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| Jeff and Olgie - Dec 29, 2012 |
I had been busy all morning getting last minute things ready for our week-long meeting for our School Improvement team. All morning I kept thinking I need to call the 'Doob,' which was a nickname given Jeff by Tina, his half-sister when he was a toddler. This name stuck to him like glue his entire life...only a very few people were allowed to call him this. Steve and I, were the select few but only when he allowed it...although everyone in the family called him by this name whenever we spoke of him. To this very day we still use this name for him.
That Monday morning while at work, thoughts of Jeff kept creeping into my head...I knew I should have taken the time to call him, but how could I? I was far too busy getting ready for our meeting. This is a decision I now struggle with...why? Why didn't I call my son? It would have taken no more than one minute...I beat myself up every day for this decision. Once the boxes were packed up in my Supervisor's car to take to the Event center downtown, (normally it is my car I pack everything in), we were off in separate vehicles to meet at the downtown venue. Both of us, she went straight to the venue, I decided to take a short detour to the post office to drop off my grandson's birthday card. I was already late getting it to him and I knew I would be stuck late in meetings all week. I figured it would only take two or three minutes longer and then I would head straight to the downtown venue. As soon as I dropped his card off in the mailbox I picked up my phone to dial Jeff...and my phone rang. It was Jeff on the caller ID.
"Hi Baby," I answered when my phone rang that morning.
"Grandma?" Sebastian said. It was his card I had just dropped off.
"Hi Sweetheart."
"Oh Grandma this is bad...really really bad. It's daddy."
"What is going on? Is he OK? Is he in the hospital? Do I need to make a trip down there?” Sebastian started to cry.
"Talk to me baby."
"Daddy is gone...Grandma, he didn't make it." I heard nothing else...or perhaps I did because I now have some memories of conversation...still not quite sure.
I heard blood curdling sounds coming from my mouth that filled the cab of my truck. I could not stop wailing…I could not catch my breath…I could not drive. I steered my truck into the curb and uncontrollably sobbed, screamed at the top of my lungs, yelled, kicked, hit the steering wheel with my fists. I could hear Seb crying on the other end of the phone. I do not know how long I was screaming, “No God, no!”
“Olgie! Olgie!” It was Natascha, Jeff’s wife. She must have taken the phone from Sebastian. We both sobbed on each end of our cell phones.
I do not know if anything else was said. I do not know which of us hung up. All I knew was my baby was gone…It took me two extra minutes to drop off Sebastian's card...why did I not call Jeff?
I do not know how long I sat screaming, wailing, sobbing in the truck that day. All I know is the immediate pain was both excruciating and completely shattering. This news was so much more devastating than any mother could or should be able to mentally process at the spur of any moment. But I somehow had the wherewithal to drive myself home. How is that possible? During my route home I called a number of people…or so I am told. I do not know how I made it home that day...I do not know why I made it home that day. I have memories of trying to find a great big truck...a very large truck so I could drive my own truck into its path. There was no truck for me to pull my truck into its path that day. This thought...of suicide by vehicle...is a thought that has intersected my thoughts many many times since that day. There have been many moments where I actually looked for a large enough vehicle to crash head-on into. You see, I drive a large truck, so even in my mental state, I knew if I was to kill myself I needed to find a much larger, heavier truck going just the right speed to make sure it would kill me and not just maim me, and at the same time I knew if the truck was large enough the driver of that vehicle would not be hurt. I do not know how I made it home that day. I know things got broken when I got home...I don't know how they broke...I do not recall who was at my house that day...all I knew for sure was... there was no reason for me to live without Jeff. None!
I lost my son that day...I lost God that day...I also lost Olgie that same day.
The weeks that followed, included funeral plans both in Colorado Springs where Jeff made his home with his wife and four kids, and in Boise, Idaho. Idaho was where Jeff grew up. All I asked of Natascha was to say goodbye to Jeff prior to his cremation. She agreed to take me to Denver where he was to be cremated. We made the trip up to Denver from Colorado Springs, myself, Natascha and the kids, Tina and her son, my grandson, Paden. Paden drove us to Colorado the very day Jeff died. We arrived in Colorado Springs early the next morning.
As instructed by the mortuary, we waited outside this building. The old brick building was in what look like an Industrial district. I was shocked to see it was not a mortuary. As I waited outside the building I was trying to smell…trying to smell human remains in the air. It was a crematory…I didn’t want anyone to smell Jeff...burning. The nicely dressed mortician came to the door and let us in. I was surprised and relieved to find a well decorated room that looked like a mortuary parlor on the inside.
The mortician took Tina and I into the next room where Jeff laid. There he laid…on a crash cart that was clearly too small for his chest. There he laid…on the table, all bundled up with blankets covering his body, only his face exposed. There he laid…with towels draped across his hairline, covering most of his head. There he laid…my son…all alone in this room. Again, I could not stop the cries that came from deep in my throat. I hugged my son…I laid my head on his enormous chest and sobbed. I could hear Tina crying in the background.
There were no beads of sweat…running down his forehead. There were no sweat-beads…I was so used to seeing him with sweat-beads on his forehead...you know...when the doctor asks you what level 1-10 of pain you are in. The picture of number 10 pain always has beads of sweat running down the forehead. For the last five, perhaps 10 years, Jeff was a number 10 on that scale. On this day…the last day I was to see my son…there were no signs of pain on his face. No beads of sweat running down his forehead. My Jeff looked like he was asleep. His chest which was always as wide as the side of a barn, was still just as wide. His face which was always attractive was still just as handsome. My son rested there in peace. Finally…after all the pain he endured for the last dozen or more years…he did not look like he was in pain!
As I looked at my Jeff I cried uncontrollably...my thoughts... "How can it be? My son who was a National champion, three, four, five times over in Judo be laying here. How can it be? My son who was once at the top of his game athletically, traveled everywhere with his sport, and who was once an Olympic hopeful, have been struck down by umpteen diseases. Why has this happened? Where was God in all this? Why did he not help? Why were my prayers not answered?"
My son laid on this table...he was not breathing. He was covered in blankets. His head was covered with towels. (I found out recently...the towels on his head...were most likely due to the Coroner's Autopsy. Jeff was to be cremated...they probably did not even bother to sew him back together. That was the reason for all the blankets. That was the reason for his head being wrapped with towels. I guess when someone dies at home, the coroner has to Autopsy them to find out why they died.) After all the surgeries he had gone through in the last 10 years of his life...they still had the need to open him up even after death! Idiots! It angers me when I think of Jeff undergoing that last knife. There in front of me laid the father of my grandchildren…there laid the man who carried me emotionally after my own husband died…there laid my only biological child…there laid my best friend…there laid the light of my life. I wanted nothing more than to trade places with him. Walking out of that room that day...leaving my son on that table...wishing it was me laying there in his place. I walked out of that room knowing I would never be able to hold him again...I walked out of that room knowing in my heart he would never again call me...I walked out of that room wondering, "What the hell happened? Why were my prayers not answered?" What I wouldn’t have given to lay there with him…die with him…I did die with him! I cannot even begin to describe how broken I came out of that room. I do not remember much else about this entire week in Colorado Springs.
Upon return to Boise, Tina came to stayed with me. I realized later she stayed with me because she was on suicide watch. My family thought I would kill myself…due to the loss of my son. One day soon after Jeff died, I realized my guns were missing. I thought they were stolen. I thought someone had broken into my home and took my guns! I called Dwaine in a panic telling him of my missing guns! Tina brought to light they, my guns and my hunting knives, were taken and hidden from me...and Dwaine already knew. Hidden from me to prevent me from using them to kill myself. Idiots! Did they not know how easy it would be to just grab knives from the kitchen...or to just slice my wrists using the many straight edge razors I had lying around the house? I was asked by several people, "Do you have a plan." I knew they were talking about suicide. I gave them nothing! Idiots! Did they not know how easy it would be to drive into the oncoming path of a large vehicle? Unfortunately for me, or perhaps fortunately for me...(the verdict is still out on this one)...there was no big truck for me to drive into.
I do not have much memory of the first months of Jeff’s passing…but one day in April, I went out to retrieve my mail, just by chance the mail truck pulled up at the same time. He, the mailman, had a package for me which needed my signature. I took the pad and signed my name, not knowing who sent the package I was signing for. He handed me the package and I immediately saw the words 'Human Remains' on the package. Can you even begin to conceive the horror of emotions that instantly took over? There in my front yard my son was delivered to me by my mailman! The emotions that took over were both powerful and instantaneous!
I made arrangement to bury what was left of my son, in the same plot as his father, who has passed away five years earlier. It was what Jeff would have wanted...to be buried with his father, not next to his father, but in the same plot as his dad. The two of them were so very close, it was only fitting they should be reunited forever. Natascha gave me this gift of Jeff’s ashes to lay with his father. I will forever love her for this gift. I called Tina and Dwaine and no one else. I told only the two of them when I would bury Jeff. No one else needed to know. Dwaine laid Jeff into the tiny hole made by the cemetery workers. The hole itself was about 18 square inches, and quite deep, but nowhere near as large as a hole for a full size coffin. I picked up a shovel and started to filled the dirt into the hole. I knew the cemetery worker was a little in dismay, but nothing was going to stop me. Tina picked up a shovel and followed suit, and we shoveled until the hole was filled with dirt. It was I who brought him into this world...I would lay him to rest for all time. If I live to be 100 years old, I will do nothing harder than I did that day. I walked away from my son, leaving him in that dark cold damp ground...I laid my son to rest for all time with his beloved father…there are no words to describe the void left in my heart. There are no words to describe my sorrow.
Those thoughts of suicide still linger...but they are not as strong as they once were. Some days I think I might actually make it...so far I have been able to survive without God's help. When I think back at my life, when I think back at all the people I have loved and loss, I have to wonder if God was ever a part of it to begin with.
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