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.
Two years ago was one of those surreal days.
It was ushered in by Ben, Beth, and infant Tucker rushing in from Texas to Egleston Hospital because Jacob’s second heart was wearing out and we were preparing ourselves for the worst.
About five minutes after they arrived in Jacob’s ICU room, a doctor stuck his head in the room and glibly stated that there was a donor heart for Jacob and transplant surgery would begin around 4:00am. After chasing the doctor down the hall to make sure he wasn’t an apparition of our imagination, we had him repeat his news slowly. Then we rushed back to the room for a brief time of celebration and then to prepare ourselves for a roller coaster day.
After a very long and very difficult surgery, Dr. Kantor shared the news that Jacob’s new heart was doing well. At that time, we praised God and thanked Him for another chance at life for Jacob and prayed for the family that was going through the agony of the loss of their young man.
Well, here we are two years later, feeling that same agonizing pain of loss instead of the exhilaration of another celebrative anniversary party.
We always had in the back of our minds that we would not have Jacob as long as we would want. We would always try to block and shield that thought from coming forward but it would always peek its insidious head around our attempts and remind us of the probable. In the best of times, we allowed ourselves to relax and think ‘things were normal’. But, inevitably, something would jar us back to what was truly and uniquely ‘normal’ for our lives and that was a life dominated by doctors, nurses, and hospitals.
When we would verbalize the likelihood that Jacob would not live long, friends would chide us and try to bolster our spirits by saying, “He may outlive us all.” While we recognized that was technically true – any of my children or any of my family could step out in front of a bus and become a hood ornament – the betting man’s money would be on Jacob …. and we knew it.
Still, we didn’t expect it to happen 591 short days later and just a few rooms down the hall from where we heard that wonderful announcement on November 15, 2007.
Jacob lived a good life, no, an extraordinary life. He overcame so much junk (or substitute your own descriptive word here) in his life …. but it was over way too soon. His life radiated brightly, but it was snuffed out abruptly and we miss him terribly every day and, especially, on special days like this one.
He remains in the core of every thought, sometimes painful, sometimes wistful, sometimes jovial, but he is always there.
A loved one once described Karen and me as ‘damaged goods’. At first blush, that sounds harsh and hurtful, but it is accurate. Our experiences have caused some indelible impressions on our lives. We bear the scars that are still very tender and, I imagine, they will always be tender to the touch. Through the years the scars may heal some and be harder to see but they will always be there …. and there will always be an aching at the site of the scars.
And on this day, that scar is especially tender.
No comments:
Post a Comment