Does It Ever Get Any Easier?

by Richard Edfeldt

Does it ever get any easier .....

to talk to others about Jacob’s life and his death?

to survive special dates like his birthday, Mother's Day, Father's Day, and other holidays?

to survive special events within our family and in the lives of our friends that we know we'll never experience with Jacob

  - such as birth of babies and all the parties that precede it?

  - weddings of friends' children who shared their childhood with Jacob or are the approximate age as he would be plus all the showers leading up to that blessed event?

to drive through neighborhoods and stop in front of houses from years gone by where we shared life with Jacob, Ben, and Katie, remembering all the good times experienced within those walls?

to drive by schools and other places where Jacob went or participated in functions?

to walk through hospital hallways and visit in rooms which inevitably evoke countless memories?

to sit in the same church sanctuary and recall images of him worshiping in the balcony or helping to lead in worship with a group?

to be in that same church sanctuary and remember where you sat at his memorial service?

to drive by graveyards, particularly the one where he is interred, and be jolted once again with the finality of it all?

Is it any easier after all these intervening years?   

Well, it may be easier to cope with emotions and control your feelings better   

    .... the tears are less frequent   

         .... you may even smile at the memories

              .... and you may share a laugh about an experience or a quirk of his personality

              

BUT, grief still sneaks up on you unexpectedly as well as the expected times listed above.  Sometimes you can make it through the day or event, but just as often you can't suppress the tide of grief that rises within you.  The sadness and grief can still overwhelm you.

So, the ultimate answer is NO, it never gets easier.  You are just caught off guard less, but the grief still remains, ever lurking in the shadows.

Three Beeps

by Richard Edfeldt

Whenever I drive by the cemetery where Jacob is buried I beep my carhorn 3 times, in essence saying “I Love You.”  I know, I know, I can hear some of you rolling your eyes and saying, “That’s something we did as teenagers.”  That’s true, it was popular thing to do a generation ago to honk your horn 3 times whenever you drove by your girlfriend’s house to let her know of ‘your undying and unabashed love for her.’  I’m sure that the parents and neighbors were glad to hear that reminder that as well!

I’ve been told that my beeping of my carhorn for Jacob is kind of silly and corny.  And if you think about it logically, it is because …. he can’t even hear it!  But I still do it and here’s why:  I find that it gives me a sense of connectedness to him and a way of saying, “You’re not forgotten.  I still love you and miss you.”

 

There are other ways people figuratively ‘beep a horn’ in remembrance of those they’ve loved and lost:

-  People carry around special items

    - I have 2 fish shaped carabiners on my work backpack that were Jacob’s

- People keep special clothes

   - Karen occasionally wears a shirt of Jacob’s from when he was a part of an informal club that he and 3other friends in high school created called BTEC – Better Than Everyone Club.  Yeah, they made shirts and everything!
   - Some of Jacob’s closest college friends took one of Jacob’s tee shirts and stuffed it into a big pillow and gave it to us so we could feel close to him.
   - I have kept several souvenir shirts from Jacob’s theatrical endeavors.  Our plans are to create a memory  quilt from them.

Beth's painting

- People display pictures

   - We have various pictures of Jacob with family and friends we have scattered around the house.
   - We also have two paintings that were done for us.  One by our talented daughter-in-law, Beth (and based on a picture taken by Christine Tegg) and a portrait done by a cousin of Karen's.
   - Plus we have scanned a host of pictures of him throughout his life so we don’t lose them (like we did with some of them in our recent flood).

- People eat special food and meals

   - On significant days we eat Mexican food because that was a favorite of Jacob.
   - I periodically eat a Subway sandwich that Jacob would request when there was a period of time when that was all he wanted and he was allowed to eat.
   - On occasion we’ll get snack foods (flaming hot cheetos, sour punch gummy worms, Cheerwine) in memory of him
   - We have signs on our back porch of Mountain Dew and Cheerwine because they were favorite drinks of his.

- People have special signals and movements

  - You can’t watch a sporting event without seeing a player tap their heart and point to the sky in memory of a loved one.
  - And I beep when I pass the cemetery.
    

So, you see, there is a host of ways we who have loved and lost someone do something to keep that person who is no longer an active part of our life an active memory in our life.

Is that really so bad or corny to do?

Me with the Shorter College tee shirt Jacob gave me to announce his acceptance into the school.

 

Music’s Role in Grief or The Day the Music Died (with apologies to Don McLean)

I have shared before that I come from a musical family which instilled in me a love for music.  My parents were both involved in church choir and often my dad was used as a soloist.  It was a yearly tradition to have dad sing a-cappella, “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” at Christmas time. He would always put such emotion in it.

I hold dear, from earliest recollections, singing in the series of children’s and youth church choirs at First Baptist/Orlando under the wonderful tutelage of Alberta and Ed Irey.  All of the choirs began with “C”:

Celestial

Cherub 1

Cherub 2

Crusader

Carol

Choralier

Concord

(FBC/Orlando choir alumni, correct my 50 year old remembrances if I have the names wrong)

I won awards for perfect attendance and hymns memorized.  There were the coveted harps with stars that were put on your choir robe like chevrons on a military sleeve.  There were statuettes of the famous composers you were awarded like baseball trophies. I remember going to Harmony Bay music camp at Lake Yale due to receiving so many points accrued throughout a year of church choir. It was an enjoyable and educational musical upbringing that the Ireys’ provided to me and countless other children that attended First Baptist in the 60’s and 70’s.

Karen and her family, as well, had a deep love for music, particularly instrumental music.  Karen’s mom made sure that each of her daughters learned how to play the piano and organ.

It was at a church choir, called “New Wind”, sponsored by First Baptist, that I first saw Karen, and quickly knew she would be the one for me.  So you can see music was instrumental in bringing Karen and me together (pun fully intended)!

After we married and began my church ministry, Karen dutifully and beautifully, played the piano and/or organ at several of the churches I served so each of our children naturally acquired a love for music.  Ben and Katie would sing in the church choirs and they both took piano lessons.  Katie, in particular, embraced her talent and would also sing in the school choruses.

When we found out about the medical challenges that Jacob would face when he came into this world, music began to be a salve and a refuge for us.  We would draw needed strength from songs like,

Because He Lives   

How sweet to hold a newborn baby, And feel the pride and joy he brings;
But greater still the calm assurance: This child can face uncertain days because He Lives!

Great is Thy Faithfulness

Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father, There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not; As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Then as Jacob made it through each surgery we would sing our praise and thankfulness to God and soon Jacob also joined the family in exhibiting a great love for music of any kind – Christian, Country, but particularly musical theater!  What was especially ironic was that Jacob’s musical voice was terrible due to the many intubations he experienced after each surgery.  But his chorus teachers would always put him on the front row – partly due to his small stature, but mostly due to his facial expression in singing.  He could brighten the entire stage!

And his facial expressions in singing worship songs at church would often stir others to a deeper sense of worship when he caught their eye.  I have had numerous people come tell me that they had sensed the presence of God in a special way when they gazed over at the first row of the balcony on the piano side where Jacob would always sit at First Baptist/Powder Springs and see his countenance beaming his love for God in spite of a raspy voice.  He truly praised God with a joyful noise!

BUT THEN THE DAY CAME THAT THE MUSIC DIED  ….

On this day seven years ago, Jacob was in ICU at Egleston, undergoing treatment to try to reverse the rejection his body was inflicting on his second transplanted heart.  He had just endured his first round of treatment with Karen and me by his side when he suddenly gasped and his body seized up rigidly.  I remember lightly slapping his face desperately trying to get him to snap out of whatever he was experiencing.  The team of doctors and nurses rushed in, escorted the two of us out to the other side of the hall, and began, ultimately in vain, to counter his cardiac arrest as we watched and wept helplessly. He was gone.

On that day, the music died for me. I have tried to explain what I mean by that before.

 (see http://embracinggrief.blogspot.com/2015/02/what-wicked-and-worship-have-in-common.html)

Since Jacob’s death I have not been able to worship through singing.  When I attend a worship service and they begin the singing portion of the service, I am transported back to the sanctuary of First Baptist/Powder Springs and I see Jacob, with his arms raised in worship and praise to God. I see him with his eyes shut tight as he positioned himself alone in worship to his Creator and Sustainer.  That vision never fails to steal my voice and pierce my heart.  I am, at once, thankful for his worship of God and the knowledge that he is now in the heavenly choir worshiping God with a strong and healthy voice… but I am also stricken with a new wave of grief as I sorely miss my son.

There are some songs that can lead me to worship through the hearing and meditating on their words but those words rarely escape my lips. Here are two for example:

Blessed be Your name, When the sun's shining down on me.
When the world's 'all as it should be', Blessed be Your name.

Blessed be Your name, On the road marked with suffering.
Though there's pain in the offering, Blessed be Your name.  (Matt Redman)

Or another one …

The pathway is broken and the signs are unclear; And I don't know the reason why You brought me here.
But just because You love me the way that You do; I'm gonna walk through the valley if You want me to.

It may not be the way I would have chosen; When You lead me through a world that’s not my home

But You never said it would be easy; You only said I’d never go alone.   (Ginny Owens)

Then, as a result of Jacob’s love for musical theater, there are other songs (or certain phrases in songs) in some Broadway productions that rip the scab off and renew the pain of grief, such as:

Defying Gravity (from Wicked)

Because I Knew You (from Wicked)

Bring Him Home (from Les Miserables)

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (from Les Miserables)

Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again (from Phantom of the Opera)

Some would ask why we inflict such pain on ourselves when all we need to do is avoid those plays or songs.  And for those people, that is entirely logical.  But for someone who has lost a loved one, part of enduring the pain those songs or other “grief triggers” we experience actually brings us closer to our loved one in those fleeting moments and the tears we shed are a mixture of pain and the residue of sweet memories.

 

It’s been seven years. In some ways, it feels like a lifetime ago.  So much has changed in our lives – new home, new place, and new people in our lives.  And we’ve lost friends and family as well. All of this Jacob has not been a part of. Yet the grief still lingers, his presence is ever with us.  He is in our music. He is still a part of the conversation. And he always will be. 

Missing you today …. and every day … but today in particular.

The Strange Dichotomy about Cemeteries

Several years ago Karen and I moved from Marietta, GA after thirteen years that provided a roller coaster ride that took a toll on our emotional, spiritual, and physical lives as we experienced the highs of high school and college graduations, a marriage, and the entrance into the world of grand kids.  We also raised our hands as the roller coaster screamed into the depths of hospitalizations and surgeries, boyfriend breakups, and deaths in the family. However, the steepest descent on this ride was naturally caused by the sudden death of Jacob in 2009.

When we moved, one of the more difficult things about the move, besides leaving friends behind and increasing the physical distance between us and Katie, was moving away from the cemetery where Jacob was buried.  And this is when a strange dichotomy about cemeteries developed.

Nobody likes cemeteries (with the possible exception of funeral directors).  They are used as the scenes of many horror films and the subjects of countless scary campfire stories. There is even a great idiom about them …. “Whistling past the graveyard”.

Yet they are a quiet, peaceful place to go if you need solitude and a place to think or to read.  And they are a great place to teach a fledgling student driver how to drive (just ask Karen).

But when we experienced the death of Jacob, the cemetery where he is interred developed an odd dichotomy in our mixture of feelings.

It is a place we dread and try to avoid because of the pain that inevitably appears when we approach the property….. yet it is a place we feel compelled to visit whenever we are in town for reasons we can’t put into words.

Whenever we visit Jacob’s graveside, we never stay more than a few minutes because you stand – and weep – and stare at his gravestone…..yet it is always with great reluctance that we walk back to the car and leave ‘him’ behind.

It’s hard, no, it’s impossible, to explain this conflict of feelings, but I’m going to try.

We understand that the plot of land with the bronze marker at its head only contains the earthly remains of our son.  The soul, the essence of him that was a delight to be around, is not there.  That place contains only the broken down body that wore out on June 14, 2009.   So we get that.

The many memories we have of him are constantly with us.  So we know that we don’t have to be in proximity of the graveside to conjure up those great times.  Those memories come frequently but can also catch us as unexpectedly surprises.  They bring us great comfort and laughter even as the tears stain our faces. So we understand that there’s not a need to go to the cemetery to keep his memories nearby… yet there is to go there.

Every time I consider going to the cemetery, I tried to talk myself out of driving there.  It’s a pain to drive there, traffic is always bad ... but the pain of grief that floods over me when I drive through the stone gated entrance is even greater.  Why submit myself to that pain when Jacob is not really there any way, I try to reason to myself …. yet I still go when I’m in town.

And when I do arrive at Jacob’s grave site, I’m only there a few minutes.  I stand there staring at the grave marker, sometimes with tears welling up in my eyes but other times I’m dry eyed.  It’s really a kind of an awkward time.  I know he’s not there. I know he is no longer suffering. I know he now has a perfect body and is in the precious presence of God.  Yet when I’m there, I sense his presence in a strong and different way.

Sometimes, certain memories come that causes a smile or a sigh.  And then the moment is gone. I sense it’s time to leave …. yet I’m reluctant to do so.  Why?  He’s not there.  He’ll be with me on the walk away from the graveside and when I leave in the car.  He’ll be with me for the rest of the day and the next day and the next.  So why the reluctance? 

 Grief is such an odd companion.