And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.
-Maya Angelou

Sunday, September 21, 2014

My Daily Stop


I still go by the cemetery almost every day. Oftentimes, more than once a day. I stop by on my way to work in the morning, on my way home from work in the evening and always on the weekends. Being at the cemetery doesn't make me feel close to Jack. I don't feel Jack's presence sitting by his grave and I don't talk to him when I'm there - except to say "I love you and I miss you Jack" when I leave. Why do I feel so drawn to spend time at the cemetery then? Because it gives me something to do for Jack. Well, not really for Jack - but the only tangible thing left of him - his final resting place. How does one go from providing the extreme day to day care Jack required for fifteen years to doing nothing? I was always doing something for Jack and I haven't yet figured out what to do with my empty hands and unfilled time. My heart and my hands want to do something for Jack. So instead of caring for Jack, I care for the little plot of land where what remains of him physically rests. I water the grass, I pull weeds, I keep his marker clean, and I change out his flowers every few months. I've even taken to caring for the neglected grave sites of an elderly couple who rest next to Jack. It was not lost on me that the husband's name was also Jack. No, I'm not crazy, at least not yet. My daily stops at the cemetery help fill the massive hole carved by Jack's absence and I'll continue to go for as long as I'm drawn to do so.

On another note, Jack's permanent grave marker will be ready the first part of October. I think it will be beautiful and reflect the great soul our sweet Jack was. I'll be sure and share once it's been placed.


I want to answer a couple of questions that I get asked all the time. The most asked question I get from people is "What are you going to do with Jack's room?" Jack's room was the gathering place of our family for so many years. Today, the room sits silent and unoccupied. With great strength, we are able to keep the door to his room open. We see into Jack's room every time we walk into the house from the garage. There's no avoiding the "in your face" void of the centerpiece of our home. So, what are we going to do with Jack's room? We've tossed around the idea of selling our house and moving. It would certainly be easier to move than to try and recapture the light we lost when we lost Jack. If we do move, it won't be for a few years yet. In the meantime, what I would like to do is take Jack's bed out of his room and put a desk in its place. A desk where I could sit and write. I could shut Jack's door - not to shut out the pain, but to shut myself in and surround myself with all the love and memories Jack's room holds. Mark is not yet ready to start dismantling Jack's room so I'm not pushing it. Maybe after the first of the year he'll be in a place to make the change.

The other question I get asked often is "how are the other kids doing?" The short answer is, they all seem to be doing okay. We aren't a family that talks openly about our feelings. If I was to ask Eric what he's feeling about Jack being gone, he'd cut me off real quick. He's very astute and will avoid getting into any "heavy" conversations about loss and feelings. Eric has always enjoyed and thrived in the Sibshops  offered by Ryan House. After Jack died, Ryan House kindly allowed Eric to continue to attend Sibshops even though they are geared for sibs of special needs kids who are still living. The next series of Sibshops, Eric is going to be a volunteer/helper rather than an attendee - although, he'll certainly benefit just as much in his new role. Mary is the most open about her feelings and the pain of Jack's absence. Obviously, she misses him tremendously. Hilary seems fine, but she isn't one to carry on a conversation of any sort - let alone one about the loss of Jack. We are all just trying to live life the best we can, each with our own unique feelings of loss and grief. 

Lastly, I want to share a book that I just finished reading, titled "Rare Bird" by Anna Whiston-Donaldson. Anna writes about loss and love after her 12 year old son, Jack, died in a drowning accident three years ago. So much of what Anna wrote resonated with me. Grief, faith, guilt, heaven, love, strength and finding a way to live life again. She's honest, she's real and she gives hope to a grieving parent. One thing that really touched me was when Anna reconnected with a college friend after her son died. This friend tells Anna that Jack is sending messages for Anna through her. Just as I would in the same situation, Anna struggled with reconciling her faith with the whole idea of visions and psychics, but she eventually agreed to receive the messages her friend had to share. This particular message really spoke to me:

"You will always be my mom. I don't live in the sky. 
Why does everyone look up? I'm not up. I'm here (pointing to your heart)."

As someone who spends a lot of time looking up, this made me cry because it's so true. I need to remember that like Anna's Jack, my Jack isn't in the clouds, he's in my heart. Forever and always, he'll be in my heart. 


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I'll close with these words, which are directed to no one and to everyone. They are simply intended as food for thought.


For the record, I am exceptionally grateful for each and every one of my other children. 

Inching Onward.

15 comments:

  1. Love you Ann and think of you always, everyday. I love that quote, it's so true and made me cry. Why do we look up?

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    1. I don't know either Katie. I guess because when we think of heaven we think of the universe above us. Thank you for your love and for your thoughts. They are what carry me through.

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  2. I love how you share your feelings so openly. As a nurse that works with Oncology patients I deal with the people experiencing the hardest things they will ever go thru. Your words and thoughts help me personally and professionally. You are an amazing woman, thank you!
    Leslie Marsh

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    1. Leslie, thank you so much for reading, thank you for your comment and thank you for caring. You are an equally amazing woman as you provide care to those experiencing the most difficult of times. xo

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  3. Thank you so much for sharing. I think of you and Jack and the rest of your family often. That is awesome the Eric is going to be a volunteer at the Sibshops. I need to hurry up and get my boys signed up for this year. ❤

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    1. Thank you Tammy for all your love and support. xo

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  4. Ann, I think that makes so much sense that the ones we love are forever in our hearts. Thanks for the detailed update on how the other kids are doing. Kids react differently to death, I think. I wonder how it would be for Evie and Adrian if Ainsley wasn't with us. Even if they don't say it I'm sure this is a hard time for them and they are adjusting too. It's awesome that Eric is going to help out at Sibshop. Love to you and your family.

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  5. Ann, I have had the same difficulty after Katie died - what to do now with all of my time, when I was her full-time caregiver? Most things other than that care-giving seem shallow and pointless. It was the hardest work I have ever done, and the most rewarding (though I would not wish her back in a suffering body again)! I have tried to look for jobs, but nothing I find appeals to me. Sometimes I think I should work in healthcare, but I worry about traumatizing myself and being of no use. I have thrown myself into Katie's Comforters Guild and cancer research/advocacy, thought about going back to school, but nothing seems to quite fit this time of life and what I know now - yet I want to put what Katie taught me to good use. I keep asking God where He wants me, and the answer I get is "right where you are." So that's where I am, until/unless further light appears. Your feelings about this so deeply resonate with me, and I thank you from my heart for sharing them.

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    1. Karen - so much I want to say to your comment. It's late and I'm tired (and it's only Monday!) I'm going to send you an email tomorrow. Thanks friend. xo

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    2. Looking forward to our conversation about this. XO

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  6. Can I just say that I love the "sound" of your voice again. I missed it and the wisdom, insight and humor you have provided me for years. Your voice is the voice of many without the courage to "put it out there" for good or for bad. Fragile as your feelings may be...they are precious to me and I love you for being brave. Jack is so proud of you and so are we all!
    Love you lots Janet Sartori

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    1. Thank you Janet for holding me up and giving me strength to keep on keeping on. xo

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  7. Ann, we have conversed very lightly in the previous years, on the computer. I am a mother to a delightful seven year old, named Madeline, that has a trach. That is how I came to Jack's blog. I was a follower, and commented once or twice. I cried very hard when Jack died, and I so appreciate that you shared everything--all the pictures, and that you got to hold him. I have been waiting for more then nine months to say SOMETHING-anything, that could give you comfort, but the words will not come to me. I lost a baby boy, Miles, nine months into my pregnancy. I gave birth to a beautiful boy that had died because his umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck three times, too tightly, and he died in utero. He would have turned twelve this week--he would have started middle school. I know my stories are not the same, but grief is grief, and it is a process. It is always going to be a process. I do not know if I will ever make peace with the death of my baby, nor you, with the death of Jack. But, I do want you to know that I understand. His room is beautiful, and I would want to keep it as long as I could, but that is me. There is no advice; no right, no wrong--nothing that you can say to someone who loses a child, as to what they should be doing. Just getting up, everyday, and putting one foot in front of the other is good enough. I always find it amazing that our hearts can still beat, and we are still alive after such a loss. For me, time has healed the pain a bit, and I am at peace with it as much as I can be, while on this living side of earth. I have great faith, and the Lord has comforted me, and led me to believe that I am not alone, and that upon my death, my journey will make sense to me, and then I will understand. I was going to recommend this great book, about another boy named Jack, and his mother was named Anna (?!?!) I was going to research the title, and mother's name, and there it was on your blog...a Jack-wink for sure!! Maybe I should read it. I am sorry it took me this long to send you my condolences. Today--I found some words that can hopefully bring you some comfort, and to thank you for always writing your truth, and never leaving anything out. Others wrote such kind words to you, I just couldn't do it justice. I still feel that way. Just shocked, and sad, about a beautiful boy that I never met "in person", but that touched me deeply--so deeply, I just cannot convey to you how sorry I am that he passed. Blessings to you and your family. Love, Jennifer Taylor

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    1. Jennifer - Thank you so much for taking the time to write to me. I am desperate (in the truest sense of the word) to hear from other mothers who have suffered the loss of a child. I need to know that this is survivable. Thank you for articulating and appreciating what a huge accomplishment it is to just get up and put one foot in front of the other on any given day. And thank you most of all for loving my Jack. I needed to hear what you wrote. Much love to you.

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