Nine Years and Counting

The anniversary of Jacobs’s death has come around for the ninth time.  It doesn’t seem possible.  Memories of him are still fresh and frequent. I still -

• See his smile
• Hear his gravelly voice
• Chuckle at his odd sense of humor
• Tear up at thoughts of numerable and interminable surgeries, procedures, and hospital stays
• See him at our dinner table laughing about events of the day
• Hear him giggling with his brother and sister (when they weren’t bickering)
• Watch him worshiping through song

However (that’s a word that stabs at my heart), in the nine years since his fatal cardiac arrest while fighting off his body’s overwhelming rejection of his second heart at the way too young a year of 21, it grieves my spirit to think - 

• He couldn’t develop his strong desire to be a doting and fun loving uncle to Tucker.
• He missed the births and becoming the same type of uncle to Libby and Abby.
• And now, after our initial meeting of and visit with our newest member of the family, Zane, it is a certainty the two would have quickly bonded while they compared chest scars from their heart surgeries. I know that Jacob would have been able to show off, with pride, his ‘shark bite’ surgery scar.  They would have giggled themselves silly doing this
• He missed the proud opportunity to represent his love at Katie’s wedding.
• He has missed numerous times to see and spend time with extended family at various gatherings and reunions.
• He has missed keeping up with dear friends and teachers in high school (chorus, drama, and BTEC) 
• And his wonderful and supportive group of friends at Shorter (BCM, dorm dudes, his ‘harem’ and Δ∑Ф). 
• He never got to begin and pursue a career.
• He never got to fall in love, get married, and have kids that could play with Tucker, Libby, Zane, Abby, and the little Guice boy coming later this summer.
• He’ll never spend any time by the creek at our NC home.
• He’ll never grow older with the rest of us, enjoying all the things listed above that would have given him such joy.   

Instead, it is a day of dread and depression over what could have been but will never be.

Love you, Jacob.  You’re missed; you’re loved; you’re not forgotten.