at church and throughout the week, he would be totally consumed in his music, eyes closed, hands upraised, and in full volume.

I know I’ve shared that since Jacob’s death, my singing voice has gone silent. It’s very hard for me to sing. The words stick in the throat as the memories of Jacob's love for singing come to my mind. But I still love to listen to songs and the words they share. I may not make a sound anymore, but I'm singing, full volume, with Jacob.

Anyway, as I was walking and listening to the music, a song popped up by Kathy Troccoli and as I was listening it was like Jacob began tapping me on my shoulder, saying, “Pops, hey, I like that song. It could have been my life’s song if it wasn’t popular before my time.” So, with tears in my eyes, I listened a little more closely and, sure enough, it could have been. It fits him perfectly.

Here are the words:

Life can be so good; Life can be so hard

Never knowing what each day will bring to where you are

Sometimes I forget; And sometimes I can't see

That whatever comes my way, You'll be with me

My life is in your hands; My heart is in your keeping

I'm never without hope; Not when my future is with you

My life is in your hands; And though I may not see clearly

I will lift my voice and sing; Cause your love does amazing things

Lord, I know, my life is in your hands

Nothing is for sure; Nothing is for keeps

All I know is that your love will live eternally

So I will find my rest, And I will find my peace

Knowing that you'll meet my every need

My life is in your hands; My heart is in your keeping

I'm never without hope; Not when my future is with you

My life is in your hands; And though I may not see clearly

I will lift my voice and sing; Cause your love does amazing things

Lord, I know, my life is in your hands

When I'm at my weakest Lord; You carry me

Then I become my strongest Lord; In your hands

My life is in your hands; And though I may not see clearly

I will lift my voice and sing; Cause your love does amazing things

Lord, I know, my life is in your hands; I trust you Lord

My life is in your hands

It's now become my newest favorite.

Daddy, I'm Sorry .... (dated 6/14/12)

Many of you know that today is the third anniversary of Jacob's death. Days like this are very hard. You don't feel like doing anything but you need to do something to get your mind off of the day. People tend to shy away from you on this day because they don't know what to say to you. When they do talk to you, they don't bring up 'the subject' because they don't want to upset you, but in doing so we get upset that no one remembers Jacob. It's a really weird day to grapple with.

I was thinking back on that final day (little did we know that it was to be 'that' day) and I remembered sitting by Jacob's bed in ICU and him repeatedly saying, "Daddy, I'm so sorry ..." When I asked why, he would just say again, with tears in his eyes, "I'm so sorry". The impression I was left with was that he was sorry for what he was putting us through. I told him that there was nothing to apologize for; that I had no regrets and have cherished each experience with him.

I remember writing down some things that I cherished in being involved in Jacob's life. I was able to share some of them with him and then it was shared in its entirety at his memorial service. I share it with you again on this day:

"From time to time throughout Jacob’s life we encountered other adults who had received the same devastating diagnosis that we received about him before he was born. We were told of his fatally flawed heart and were told different pieces of advice – from aborting the pregnancy to simply do nothing and let the baby die shortly after birth.

However, there was one doctor, when pressed with this question, “What would you do if this were your child?” responded, “I would do everything I knew within my power to provide life for him. Otherwise, I would have to deal with the ‘what ifs’ for the rest of my days.” That answer resonated with us and became our guiding light.

In our conversations with other adults facing the same decisions, they would often ask, “Is it worth it? Is it worth all the fear and pain and unknown to have this baby born with overwhelming challenges?”

In the last few days, I’ve pondered on that question and here is a partial list of why I say, “Yes, it was worth it all ….

… to see ‘big sister’ Katie play with Jacob, fight with Jacob, dance with Jacob, and love Jacob.

… to watch Jacob hold his ‘big brother’ in highest esteem, even when they bickered about who was on who’s side of their shared bedroom.

… to watch Jacob play t-ball with a flak jacket in order to protect his heart.

… to watch Jacob shine in his roles in Music Man, Peter Pan, A Christmas Carol, The Emperor’s New Clothes, Bye-Bye Birdie, and Guys & Dolls.

… to see Jacob blossom and bloom in college.

… to be a willing chaperone for many of Jacob’s field trips.

… to witness Jacob being voted “Male Camper of the Year” at Camp Cherokee.

… to be entertained by Jacob’s unique sense of humor.

… to participate in an archeological dig at Rock Eagle with Jacob and watch him discover a pioneer's nail.

… to watch Jacob take great pride in being big brother Ben’s high school team batboy.

… to experience the love and dedication that Jacob’s many medical caregivers displayed toward him.

… to watch Jacob dance with his non-dancing Baptist grandma and with his dancing Methodist grandmother.

… to see Jacob tenderly cradle his newborn nephew, Tucker, and whisper to him, "Will you remember me?"

… to have the privilege of baptizing Jacob.

… to witness Jacob being selected president of his high school chorale.

… to watch Jacob mesmerized by Le Miserable, Phantom of the Opera, Joseph and the Amazing Multi-colored Dreamcoat, Beauty and the Beast, Nutcracker, The Christmas Story, and, especially, Wicked.

… to hear the announcement that Jacob was receiving the first Harris Wheeler choral award.

… to watch Jacob cook with Paula Dean and hear her flirt with him.

… to watch Jacob serve as Ben’s best man.

… to hear of how Katie protected and guided Jacob in his first days at McEachern High School and at Shorter College.

… to watch, with appreciation and some envy, the unusually strong bond of love between Jacob and his mother.

… to climb the 185 steps of the lighthouse at Tybee Island with Jacob after his first transplant.

… to ride in tandem on a snowmobile with Jacob and narrowly avoid hitting the legendary Sasquatch and ended up being tipped over on the side of a Washington state mountain. That's our story and we're sticking to it.

… to hear Jacob speak of his efforts to establish Alpha Sigma Phi as a fraternity at Shorter College.

… to watch, in gratefulness and humility, how Jacob has encouraged and inspired all he has known and many he has never met.

Yes, there have been many desperate times; uncertain times; un-nerving times; down right scary times; and times that required mammoth sacrifices on our family and caused my faith to waver.

But, despite all doctor visits and hospital stays, I would say without equivocation, it was worth it to me and my family because every stressful time only tempered the steel that bonds our family. And to choose otherwise, we would never have had to extraordinary opportunity to experience the life of Jacob Blackburn Edfeldt."