Second Anniversary of Jeff’s Death

Second Anniversary of Jeff’s Death 

How do I describe my emotions after two years without Jeff?  With the second anniversary of Jeff’s death knocking on my door I find myself once again going to that dark place…that dark place in my head that has so many negative thoughts…that place where my memories are nothing but heartache.  I am trying hard to be positive, trying hard to focus on good aspects of my life…truth is…there just aren’t very many positive facets surrounding my life these days.  The few areas of my life that are coming together are the areas that I am focusing on, or at least where I am now trying to concentrate.   

When I think back at all those dark days, those dark emotions…they make me cry all over again.  They immediately bring back all the same emotions almost as though I had just heard about Jeff’s death from my grandson.  I still do not remember getting home that day.  I remember I was driving and I remember pulling over, but I don’t remember getting home.

Actually I do not remember much about those first few days…but I do remember the heartache…I do remember the emotions…I do remember that long arduous drive to Colorado.  All I wanted to do was jump out of the vehicle and run.  I remember that, I just wanted to run…I wanted to jump out of the car and just run…I wanted to run far away from the reality of the news of my son’s death.  I wanted to run away from this nightmare.  But it wasn’t a dream, it truly was in fact the reality of my life.  The only child I ever conceived, the only child I ever carried for all those months, the child I raise for all those years was forever taken from my life.  I try not to think about those days…but with this anniversary tapping on my shoulders…all I can think about are the events of those early days without Jeff. 

I still cannot fathom how I survived that incredibly deep-seated sorrow.  Those days of such profound despair that seemed as though my heart was ripped from my chest.  How did I survive?  If not for the help of my therapist, and these writings, I most definitely would not have endured those days, and most especially those long lonely nights.  To this day this is the toughest part of my life.  Lying in bed at night…this is most difficult for me, perhaps because I could always count on Jeff calling me at all hours of the night.  He couldn’t sleep due to some sort of sleep disorder, which was related to the Parkinson’s disease from which he suffered.  I look back on his health over the years and I now see how many of his illnesses were related to this awful disease.  How did I not see that while Jeff was young?  I have thought about that a lot.  How did I know my son had this horrible disease?  These thoughts are hard not to focus on but I try to push through them.  Some days are just harder than others.  

 
I believe Jeff knows the goings on in my life, the good areas of my life as well as the areas that need improving.  I truly believe he is here with me helping me along this dusty old trail of life.  There are just too many things that have transpired during these last two years that make it impossible to believe he is not here.  And NO…I do not mean here on earth in present tense…but here somewhere on another plane, but here nonetheless.  Knowing he is still here is what has helped me cope with the loneliness.  And has helped me survive the long hours as the clock ticks one second at a time, during the night where I just lay there and think about his absence, and where I still have my phone at the ready.  No, I am no longer waiting for the phone to ring…although I truly wish it would.  How I wish his voice would be on the other end each time I answer the phone when it rings.  How I wish I could receive just one more texts message from him.  How I wish I still had his unconditional love…the kind of love I will never again experience from anyone here on earth.  How I wish… 

As I type these words, tears race each other down my cheeks and down both sides of my nose.  They roll down my face as though in a hurry to reach the end of my chin…racing down my face, as if in a hurry to form a large enough droplet to dangle before they fall, and as if in a race an occasional tear will make its way down the tip of my nose before it drops down on the keyboard, each leaving a trail of salt on my skin.  How many tears have found their way to this keyboard?  How many countless tears have been shed over the loss of my son?  I sometimes wonder if I am the only person who still cries for Jeff, who misses him, who still remembers him, and who still loves him…  How many more days will I cry for my son? 

After Jeff died, I felt my life had no passion, was without love.  Day after day, I would shower, dress, drive to work, and go through the motions of everyday life…and now, I am still here…two years later…showering, getting dressed, driving to work, and still going through the motions of everyday life.  There are days where I think my life is at a standstill...but I know I am in a better mental state.  I know my life is finally headed in the right direction.  I do however miss that unconditional love given me by Jeff.  I can honestly say I miss Jeff no less today than I did the day he perished.  My sorrow is nowhere near as painful as it was two years ago, but his absence has not gone unnoticed, and is not without merit, not for one moment.  In everything I do, in all my thoughts, my son still weighs heavy on my mind.  I sometimes wonder if that will ever change.  If I am driving I am thinking about Jeff.  When I cook I think about Jeff.  The other night I was flipping channels to see what was on TV when I came across boxing, as though a queue for my sorrow the tears instantly poured down my face…and my thoughts were of the countless moments Jeff and I spent on the phone watching sports on TV together.  That night my conversation was with Jeff, even though he was nowhere in sight.  I was still speaking to him about the fight on TV…as though he actually was in the room with me.  He loved to watch sports with me, boxing, horse racing, and Boise State football!  Oh how I miss those days.  What I wouldn’t give to have just one moment with Jeff, just one. 

Why didn’t I call Jeff that morning he died?  I wanted to call him.  My intentions were to call him, yet I kept putting it off…and for what?  For a stupid meeting!  I live with that decision.  That very weekend I knew, I knew deep down I would be losing Jeff, no, I did not know when…I only knew it would be soon.  I should have called him. I wonder how many parents who lose children know in advance of their child’s upcoming death, just as I knew that weekend…that I would be losing Jeff soon.  How many of these parents had the very sensations as I did…the knowledge, that deep down gut intuition…that they would very soon be losing their child. 

 
If Jeff were here today he would say to me, “Don’t be ridiculous Mother, you didn’t know I was going to die.  How could you know?”   

This is what keeps me going…I spoke to Jeff so often that I already know what he would have said about the events of that weekend.  Jeff still would have loved me no matter the situation.  I remember when his father was on his last hours of life; Jeff said to me, “I’m here Mom.  I am always here for you, even when I am not here, I am still here with you.”    

I believed him then, and I believe he is indeed here with me…even if he is not here…he is here.  My love for Jeff is no less now then it was while he walked this earth.  Jeff adored his parents, he was never ashamed of us, he loved just hanging with us, and he put us on a pedestal…Steve and I were greatly loved and in turn…Jeff was our pride and joy!