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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The Art of Racing in the Rain • Garth Stein

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein is the first of two books that I very recently finished, but before the 50 in 2012 project began.  I finished the book recent enough and I liked it enough that I wanted to include a write-up, but it will not count as one of the 50.

The Art of Racing in the Rain caught my eye initially through a newsletter or recommendation on PaperbackSwap.com.  The story is told by Enzo, the faithful and loving, but very old, dog of a semi-professional race car driver.  Like I said Enzo is old and is very close to dying, but this is okay to him as he fully believes that a dog’s next step in the living cycle is to come back as a man, and Enzo desperately longs for thumbs.  He is convinced of this return to the world as a human from documentaries that he watches through the day when his master is at work.

So Enzo narrates the story of his master’s life, Denny, that he has had the privilege to experience.  It is a gut-wrenching story of Denny’s wife getting sick and ultimately dying, of Denny having his only daughter stripped from him by his (possibly well-meaning, but very manipulative) parents-in-law.  The fight to recapture and rebuild what he can of his family, all while juggling work and his other love, racing.   Intermixed though the story are tales of racing, Denny and Enzo’s many hours spent watch racing videos (both of Denny and of professional races), Denny’s wisdom in racing situations and how that same wisdom can translate into real-life situations so easily and appropriately.

This book really hooked me in with so many connections.  The love of dogs, as a father of kids about the same age as Zoë, Denny’s daughter, and the racing wisdom really spoke to an inner me.  I have raced cars, and while a back condition has kept me from the track for several years now, I still hold on to the possibility that I can climb back into my Formula Ford soon.  Garth Stein’s ability to take these track sayings, sayings that I used to hear or even use, and cast them over life itself was remarkable.  I feel that I learned about myself, how my mind operates, through the experiences, example, and thoughts of Denny.  For an author, that I am presuming does not have racing experience, to weave that world into the book in a way that I learn about myself…gifted writing.

Sayings like “No race has even been won in the first corner – but plenty of races have been lost there.”  Showing how being aggressive, launching hard (even showing off) early, or being so wrapped up in the excitement of the start of the event, can yield disastrous results, especially in an endurance race.  Or “Your car goes where your eyes go.”  A truism that is translated to life several times by both Enzo and Denny as, “That which we manifest is before us.”  Even talking about the selfishness of a racer and then seeing those same examples in me.  These are connections that the non-racer may not be as impacted by, and as such, may not have the same love and respect of this story as I have.  I would be interested in other’s thoughts as they read these in the book and if you experience similar understanding or impact.

The other reason that I like this book so much was how Garth Stein was able to take a situation like a dog dying (served up to us on page 2), and then get the reader so wrapped up in the story that when Enzo does actually die, it feels shocking!  It is a tear-jerker that you forget about as you are reading and when it does finally happen, the author is still able to draw out that much emotion from the reader.

When I was reading this book, I immediately wanted to give it to my father.  He had done some racing of various kinds in the past (and with me), and I thought that he would connect in a similar way as I did.  He is also a serious dog-lover, and I thought that the connection to Enzo would be strong.  As I was finishing the book though, one of his dogs died, and suddenly.  I debated actually giving it to him, torn between the thought of pouring orange juice on an open wound or could the book offering some healing and happiness to the situation, as you really end up loving Enzo and I felt that he was going to get what he believed was coming to him.

In the end, I did give him the book, but I am not sure if he has read it (or will).  I can only hope that it offers healing.

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