GriefShare Support Group

<<<Sidenote First>>>...The night before the support group meeting Jen appeared in my dreams again.  We were back at high school age.  I sat down with her at a lunch table, but it felt like we hadn't 'officially' met yet.  Awkward stares and moments of silence.  I started to talk and then she was standing, staring, concerned.  It had a feeling like, "How dare you talk to me, you don't know me."  Well, maybe not that harsh, but definitely a guarded body language.  I began again, almost in a pleading fashion, but do not recall the exact words...or any words for that matter.  Not sure if I was asking for her to return, asking for forgiveness over 'yelling' at her and saying I was done with the spirit-hijinx, or trying to get out the elusive message that has bothered me for so long.

Additionally, I have started reading the book Radical Forgiveness.  It is a strange way of reframing the issue with the deceased (in my specific case).  Strange in that it is not forgiveness so much as viewing the hurt through a different set of assumptions.  I have just started, so I need to complete the book to fully work the process, but at a high level, we (our souls) all begin as energy, one with God, and connected.  We come to Earth in human form to experience the pain of being separated from God and the collective, and to learn a (pre-determined) set of lessons.  We sign up for the specific and individual experience.  We develop an (or possibly many) assumption from an early experience, likely our lesson that we signed up for, and usually an incorrect conclusion based on flawed assumptions that we developed.  Patterns of hurt continue to repeat in various ways until we work through the flawed assumption.  Other souls are tuned into our soul needs and even provide the hurts and situations we need to correct and learn our lesson.  So we are not actually looking to learn to forgive these souls, but rather to thank them for pushing us to find the solutions that we are here to learn and experience.  At least that is what I think that I have read so far.

So I need to figure out my hurt and the incorrect assumptions that have lead me to keep embracing them and encountering them and then I can see how Jen's accident contributed to the lesson that I need to learn.  Hopefully, later chapters help to identify the underlying bad assumption and hurt.  The ideas that I have bouncing around in my head include, "I matter/My needs matter/I am important enough (at least to the collective)", something around feeling Lost or Destabilized, and/or "I am allowed to be happy", or ???

It is an interesting way to reframe the situation(s), and has lightened my spirits, so I feel it is going in a positive path forward.

Now back to the regularly scheduled program...I went to my first support group meeting, GriefShare.  Upon introducing myself, I only mentioned Jen's death, as that is the one that I keep reliving.  Most others were sharing a multitude of tragedies, so I did feel blessed in a way that waves of death and grief are not my derailment scenario.  The format is one of a video lesson compiled by experts and peppered with first hand accounts of the grief journey, followed by a sharing of reactions and experiences to what we were just exposed to.  It has only been one meeting (of 12 or 13 weeks), but I think the format works and I am very much willing to continue down the path.  There were a few interesting nuggets in video that will warrant further exploration.

• The experience of being numb right after and not recalling much in the first days (even to the point of someone on the video wishing that they had videotaped the funeral).
• That grief is a consequence of Love - where more Love means more hurt upon death.

And while not necessarily called out in specifics, I wanted to dive into more of the notion of

• How to rebuild or recreate relationships and the feeling of connection lost when these important people in our lives are ripped away from us.

I missed the next meeting and got back on track for the third session.  This one went a little sideways...The volunteer leader was not there (out from a surgery) and the group was left to her second in command.  A combination of maybe not explaining myself well in my comments within the group (trying to share that each journey is unique) and this second in command liking to talk, I didn't feel like I was allowed to feel the way I do or the actions that I have taken need to change.  Seemed contrary to the video message and all of the experts' opinions.  This may be one of the downsides to volunteer led groups, someone with a therapy background and experience may be needed to fully realize the benefits of this type of group therapy.  Perhaps I am being too sensitive and need to hear these critiques...I just left feeling, not angry, but disrupted.

I'll give it a couple more weeks before pulling the rip cord and we will see.

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Feedback to a Friend

I had a conversation right after a posting that I put on Facebook referencing Jen (and since deleted) with a friend.  They made a comment about the possibility of a 'spirit' being trapped in limbo if the griever does not release them (get through the grief).  The comment has been rattling around in my brain for a couple months, and not in a good way.  It hurt.  It angered me.  The message received by me was that I was harming (trapping at least) her spirit by still being grief stricken.

I wrote out a response to collect, soften, and make sure I was complete in my thoughts and reaction.  When I originally started out, it was going to be a quick comment to be sent by text.  It grew.  It was heavy.  Texting it seemed to be mean-spirited in itself, while it was not actually intended to be mean, just feedback.  I was then going to call and talk (or read it to them).  It does not allow for rebuttal comments, it is just feedback, honest feedback on feelings.  As I read through it again and again, I started to wonder where input would occur from their perspective?  If they even remember the specific offending comment, would they feel threatened, attacked?  Then I started wondering what I even expected from giving the (unsolicited) feedback?  What was my goal?  To help them when discussing grief and loss with another?  Or to say that I was hurt?  Does it matter?  Does it really change anything?  Does it even harm the relationship?

I am not sure...

But these are the type of questions that I could have gone over with Jen.

<Friend's Name>

 

As I go through the grief process (for the third time..."Slow learner" and "Stupidest smart person you'll ever meet" come to mind) I cannot help but fixate on the comment you shared with me about the possibility of a person stuck in "Limbo" if they are not released by the griever.

 

Honest feedback, as life long friends, it sucked.  Please remove it from your toolbox.  It felt mean.  It feels mean still.

 

I truly believe that it was not intended to be mean.  I am not mad at you for sharing your (potential) belief, per se.  I typically welcome it!  And I am not asking you to believe or not believe a certain way.  It is just that I am not sure this one is helpful for a person in the thorough's of grief.

 

Over the years you have dropped some tidbits of wisdom and insight into how I am perceived by the outside world.  You may not have even realized the scope of the impact when given.  They may not have been requested, sometimes even hurt, but ultimately were (are) true, and they allow me to assess and course correct.  And unfortunately, I do not know how to guide you on assessing the impact that they will have before sharing them, so I continue to welcome (even request and ask for) these nuggets of wisdom and insight, with the commitment to share when they hurt too much (and not in an angry way).  This one really hurt though.

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Can You Spare a Dime?

I thought I was done. Recovery in process. Moving on...But the Tilt-A-Whirl does not stop. Or maybe it is more accurate to say that my mind does not let it stop.

After meeting Jen's family back in August 2020, I had been reflecting on the visit. The soul crushing sadness is gone. Replaced by a low-level sadness, sure. But I think that I needed confirmation that the person I knew was really the person others knew her as too. I was afraid that the two would not be the same, that I was elevating, romanticizing, a connection that was not there or real. Not really interacting with people she knew, I didn't know if they knew the same person. The meeting was good to me in this regard. Confirmation was obtained. Her family brought up memories that were in sync with mine. I was able to answer questions that they had. And they answered many of my questions. I was able to add to back stories, share our single 'date'. It was new information for them, perhaps a little shocking to her Mother, but satisfying to her sister that Jen was able to pull off some typical, even rebellious, teenage shenanigans. The meeting was sufficient to put those concerns to rest. It felt like the door was closing, I had a feeling of peace, healing, and closure could set in and I could move on. I even 'received' a dime at the QuikTrip afterwards, my sign from Jen that she was there, and perhaps smiling.

It seems comical now that I would doubt my relationship and connection to the 'real Jen', but in isolation and after this many years, a mind can play cruel tricks. I was even starting to come to a realization that I may not have been the person for her (if a long term Jen were to have existed), no matter how much I loved her. I just would not have been the person that could have gotten her to her dreams and potential. The funny thing is, by and large, I think I'm okay with it. And in a way that I never would have been back then, if she had to have told me. Intellectually, I know the what-if's are fruitless...yet I still find myself deep in that hole. The recent change that I am starting to come to grips with, even if the accident didn't happen, 'we' may not have happened...or if I did somehow will it to happen, it may have ended poorly. Maybe it is a closure thing in my mind. That she was ripped away and closure (good or bad) never happened. But the more I play with the idea, the more the realization comes that, despite my level of love, I am not sure that the final outcome would have been good. And yeah, that would have sucked, but it would have also been such a disservice to her.

So my emotions began to settle down, for about a month. Then in late September, guess who was calling me in my dreams? What the fuck is wrong with my noggin? I seriously feel done, over it. Sadness has left the building. Why can't my unconscious come for the ride? In the dream, I even told her that I was done. Over it. Seriously, it's okay. She calls me back crying? WTF?!?! I got the confirmation that I was searching for. As much closure as can be expected. What the hell is left, what is my mind still searching for? Is it now just a long, drawn out ache from a hole in my soul? Does this wound ever heal? It has been 30+ years and I still have not figured it out. I have a sneaking suspicion that I never will. And the dimes stopped appearing...

Did I chase her away? Damage the memory or the relationship? With a dead person??? I am sorry! That is not what I meant to do. But I feel like I hurt her...her ghost. I want the dimes back. The gentle reminders, Jen popping into situations and saying, "Hi!", or sometimes even scolding me.

Why do I continue to be drawn towards stories or movies or songs of sadness? Is that the only emotion that I think that I have left to feel? I'm tired of feeling that weight, yet I continue down a path of emotional torment and destruction. Do I feel guilty for feeling happiness? Am I trying to feel other emotions and the only thing that I can muster is sadness? I started re-watching "13 Reasons Why" after my daughter heard the song "The Night We Met" on my playlist and asked, "Depressed much?" I had no idea what she was talking about. She mentioned that it was from the show and I couldn't remember it in there. As I continued to watch the show, it all seemed fresh, like I had never watched it the first time around. When the song came up in the first season, it hit me hard. When it started playing in the second season (which I was less prepared for), I was a blubbering mess. As I watch the series this second time, it was different. I was watching, searching, for a roadmap forward that would help me navigate my feelings. As if I could get guidance from Clay on how to proceed forward, through the loss, even though the death of Hannah and of Jen were very different, the shocking and abrupt loss was similar. Sadly, it did not satisfy those curiosities and no solution was obtained.

I am left with torment and loneliness. Silly, self-inflicted. I feel abandoned by Jen, but at my own doing. And no clear path towards resolution. I ask for her to return, but why? Wouldn't this continue my torture? Did she leave because I hurt her with my statements that I was done and over it? Or does she think that this is best for me? Is it? I am slowly descending into madness, asking for a ghost or spirit or angel to return. One that I told to go away...but I miss it. I miss her!

Why? I have a great family! Some good friends. What is missing that I need? A connection? Or some sort of an answer (and to what question)? So tired...of hurting. Of aching. Of being stuck.

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Meeting the Family

The meet-up happened!  

Of course, it went even better than I expected.  Intellectually, I knew it would.  Emotionally, I was shaking in my boots.  Jennifer’s sister has always been incredibly open, warm, encouraging, and welcoming.  There was no reason to expect any different.  However, I did start to experience Dallas’ devious (in a fun way) nature.  She mentioned that she had invited her Mom to the meet-up, and had let me know.  Honestly, that made me nervous.  As I mentioned in the last entry, I had not had direct interactions with her…ever.  Not sure how to adequately describe the nervousness.  It was not fear, I didn’t think she was going to yell at me or anything like that.  Perhaps it was the 30+ years of hard-wiring in my head to not cause harm, hurt, or emotional distress on Jen’s parents; they had their child stolen away and I can not imagine a greater hurt.  We enter the cemetery and navigate towards the area where Jennifer is.  There are 3 cars and 5 ladies waiting for us!  Her sister invited her aunts too!  Another car with an aunt and uncle rolls up as we are exiting our vehicle.  A half-circle of family forms around me, with my daughter abandoning me off to the side.  A video call was added to include another aunt!  A round of “Hi”s and introductions and then straight to the meat of the discussion…Who are you and how did you know Jennifer?  They want the details!  Wow!  Stress…

In all fairness, they were extremely nice and welcoming, even from the start.  Dallas (Jennifer’s Sister) confessed that she could sense my nervousness, so she just omitted the fact (playfully and deviously) that all of the family was coming.  Was probably a smart move on her part!  As the story unfolds, due to the ages of all of the aunts (being younger sisters of Jen’s Mom), they were like big sisters to Jennifer and had a tight connection.  After the accident, they stepped in and were active in helping raising Jennifer’s two (much) younger sisters.  They were very ingrained into the family, before and after.  Through the three hours we ultimately spent together, you could tell that they were closer than what I would describe as a typical Aunt-Niece relationship.

I start off with how we met, and how the relationship formed.  The endless hours on the phone together (their memories begin the endless agreements of recollection) and the dynamic of how our relationship was a connection of just us, the single point of connection of our social circles.  The phone leads to memories of other items in her room, the Hard Rock Teddy Bear that I had given her comes up.  I offer the back story of this item, how it was the only souvenir that I had returned from New York City with.  The desire, even deterministic expectation, that she would become the first woman president.  Inside, I start to feel relief.  A long-standing question in my mind, was this a far-flung whimsy that was only shared with me, or something that she believed, even was working towards?  Confirmation that this was discussed with everyone else elevates it from flight of fancy to a key mechanism in who she was.  It also starts the confirmation process in my mind that I did actual know her.  Silly, perhaps, but after this many years of only telling stories to people that had not met her, my own mind has beaten me up with the possibility that I did not even know the Real Jennifer.

I mention that the forcefulness of some of her demands still compel me not to participate in certain activities.  They demand to know more, what activities?  It gets tricky.  These are people that I have just met.  People that are held in high regard in my eyes.  I do not want to let them down, but I also do not want to dive into more deviant and illegal activities, for fear of judgement.  I try to dodge, but ultimately am coerced into spilling the beans.  LSD.  Jen was adamant that I never take acid.  She had mentioned some stories about it staying in your system and causing permanent craziness.  I thought that it was horseshit, but at the time, she was so forceful, so insistent, that I did not press the issue too far or too long.  They all started nodding in agreement and understanding, she had a cousin that this did in fact happen to, so the fear she had was very much close to their family.  New (more complete) information.  More stories are exchanged.  Laughter.  Tears.  Hugs.

I bring up the encounter with the medium.  Figure that if I haven’t shocked them with the LSD story, then anything is fair game.  They are surprisingly onboard.  I tell of the shifts in thinking that the medium had suggested, that I might need to forgive Jennifer for walking across the Rainbow Bridge, and that meeting my wife so shortly after was a gift from Jennifer.  They seemed to understand the forgiveness angle (and had likely had to travel that path themselves).  They all liked, and latched on to, the idea of the gift.  I filled in details surrounding meeting my wife and how my thoughts of it happening because of the accident had caused serious conflict within me.  The idea of a gift was ratified.

As we move through the various stories and comparing notes, I get to the single date that we had.  WHAT?!?  These ladies we are new to me, so I wasn’t quite sure on the facial expressions and body language, but there seemed to be some shock (and perhaps delight from her sister).  Later texts with Dallas seemed to confirm my read of the situation.  Apparently, Jennifer never told her parents she was going on a date.  Out with friends perhaps, or whatever else a teenager can conjure up to get out of the house with minimal parental resistance.  I do seem to recall that when I arrived that Jennifer bolted out the house door and into the vehicle.  I didn’t think anything of it at the time, why would I?  She was in my car and I was happy with that.  So, as I let this story unfold, I see her Mom’s face, a combination of confusion, wonder, and shock.  As I look around, Dallas seems almost giddy.  This is the first sign of ‘non-typical’ emotion for this kind of meeting.  I hurry through, brain still hard-wired to do no harm.  Follow-up texts with Dallas, that were about other specifics, and she confirms that her parents had no idea that Jen was going on a date, and Dallas was somewhat happy that her sister was able to pull off some ‘standard’ teenage rebellion tactics and enjoy some of the rights of passage that teens navigate.  More stories are bounced back and forth.  Laughter.  Tears.  Hugs.

I had stopped at the grocery store on the way and purchased a few roses, a white one that I had given her Mother upon meeting, a yellow one, given to Dallas upon arrival, and a red one for Jen’s tombstone.  All through these stories, the red one is my shield.  I am waving it around as an extension of my arm when talking and grasping it with both hands when listening, its thorns pricking me as a reminder to place it.  I suggest it is time to place the rose and we all begin to move towards the grave.  It is a location that I could pinpoint on a map, point to from 30,000 feet above, but as I turn to go there, I am lost, wandering.  Dallas points me in the right direction.  The mass of people divides into two groups, one with me, one with my daughter.  I can only imagine that they are peppering her with questions to understand me, or our family better.

Aunt Patty is the main person around me.  We talk through a multitude of stories, some off topic (of Jen specifically), but still therapeutic.  We stumble back to the medium and belief in their abilities to connect.  She talks about ‘gifts’ left behind by those that walk the Rainbow Bridge (my term).  I share the thought that Jen leaves dimes for me to find in some of the most random locations.  It feels like she is saying “Hi”, or sometimes scolding me even.  Whenever I find one on the ground somewhere, I stop to pick it up and reply back “Hi Jen”.

Aunt Patty mentions that she spends no time at the grave-sites of those she has lost, until today.  It is just too hard.  Yet we are close to three hours in.  She mentions that this meeting has been very therapeutic, even cleansing.  I feel happy that I could help get her to this point.  The two groups regather as one as she is saying goodbyes.  Somehow we get on the topic of talking about doing things and then never getting around to actually doing them.  This sparks the memories of talking about skydiving with Jennifer.  Some of the family had gone skydiving.  I share stories about how Jennifer and I would talk at length about jumping.  We were locked in, we were going to go after she turned 18 and didn’t need the parental waiver, or just a general rule of the diving school for no one under 18.  That these were plans that never had the opportunity to be completed.  That life happens after we make grand plans.  And that I did jump twice, one for each of us.

The sun is going down (are we going to be locked in the cemetery?).  We say our goodbyes and leave.  My daughter and I still have about an hour drive to Kansas City for our hotel.  After we exit the Turnpike, our hotel is on a street off to the left.  I miss the turn.  Looking down the road a little, I see a QuikTrip.  Good!  I can stop there and get a soda for the night and then we can turn around to get on the correct side road.  Walking out of the QuikTrip, there is a dime on the ground…Yeah, it was a good meetup, Jen.

In the days/weeks following the get together, I am surprised how my thoughts and feelings are seeming to shift.  If I start to think about Jennifer now, sure, there is still some sadness that she is not alive, but it is no longer the soul-crushing grief that it used to be.  There is a growing acceptance, even smiles at the good memories and the reaffirmation that I knew her.  Who would have guessed that, even after 30+ years, meeting with her family was ultimately what I would have needed to get over it.  I feel silly at the simplicity…

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Upcoming - Meeting Jennifer's Family…Very Nervous

So fast forward to mid-2020.  Dreams with Jennifer still occur, at an approximate monthly rate.  The emotional impact is not as debilitating as in previous months.  There is still this nagging notion that there is a message that needs to be transferred.  Still don't know what the message is or if I am delivering or receiving the message, just that there is a message.  Then it happens that I have an excuse to go through Topeka, to possibly meet Jennifer’s sister.  In our last conversations, she mentioned that if I ever came through town to give her a shout.

Backstory – ‘Therapy’ Generates New Perspectives

A couple months ago, I went for a massage.  My back had been hurting and I needed more than just the pills.  The masseuse also happened to be a medium (able to talk to spirits).  Conversation bounced around a little and then Jennifer came up.  The medium gave me a couple of interesting nuggets to chew upon.

At first the topic of forgiveness came up.  I am thinking, “Yes, I have heard this all before.”  But I didn’t feel the need for forgiveness…I didn’t cause the accident, I wasn’t there, couldn’t have done something different to prevent it…I am not asking for forgiveness.  The medium, innocently, asked, “What about forgiving her for the accident?”  WOW!  Such a simple shift of perspective.  So simple, but it has eluded me for so long.  Definitely an angle that needs exploration but has the potential to be very liberating.  I am working through this currently.  How to forgive in general, how to forgive someone that is no longer here, how to forgive such a big event.

The next nugget was the medium saying that meeting Tammy (my wife, we met very shortly after Jen’s accident) was a gift from Jennifer.  Again, mind blown.  I have spent years almost feeling guilty that Tammy, my family, and all the good and joy from family would have never happened without the accident.  Feeling guilty that the accident had to occur for all the beginning events in my family to fall into place.  That I am benefiting from enormous joy and good fortune from such a horrific event.  This simple shift in thinking explains (and better) that there is no need to feel guilty.  As a gift from Jennifer, it feels like she is reaching out to take care of me and make sure I can navigate life fully.  A life altering gift that can never be repaid.

Backstory – Reason for the Trip

My daughter has turned 16, driver’s license time, and purchasing a car.  She knows that I used to race (mostly autocross) and tend towards the extreme speed side of the equation on the highways.  It has her interest piqued.  She desires to know how to drive, yes, but even more the speed bug is surfacing.  She wants to race, or at least autocross.  She is excited at the notion of rebuilding my race car and get it back on the track.  I think that she envisions herself in that driver’s seat too, despite having purchased a sports car herself.  She has just the right amount of crazy in her personality to get to the razor’s edge.  I have noticed early enough to bang into her head the mantra that speed, racing, ‘craziness’ in a car is fine in CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENTS…the track, with safety equipment, like minded drivers that are more predictable (less likely to brake check you out of mindless spite, etc.), room for mistakes, and have limited participants.  I have started looking for drivers’ events to get her experience and training in car control at the extreme limits.  Typically focused towards younger drivers and teaching what messing up feels like but in an environment that allows those mistakes to happen and what to do to correct the situations.  I have explained these events as prerequisite courses to the actual autocross classes that will follow.

Setting Up the Meeting

A spot in one of these prerequisite classes opens up in Kansas City.  We will be going right past Topeka, so why not stop for a quick grave site visit?  I text Jen’s sister, letting her know that we will be stopping by, did she want to meet up for a quick visit?  She seems enthusiastic about the opportunity.  She invites her Mom!  So nervous!

Not afraid, just nervous.  My mind has been hard wired (and maybe incorrectly) for so long to 'Do No Harm' in regards to this family (from a position of respect and reverence), and if I even thought something could cause pain then don't do it, combined with my embarrassment of handling it incorrectly in just about every way.  I admit, it is strange that someone connected to Jen, but basically unknown to the family, would come out of the shadows so many years later.  Jennifer’s sister has been very welcoming in our conversations over the past couple years, but my interactions with the rest of the family have still been very closed off.  Scared and embarrassed by the way I handled it, and for so long.  Meeting ‘Mom’ just feels like I am going to have to deal with, explain, all of the mistakes and the ways I reacted.  My actions (or inactions, as it were) were made with intentions of good or at least to minimize emotional hurt.  It is just that they were not necessarily the right actions, very isolating, and missed the target of healing.

So, meeting the family tomorrow…all evidence from previous conversations suggest that this will be a wonderful adventure.  Perhaps even healing.  So why am I so nervous?  Am I (purposefully) picking at the scab of a wound that just will not heal?  Sometimes I think that the concept of phantom limb pain explains it well.  It hurts, but I don't want to take pills to make the pain to away.  The limb is gone, but there is such a desire for it to be present that even a sensation of pain where the missing limb is supposed to be is welcomed, wanted.  Tomorrow will tell.

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Sucked Back Into My Grief Vortex

My grief journey seemed to be stabilizing…I literally went through all the ‘normal’ steps, processes, and feelings again, 30 years after the event, as though I was going through it the first time.  I have mentioned how I stuffed it down, was not able (or willing) to process or adequately deal with it in real time.  Then 30 years go by, a couple of dreams bring the wound to the forefront, and BAM! I am in the thick of it.  In addition to ‘normal’ grieving moments, I also engaged two counselors to help get me through the pain.  One was a more traditional talk-therapy style and the other utilized a more deliberate methodology of EMDR (which is firmly rooted in the PTSD recovery space).  The EMDR seemed better of the two.  As I said, I went through steps and stages.  Things settled down.  Time elapsed between thoughts of Jen, increasing from minutes to hours to days.  I felt that I was recovering.  Not so much a problem solved, but was accepting that the world was different now and that was the world that I live in.  A little over a year has transpired.

Then the dreams began anew…A couple weeks ago, I am dreaming that Tom (one of my best friends), my Dad, and I, are at a Kansas City Royals game.  It is a very different stadium layout than the actual Kaufmann stadium, and very cool.  We have access to some ‘VIP’ areas for some reason and are popping all around the ball park during the game.  Interestingly, the Royals were losing to the Mets 15-8 at the middle of the ninth inning, but, for some reason, elected not to play the last half inning.  It was a back and forth affair in the early innings, but it just ended.  Somewhat stunned, we left the ball park and were heading into the parking garage, which was a deep cylindrical shaped parking structure that was not well laid out for a mass of people leaving at once.  As we head into the garage to get to our car, I hear a gal bitching in the passenger seat of a car that we are walking by, “Christ, it takes three hours to get out of a parking lot from a game that only lasts two and a half hours.”  I said something snarky out loud, not to her necessarily, but just out loud.  The girl addresses me by name and says, “Just you wait until you have to go through this mess!”  I look over at the car these girls were in and, while not necessarily remembering it, it was familiar.  I looked at the license plate and it too was familiar.  The traffic eases and the car starts to drive off and I recognize the back of Jen’s head, her hair, she’s driving!  I start running after the car and actually catch up to it about half a block down the road.  They invite me to get in for a ride home, which I was in the process of accepting when I woke up.

Some interesting takeaways from the dream were that I never actually saw Jen’s face, but knew it was her.  The car and license plate were recognized as hers, but were not like her real life versions.  I have no idea who was actually in the passenger seat.  And most surprising for me, there was not this overpowering sense of sadness, loss.  I can remember puzzlement, and some desperation in catching up to her, wanting to tell her something so badly.  But not grief, as it were.

So, I let it simmer a while.  Not sure what to do with it.  It has been a little while since I had thought of her consciously, a few days at least.  No more frequently than the couple months proceeding the dream.  So why (or how) does she appear, and in a cameo role?  Like I said, it was more puzzling than anything.  Talking through it with a friend, the possibility was offered that my mind was starting to set her free.  That I was okay with (or least accepting of) reality.  My first thought was maybe true.  However, something with that explanation didn’t seem to explain my feelings either.  I was very determined to catch up to the car.  Something not complete…

A few days after this, another dream occurs.  This time Jen is not in it, but is still a central character.  A father figure of Jen’s comes over to my house.  For some reason, I know it is not her father, but filling the role of a father nonetheless (later noodling in my head produces the possibility of it being God).  He is talking about how good Jen is, how it is going to take a person of significant moral character and purity to interact with her, in any way.  I find myself trying to give examples of how I am a quality person, composed of goodness (or at least good actions and motives).  It is a very bizarre verbal dance where neither of us are saying exactly what we are explicitly talking about, just dancing around each others’ labyrinth of language.  Later there is a large group of us going out to an amusement park.  There are many of my own friends and family as well as Jennifer’s friends and family.  I locate a (somewhat) distant cousin of hers.  Not sure how I know this information, but I stop him as we are entering the entrance gates.  I ask him to relay a message to Jen for me.  He declines.  I beg!  Please, I need to speak to her!  He is waffling.  He is not sure if this is something that he should be involved with.  I get the sense that he believes that the Father-Figure would not be pleased.  At least ask her to call me!  Please?!  I get a begrudging okay, the kind that you agree to when you just want someone to leave you alone, but may not be all that willing to follow through with.  I wake up.

What the hell?!?!  What am I so convinced that I need to talk to her about?  It is not a consciously known question or conversation.  I was supposed to be on the healing side of this event.

I start to look up some webpages on contacting deceased people, through dreams, through spirit guides, through any means.  I know that I want to talk to her…Why is a bit more nebulous.  I read through many webpages on how to connect, cross-over, invoke the spirits of loved ones.  I figure I will give it a try.  One of the recurring themes seems similar to meditation, right before going to sleep.  Get comfortable and relaxed.  Visualize the person that you want to contact.  Invite them to come to you in the dream.  Not a summoning, by any means, but a call out to them saying that you wish to talk, to see them, that it will be welcomed and wanted.  So, I start this process…Jen, please come into my dreams tonight.  I really want to talk to you.

AARGHHH!  I awake the next morning, frustrated!  I spent what felt like two to three hours on a park bench, talking to Jennifer Aniston.  While normally this might not be an unwelcomed task, it missed the mark this go around.  It felt like Jen was giggling in the background too.  (Jennifer Aniston is quite chatty if you ever run into her in your dreams.)  Very funny, Ha Ha Ha.

The next day, I spend more time reading pages on how to connect with the spirit world.  More of the same directions, very mediation-like.  Run across one medium that suggested a “Fake-It-Til-You-Make-It” approach is a viable option too.  Great.  So not only am I going batshit crazy, I plan on faking batshit crazy until I can achieve batshit crazy.  Wonderful.  But I still try.

The next night arrives.  I get comfortable in bed.  Try to slow my body processes down.  Ask Jen (Anderson specifically) to join me.  I want to talk to her.  I lay there, still, eyes closed.  I visualize myself leaving my body, floating near the ceiling looking down at myself.  I takes a while to pull off, but I get there.  Then slowly, rising through the roof, outside the house, floating upwards while watching downward, concentrating on the home below getting smaller and smaller.  I reach a point that I would describe as low-Earth orbit.  I see the land below, I am just floating there.  I have expended considerable energy getting here.  Is it just wishful thinking?  Am I just imagining?  Then slowly, I turn.  Not upwards, and in no direction that I can explain.  I am no longer in control, just a passenger.  The change of direction feels like a Rubix cube being turned to solve.  The Earth is not ‘below’ me any longer, but I sense that I am further away from it in some regard.  I get the sense that I am speeding up, but have no concept of where I am, or where I am going.  The next thing that I notice is that I am at a building site, not of a building, per se, but more like the edge of a city that is completely under construction.  Not sure how I transitioned from floating in ‘space’ to this place, with a light brown dirt ground.  I see construction activities all around, in various phases of completeness.  Most noticeable, as I am on the outskirts of this ‘city’, is the concrete footers that have been poured, for what I assume to be meant to be a city wall. There are lots of people buzzing about, doing their work.  I ask, where am I.  The question is met with smiles, sincere, but not exactly an answer.  Like I should know, bless my heart.  While entry into the ‘city’ is not specifically prevented by the construction, the footer tops are barely above ground, I look for a more defined entrance.  As I walk through the gates I ask again, what is going on?  Someone answers that this is heaven.  That it is being built.  As souls arrive, they represent another stone towards the completion of the majestic city.  (As a side note, considering the number of people that have passed in human history and the completion level of the city’s construction, it will be quite a while before Armageddon arrives…assuming the city needs to be complete as the kick off point for the End of Days.)  I continue to walk through the low, partially formed gates, down this entrance avenue.  More people buzzing about, tending to their tasks.  I look forward down the road, and there is Jen standing there with a startled look on her face.  She smiles and starts towards me, calling my name.  The tone sounds a little surprised, but more so excited and glad to see me.  She reaches out and grabs my hand, as if to drag me around and show me the sites.  As her hand grasps mine, I feel an immense, incredible energy.  Not like lightning or electricity, not sharp or buzzing, but warm, inviting, enveloping…pure.  It looked like a small, slow-motion explosion where she grabbed my hand, but with no harmful explosion-like effects.  It startles me!  I was not expecting this feeling, and I draw back, unsure if this energy will harm or consume me.  Very surprised.  The surprised feeling is so great that it shocks me back to being awake.  SHIT!  Gone…

So, I lie here with so many more questions.  Did I make all of this up?  Was my mind just exploring a fantasy, vividly?  Did I want this so much that I made it occur?  Supplemented with too many accounts from others that I have read about.  Did these stories blend together to create the vision that I just witnessed/conjured?  I am not aware of, and do not think that, I was exposed to any notions of heaven being under construction prior to this.  No specific recollection of explosions when you touch a spirit.  And the transition from floating in near-space to what followed was like nothing that I can remember in stories of heavenly journeys.  (It was super cool nonetheless.  The only thing that I can guess towards would be the visualization of interacting with a fourth-dimension.  How my mind could not process the experience in a way that made sense, but the extra-dimensional movement was still occurring.)

On the flip side of the coin, while suspending all that I know to be real and true…What if the experience was real?  What if the ability to separate the conscious from the physical body could (did) occur?  Did I really get to travel via an additional dimension to Heaven?  Did I really encounter Jen?  Did I freak her out, or disappoint her, by exiting so abruptly?  Does she think that I fear her, or heaven, or the journey?  Was I even ‘allowed’ to make this type of journey?  Am I in trouble for it?  Is she?  Will this make further contact harder?

And stepping back, looking at the grander scheme of things, what does this do for my mental health or grief journey?  I find myself writing this down, in hopes of getting it out off my head for one, but more so because I don’t feel that I can discuss it with anyone.  Friends that know what I have been going through in the past year are wonderfully accepting, but the experience has been progressive towards healing and acceptance.  Does their patience have a limit, and have I officially crossed it by regressing into the grief cycle again?  Bringing in new folks to hear of the story feels laborious, plus all the standard hurdles of this happened 30+ years ago.  Sheesh, Get over it!  At what point does everyone say enough is enough?  When does Tammy’s tolerance cease???  It feels very isolating.  I want to tell the story!  (Or is it more correct to say that I want a story that can be told?)  There are some very cool experiences within.  But is it all just fiction…with a plotline of grief and not being able to overcome it?  Why am I so axle-wrapped on this???  I know that the accident happened.  I know that cannot change.  I have a good life, why do I want to fuck it up with this frivolous fantasy?  Why can’t I let it go?  Hell, I don’t even know what it is that I want to talk to Jen about.  And would it even change anything?  Why does she keep reappearing in my dreams?  Why will my mind not just put it to rest and get on with existing???  I feel stuck…stupid…crazy…and in limbo.  If I am going to go insane, then let’s just do it!  Why the constant picking at the scab?  Just go batty and enjoy craziness!  Or fucking heal and get on with it…Enjoy the wonderful life that I find myself blessed with!  Why must I subject myself to torture…repeatedly…willingly?

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End of a Chapter

Looking back at the totality of Jennifer’s accident, death, and ultimately my grieving process, it is strange that my psyche knew that I could not handle the loss and delayed it…albeit 30 years.  While I went through a grieving process in 1988, it (obviously) was not enough.  Perhaps abbreviated to save my sanity.  Whatever the reasons, it seems that my mind (or soul) knew that I was not able to deal with the magnitude of this loss.  So it was delayed for almost 30 years til Jennifer reappeared in my dreams, almost like my mind was saying, “Hey, you don’t have anything important going on right now, so guess what we are going to unpack?”  I have gone through all of the typical steps and milestones associated with dealing with a loss, even with this amount of time in between.  I have been braver, or perhaps more insistent on connecting with her family.  Her sister has been wonderfully accommodating to someone that could have easily (and even justifiably) been answered with guarded hesitation.  Instead, I was met with open arms, and warmly.  And while I would call it a connection more than a relationship, it would have been inappropriate at the time due to our age differences.  I have reached out and shared the journey with friends this time around.  Some that were there at the time, others that have come aboard in the interim. They have walked with me with compassion and grace that I am not sure that I deserve.  They have been there through the tears and anger, listening, offering suggestions and encouragement.  For these, I am eternally grateful!

Now I feel that I have crossed the final milestone of grief, getting through a day without thinking of her.  While I didn’t want to believe that it would happen, a relationship must grow in order to survive.  Despite the connection we had, despite her being a first love for me, the relationship is just stagnant in time.  One can only revisit the memories so many times, while yearning for new experiences constantly, before the soul realizes that the holding pattern is not productive, not healthy.  The first time I made it through a day without thinking of her, I brushed it off.  I was not feeling well and spent most of the time that day in bed.  If I am sleeping for 18 hours in a day, that cannot possibility count, right?  I still did not want to let go!  Several days later, a full Saturday goes by with no thoughts of Jennifer until Sunday morning.  It shocked me.  It was bittersweet.  It was inevitable.  She has not met my wife, my kids.  She cannot hear (and offer advice) on the trials that I go through today.  While I cannot get the vision of her out of my mind, I also cannot imagine her in her mid-40s either.  There was so much potential unrealized in her, but that leads to so many scenarios with which to imagine.  But the world is not benefiting from her being past 16 years old.

So I come to the realization that the relationship is not growing, not developing, and really, not working without her being here. I feel somewhat bad that I have not managed into the transcendence category with her death.  She was so important to me, I truly want the world to know that she was here, but alas the chapter is closing.  The story, my story, is not ending, just moving on, because without growth, the relationship dies.  As long as I pass before my immediate family, I fully expect Jennifer to be the one to welcome me into heaven.  We can hug and catch up.  She can tour me around, and I can introduce her to my wonderful family as they journey up.  I look forward to that day of reconnecting.

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Descendance

I feel myself slipping.  I take medicines to alleviate the spiral down.  I have renewed skills in putting on the happy face…outside.  When I get home, I just want to be in bed.  It is not fair to my family.  It is not me, in the normal sense.  It is not fair or right for so many reasons.  But I cannot stop.

I really wish that I had actually gone through the grief 30 years ago!  So much was changing at that time though, I just could not deal with a devastating loss.  I buried it too well.  Now I feel pathetic for failing to deal with it when I should have, on top of the grief.

I have read so much on death and grieving that new articles that I come across are not new…just rehashes.  People get through it.  It is TOUGH, but they generally manage, emerge on an other side.  Changed, different perhaps, but they emerge.  I am not emerging.

I read stories of people that are able to dream of the person they lost.  I read stories of people that get signs from their loved ones.  Stories of going to medium’s and having the person’s spirit actually communicate with them.  The notion that the longer the time from death, the harder, the more energy it takes to communicate.  I find myself wishing I was haunted.  Was I?  Did I completely miss the signs?  Did Jen put Tammy in my life?  Has it been so long that the connection is now too difficult?  Am I too far down on the list, reaching out to family, or other friends, is more important given the energy needed?  Is it all bullshit from a wanting mind???

How does one achieve a level ‘better’ than 99% of the world’s population and still feel like a failure?  Does everyone feel worse than me?  How do they continue?  How does Joy get strung together long enough to be happiness?  I read that the key is relationships, and not necessarily a multitude, but quality relationships.  Luckily that plays easier to my personality, but what is the point when people die?  One relationship can never (and I do not expect it to) replace another, but the loss of the deeper relationships is so monumental.

Alone…How does someone in a city of 5-6 million, working in a large company, feel alone?  But it is not a recent phenomenon.  I remember feeling alone as a kid growing up.  I was never particularly outgoing, so that never helped.  I was an only child, whose parents went through divorce, and both had to work.  Pre-smartphones and video games.  I played board games by myself.  We moved frequently…starting over in schools, amongst friend groups that already existed.

Some of my most impacting revelations of lonesomeness happened around the same time as Jennifer’s accident.  Leaving my high school graduation ceremony.  Seeing everyone scatter to their different parties and family commitments afterward.  I had a party waiting at the house myself, should have been excited to get going to it, but find myself standing in the parking lot wondering what the fuck?  Alone.  Going to Kansas State after the good friend that I was supposed to room with decided to bail on college the week before starting.  Being reassigned to a room in the basement with no A/C and a farm kid that I had nothing in common with.  Alone.  Going to a movie that first semester, alone.  Then cut off from Jennifer.  No connection to her world.  Too frightened to reach out.

Others feel this lonesomeness.  I have seen it firsthand.  The first time it really appeared to me was that first semester of college.  Walking in between classes, hearing someone call out my name.  Turning to see one of my high school’s cheerleaders coming to talk to me.  Why?  We have never spoken before.  Alone.  Desiring connection to the known, the past, the familiar.  If lonesomeness is so common, and so debilitating, why do we allow it to surface?  Why do we put up with it?

I can never replace the relationship that I had with Jennifer, I get that, but why do I miss it so much?  

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A Precious Light, Extinguished Too Early

(Pardon the length, brevity is not in my nature and this has been bottled far too long.)

The Notification

I was going to school at Kansas State, but that day had returned to Topeka to visit friends.  I rolled into my parents’ house about 3am on the 18th of October and went in to squeeze my mother’s foot, as was the custom to let them know I was home.  She came to, almost in a panic…Where had I been?  What did I know?  Am I okay?  They had been trying to reach me at school and at any friends that they knew the phone number for (well before the constant access allowed by cell phones).  I was half-baked still.  I knew nothing.  And about what?

Jennifer had died in a car accident that morning…

(Writing this sentence still brings uncontrolled tears to my eyes.)

What???  How?  Wait a minute…How do they know?  How could they know?  Did they even know Jennifer?  She went to High School on the other side of town!  This has to be mistake!  I’m in the wrong house.  I’m high.  It can’t be.  Someone else that they are thinking about!  They heard it wrong!  Jennifer is a common name!  Anderson is a common name!  NO!  Nooo!  No.

Jennifer Anderson was killed in a single vehicle accident on the morning of Oct 17, 1988 on her way to school.  She was a very close and dear friend, and if I am being honest, I loved her.  Being a teenager at the time, unable to competently deal with the devastation of the loss, I handled it poorly.  Sure, there was the initial shock.  I didn’t eat for three days.  Sleep was only NyQuil induced.  I went from smoking one or two cigarettes a day to a pack a day overnight.  I cried, and for so long.  I didn’t go back to K-State for at least 3 weeks.  Left alone…Left behind.  I was angry!  Betrayed by God!  My friends either didn’t understand the degree of our connection (and loss) or themselves were poorly equipped to help, or both.  I was numb, present but not functionally aware.  (I remember a girl approaching me at the funeral, throwing her arms around me and saying, “Oh Thad, I am so sorry!”  When she left us, my mom asked who it was and I didn’t know!  Couldn’t remember.  Completely dazed.)  But mostly, I stuffed it down, deep, so that I wouldn’t have to fully bear the loss.  Eventually, it seemed to work.  Life went on.  The holidays.  New school.  New girlfriend, that later became my wife.  Time passed and the daily reminder faded.

Fast forward 30 years, this past summer, I have two very vivid dreams…with Jennifer in them.  Why now?  In the first, she was very much present, but in more of a supporting actress role and not the focus of the story.  Could have been any number of people.  A few weeks later…BAMMM!  If it didn’t get my attention the first time, well this one was determined to.  I was laying down with a royal blue, shag afghan over me.  She was snuggled up with me, on top of the afghan, head resting on my leg.  We were talking.  We were close and comfortable and relaxed…and not real.

WTF?!?

Why now?  What triggered this?  What’s wrong with me?  All unanswered questions, but suddenly Jennifer was back in my thoughts, daily, hourly, all the time.

(Some details may be subject to memory fog caused by 30+ years of time…but my therapist thinks that it would be helpful to tell the story.  Problem is…30 years!  Very few of my friends from that time knew Jennifer, and have scattered into varying degrees of ‘lost contact’ status.  People that know me today, well, let’s face facts, it is not normal to be blubbering over something that happened that long ago.  Normal people process, adapt, then restore.  That leaves my still raw, unbelievable grief and the five or so folks that will stumble across this.  PLEASE!  Use this as an example of what not to do when grieving the loss of a loved one.  The process is inescapable.)

How We Met

Junior Achievement (JA) is an evening program that assembles high school students in a city to create and run a small business, thereby teaching entrepreneurship and business skills.  My parents had purchased a business outside of Topeka and we moved down earlier in the year.  I attended Washburn Rural HS just outside of Topeka, KS, which coming from a larger city was a bit of a culture shock.  JA was going to be an opportunity to merge interests in business (my father used to call me Alex P Keaton, from the Family Ties show, if anyone is old enough to remember that gem) and be an opportunity to meet kids from other schools in the Topeka area.  This is where I met Jennifer, in the Fall semester of 1986, above the Wolfe Camera Shop, in downtown Topeka.

I must admit, at first, there was nothing indicating how my life was going to change over the coming months.  Just the faces of 20-25 kids that were all strangers to me.  Being new to the program and the group (many were returning JA’ers), not sure what I was getting into, and seeing that the leader position was, in essence, a popularity contest (with perhaps a bit of merit on the side), I knew that I did not want to run for the President position of the company that we were tasked to form.  However, a function VP, where the adult leaders interviewed and appointed these, seemed like it was going to be my best path.  I secured one of the four or five VP roles.  One of Jennifer’s debate or forensics friends (David, I think was his name) was appointed to one of these roles as well.  This was the connection that allowed us to meet.  At first, Jennifer was just another girl in the room…from a different high school, a couple years younger than me, cute (definitely), blonde, and maybe slightly goofy, but in a fun to be around way.  She loved to talk and laugh, playfully tease and torment, and cause laughter.  At first, my attention was directed at another one of the VP students that had piqued my romantic interest.  Because of this, Jennifer was initially just someone that hung out with David and a lot of noise was always around, talking and laughing.  But Jennifer had an energy about her that drew you in, not only of fun and laughter, but a strong radiance of being genuine, curious, honest, pure (a definite weakness/attraction for me), and positive.  When you talked with her, you could tell she was genuinely interested in you and what was going on.  As the weekly meetings went by, the laughter, fun, and her energy became too irresistible to not notice, and I wanted in.  We began talking during these JA meetings and became friends.  I wanted to be more than that, but the combination of teenage insecurity (mine) and the profession that her parents did not let her date yet, shut those ideas down.

I cannot remember how I got her phone number.  It could have been at the end of the program, as it wound down, to be able to stay in contact.  A fading memory seems to think it was a conversation during JA that was needing to continue and before we were going to meet for JA next week.  We began talking on the phone, and for hours on end.  The beauty of our friendship was that our social circles did not really intersect as much as they just touched at the point of each of us.  She went to a different high school than me, on the other side of town even.  The activities that she was involved with (debate and forensics) were not in my wheelhouse.  JA was our only commonality.  Over the weeks and months, we would be on the phone talking about our dreams, problems, successes, fears, hurts, and insecurities.  We were like each other’s therapists.  Since our social circles did not intersect, we did not have to concern ourselves with who would find out about what we were saying or feeling.  Judgement never crept in, using each other as a sounding board for solutions, and we did not hold back from each other…We were real with our feelings about what was happening in our lives, and could be because it wouldn’t come back and bite us in the ass (accidentally or otherwise).  She had ambition, confidence, determination, and lofty goals.  She said that she wanted to be President…Actually, I think it is more correct to say that she told me that she was going to be the first woman President.  Not only was she confident in this, I believed it too.  We both seriously believed that it would happen.

We were also opposites in the crowds we associated with.  I ran with a group that was a little more dangerous/lawless, and that partied a bit more.  As I would talk through situations and scenarios, Jennifer was able to expertly walk that fine line of purity and goodness, understanding without being condemning.  She would call me on my shit without being accusatory.  She would continue to listen and offer her opinions without being ‘judge-y’.  I am not sure how she pulled it off, but she would disagree with my activities without making me feel lectured to, and I would seriously listen and consider the arguments that she was presenting (must have been her abilities in debate).  And it wasn’t the case of just disapproving and then turning a blind eye!  Some things to this day are still off limits, because she insisted.

Other times our desires to do something (typically, more lawful) were in sync.  We had talked at length about going skydiving.  We decided that we were both fascinated, but scared, of the idea and ultimately talked ourselves into going together once she turned 18.  It was one of those conversations that changed me, but not until after she was gone.  It made me realize that people usually talk about doing something and then time passes with the 'great activity' left perpetually undone.  (I finally jumped in 1994, twice, once for each of us.  In a way, I had to.  To honor her memory, our plans, but mostly to prove that I was not going to fall into the ‘always talking about it’ trap.)  I couldn’t shock her with my deviance, or at least she never let on that it was a shock, all while letting me know her strong opinions on the activities that were not ‘approved’.  She never ran away in disgust…maybe she felt that she could fix me.

Over all those hours of talking, we became very close.  I considered her one of my best friends.  This was an odd dynamic within my existing social circle.  Here is this girl that I talk about when around my ‘regular’ friends, even to the point of declaring her a best friend.  The notion that she had somehow weaseled in and claimed this title from the two or three that felt this label was obviously theirs was…interesting.  It varied from dismissive to challenged, even reaching a point of injuring some of the connections within my ‘regular’ friends group.  I’ll admit, it was self-inflicted and sometimes even unconscious, like when I went to New York City and the only souvenir that I brought back was for her, a teddy bear from the Hard Rock Café.  I couldn’t explain it fully to them, that would require the depth of honesty that I had with Jennifer, and that developed from not having to worry about the ramifications and judgments that typically come with uncensored honesty with each other.  Not only did Jennifer accept me as-is, but she knew more about me and at a deeper level than they did.  Resentment and curiosity were typical anytime I talked about her, but at the same time, these friends could also sense that I was star-struck.

Now, thinking back to those days, I am sure that she too knew that I wanted to become more than friends well before I ever mustered the courage to bring up the subject directly.  Eventually, I did.  Do you want to go out?  On a date?  With me?  Memory gets foggy here.  I have to believe that the invitation was originally rebuffed.  “My parents, my dad, does not let me date yet.”  Was that true?  Was that even the real (or only) reason?  Not sure how I wore her down, or if she presented it to her parents as going out with friends, but eventually we were on.  I cannot remember where we went, or what we did (bowling perhaps).  It was all basically innocent.  I was giddy.  However, the conversation the next night turned darker, to something about her folks and then came the dreaded, “I just want to be friends.”

Devastation.

Oddly, I gave up.  Fine Jennifer.  I get it.  Catch ya on the flip side.

She was insistent that it wasn’t a blow off.  She said that she really did want to continue the relationship.

Whatever.  I know what those words are code for.  It’s over, good bye.  I get it.  You are trying to be nice, spare my feelings.  Thank you.  Fine.

Really!  It is not that way!  I will call you later she insisted.

I didn’t believe her, but whatever.  I wanted off the phone!  To hide my hurt, my rejection, and now my embarrassment.  At least I had tried, but it still hurt.

Two days later she called back…“See, you are not getting rid of me that easily.”  Oh, I was hooked.  Our conversations on the phone continued for hours on end, picking up where they had left off.  But in the back of my mind, the door was still open.  It was at this point that I felt like this is the girl that I will marry someday.  I know that is audacious.  It presumes that she would go along with it, and everything that would need to happen just so, would flow as perfectly as it would need to.  (Where is she going to college?  What happens if it is a different school than me?  Was it the parents not allowing to date the real reason, or was she?  What about other guys that she would meet?)  But in my mind, we would figure it out.  You hear stories of couples that meet and just know that this is the person that they will marry.  It could happen…Problem is, the stories you hear are only the success stories.

Our conversations continued through the end of my high school.  Somehow, she had gotten to me, a silver framed poem for graduation, A Mile with Me, by Henry van Dyke.  (I still have it, tucked away in some box that has been moved from house to house to house.  What I don’t have are pictures!  Remember, these are the days before cell phones and selfies.)  I vaguely remember her coming to my graduation party.  She may have brought it during that event, sounds more plausible than mailing it.  As summer continued and plans for college developed (and I got a bit wilder in my escapades), contact dwindled.  When college began, it dwindled more.  I know some of the reason was to preserve my heart.  It was still hers.

Then Oct 17, 1988.  Driving down a gravel road on the way to pick up a friend for school, Jennifer lost control and went into the bar ditch beside the road.  There was a tree.  Unfortunately, due to the angle of the car in the ditch and the position of the tree, instead of starting at the front bumper, contact began at the windshield and peeled back the driver’s side.  She was declared dead 17 minutes later.  The rescue helicopter was in route!  I have pictured the scene in my mind thousands of times…On this side of being late for school, driving a little too fast on a gravel road.  I can envision a bunny or squirrel popping out in front of her.  Swerve to miss.  Control lost.  Life changed.  I remember reading the newspaper the next day and there was the comment that drugs and alcohol were not factors in the accident.  I was so PISSED!  How wrong to even say.  She would never!  But it was standard text.  The writer did not know her.  Normal questions to be answered in an investigation.  But still, so pissed!

When her accident occurred, then the cursed side of the structure of our relationship became so evident.  I felt so completely cut off from her world.  I did not know who to contact or how.  The internet was not available to offer suggestions, ideas, and examples of people that have navigated through it.  I was young and clueless.  I so desperately wanted to call her parents, but would always chicken out at some point while dialing the number.  Their daughter had just been stolen from them, how could this blubbering teenager that they did not know (and maybe met once) be of any comfort or use?  I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening and where help could be offered to them.  I kick myself for not offering to be a pallbearer and it honestly did not even cross my mind until after the funeral that this could be a way to participate (again, no real experience to draw upon).  I remember wanting to ask for the Hard Rock teddy bear that I had given her, but couldn’t bring myself to even ask a grieving parent for any remaining part of their child.  The detachment was one of the reasons that I just buried the feelings and tried to move on.  Looking back now, this had to (unknowingly at the time) be one of the top reasons for trying to bury it.

Today-ish

For some unexplained reason, I have felt the draw to return to visit Jennifer’s grave.  So I find myself, exactly 30 years later, in Topeka, KS.  I am not sure what I was expecting to happen, the draw was more concentrated on the journey rather than the destination (my Dad would be so proud).  The weather in DFW has been very wet, rainy, and at minimum dark and cloudy for the past few weeks.  Here at the grave, the temperature is brisk, but the day is sunny!  I simply stand in the sunshine for hours.  Flowers that I left back in July remain, equally dead.  Heartbreaking.  I lay a blanket over Jennifer’s grave site.  I want to crawl inside the grave myself.  I sit down to read Comfort: A Journey Through Grief, a book about the author’s journey through the grief of suddenly losing her 5-year-old daughter.  It is refreshing to see the author say the exact same thing over and over in the book.  I can too easily relate to that need to repeat, and the burden of those that mistakenly inquire only to hear the same thing again.  The self-consciousness that you feel crazy in this verbal transaction, but the compelling need to repeat anyway.  I finish the book and start another.  It is peaceful, quiet…lonely.

Later, I go to Seaman High School to see if they have any of the old yearbooks.  I am desperate for photos.  Jennifer’s image is blurring in my mind from the passage of time.  They do, and I am able to photograph them.  They are black and white, 1980’s layout quality (heavily pixelated), but focus in my mind’s eye has sharpened.  I return to the grave site.  The flowers that I brought today are already withering from lack of water.  I continue to read until near dark.  Say good-bye, hoping that this somehow presents closure, but it doesn’t.  Memories, conversations, laughter, dreams, all surface each day still.  How does healing occur?  The wound does not scar.

Going Forward (with a historical sidebar)

Typically, overwhelming feelings will cause me even less sleep.  I can literally feel myself slipping into a darkness, I liken to a black fog.  The components of my turbulence rattle around in my head…at a constant velocity.  Writing usually gets the emotions out of my head, sometimes I can even stumble on an answer through the process.  Sometimes I even post the rantings.  Not sure why, as I don’t publicize the postings, seeking readers.  Just my nuggets, perhaps a prize left for someone to discover on a trip down their internet rabbit hole.  This one has been longer, deeper, and darker than episodes in the past.  At the strong encouragement of a couple friends that I have let into this current drama, I have gone back to see a therapist.  I feel silly walking in to talk about events of so long ago.  I declare that I must be batshit crazy.  As I describe the dumpster fire, I can tell the therapist is stumped.  There are normal paths for grieving, but this?  I tell the story over a couple sessions.  Go through a box of Kleenex.  I need an answer, more importantly a solution.  At least a roadmap.  That is not going to happen.

Verbally, I go forward from the time of the accident.  Looking at my life, Jennifer’s death completely changed my trajectory (and for the better).  Do I feel guilt from this?  In January of 1989, I had recently blown the engine in my car, was sitting in my parents’ house in Topeka, sulking.  Another great friend from the Kansas City area called and wanted me to come up and we would hang out.  Couldn’t.  Felt too sad, had no car available, wasn’t in the mood.  “Horseshit!  I’m coming to get you.”  He came to Topeka and brought me back to KC.  We hung out at his girlfriend’s house and it was here that I met Tammy.  We dated, married, have a family, a pretty awesome life.  None of this would have happened without the accident.  I wouldn’t have been down in the dumps.  I would have been at K-State, another 1.5 hours away from KC.  The round trip to come get me would have been close to 8 hours, if he could have even tracked me down.  Tammy, the woman I adore (Love is not either-or, it is infinite.  Similar to love for your children.  You do not stop loving the first one when the second comes along.), kiddos that I don’t just love, but really like and enjoy being a father to.  Bumps and struggles along the way, sure, but a pretty kick-ass situation.  This silver lining, I try to hide.  I am very reluctant to verbalize it.  If I don’t talk about it, then the connection is not real, but even Tammy has recognized this truism.  I truly believe that there is no way that my life falls into this perfect place without the accident.  WTF?  Is this God’s idea of trying to make up for the accident?  Did Jennifer have to die in order for me to have a kick-ass life?  Nonsense!  I am not that important.  I am okay with that too (not being that important).  Am I looking for a why, where there is none?  These questions of what-if keep rattling around in my head…

During the last therapy session, a writing assignment is given.  Goodie!  I like writing.  Talking about the writing task, the therapist (thinking aloud) focuses on the lack of closure, the relationship lost, and offers the idea of writing the story of what life looks like without the accident.  Ohhh!  I am intrigued.  What could have been?  As I roll this idea around in my head though, I sense that this exercise will go sideways fast.  In my ‘perfect’ (or delusional) scenario, am I doing anything other than swapping Tammy’s name for Jennifer’s?  The kids would be different…would I like them as much (love would be there of course, but liking them)?  Would there be more?  Less?  And then what about the significant number of ways that a non-accident reality could have gone sideways, down a pathway that was not perfect to me?  If I am being honest, while the world would be brighter (and better) with Jennifer alive and in it, there are so many ways that ‘we’ might not be 'we'.  One very narrow path for success and so many other less than ideal, even less than today, outcomes.  Why would I want to do this to myself?  Sure, I could have adjusted to a different path that could have had just an equally awesome outcome (perhaps just delayed a little) as my existing life…things work out.  If there are so many (personal) reasons the alternate reality would be bad for me, why do I keep wondering what-if the accident didn’t happen.  It seems beyond an intellectual curiosity.

I finally settle on the fact that I do not want to go down this path of what-if anymore, as there are too many negative outcomes compared to my perfection scenario, and I do not want to tarnish my memories.  Besides, none of these scenarios can happen, the accident made sure of it.  Why does my heart still break at the realization?

Now What

Well, stuffing the emotions down deep has not yielded good outcomes.  Now what can I do.  Can I ever get over it?  Is it even ‘right’ to try to reach that point?  The book that I am currently reading Life After Loss, suggests that in the grief journey, people that reach the other side either reach a point of restoration or transcendence.  Neither is better than the other, not good nor bad, just different (and unique to each grief journey).  Restoration suggests that life is a journey from point A to point B, along a straight line.  Loss and grief occur and knock you off this linear path (visually, placing a large dip along the line).  You grieve, adjust, and continue.  The grief event even changes you during the time in the dip.  As you work through the grief, you emerge on the other side of the grief valley placed in your path, continuing your former personality.  The loss is always there, but after working through it those core personality beliefs and values remain static.

In the transcendence model, the same line of life exists, as does the grief dip or valley.  But the experience changes you, your fundamental personality, your beliefs and values.  At the end, you emerge on the other side with the line continuing, albeit at a slightly higher level (I suppose it could also be at a lower level if negative personality changes occur).  The loss has foundationally changed your personality.

I am willfully trying for the transcendence outcome.  Not because it is better or somehow more noble.  I like the idea that this experience could somehow adjust my beliefs and thinking.  Jennifer was an incredible light and loved her friends (and even people generally) with such force and power.  We are all flawed, I more than most.  People are not my area of expertise.  I truly want this journey to adjust my relationship to people and the world.  The world lost something special with Jennifer’s accident!  While I will never fully be able to brighten the world as she could have, if I can harness a little bit of her within my personality, the world can be a touch bit brighter.  Not to say that this is what she would have wanted, but instead for me to show the world that it was better when she was here.  If I can increase the brightness just a little, then there will always be a tangible reminder that she was here.  Is missed.  Is loved.

Thanks (epilogue)

While my journey towards a tolerable resolution continues, there are those around my that deserve my eternal thanks for support and listening, guiding this moron through these situations not always understanding, but supporting and loving on me far more than I likely deserve.

• Tammy - My ride or die!  For loving me with all my baggage.  For being patient and understanding.  For realizing that love is not an either-or and being secure with the fact that I love you.  Your wisdom teaches me everyday and your wholesomeness makes me smile equally as often.
• Brett - From the time you said "Horseshit!  I'm coming to get you", changing my life's path for the better, to today, as you listen to me cry because you knew me the first time it unfolded.
• Jennifer's Family (Dallas) - For being a sweetheart and gentle with someone that cared for Jennifer when I reached out, even if it took so long.  This could have been a tough conversation to have.  I never wanted to cause more sorrow and pain from asking to join the conversation.  Being gracious to someone so late to the party has been a blessing.
• Rob - For understanding and being a human before a boss.
• Everyone else that has had to endure me talking about something that happened so long ago!  Thanks for letting me relive an important and special time from so long ago.  Thanks for dropping the judgement (on my sanity in particular) at the door, even if you want to pick it back up on the way out.

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