Fun Fact… I worked in a funeral home. That was my first experience with duality of life. I have vague memories of the first week on the job. I remember seeing lifeless bodies and wondering how people do this job every day. After a week or two, I could walk by a casket and not even notice. That’s not to say I was without feeling. The human brain has a magnificent way to filter information. At some point, I became affected as a direct effect of my lack of empathy. It really got to me. There’s a song from A Chorus Line called “Nothing.” The woman sings about how she broke down and cried when her teacher died. She cried, not because she was sad, but moreover, because she wasn’t sad. Years later, I truly understood why.
When Jacob was first diagnosed, many of those feelings came back. I noticed everything in the hospital. I noticed the smells, the lights, the patients walking down G111 with their loved ones. Vivid sights of chemotherapies used. I can clearly see Jacob in room G111-19 and the signed St. Ed’s flag, cast member signed “A Bronx Tale” poster and other well wisher cards. 1+ years and multiple visits, my memories and feelings dulled. Hospital visits became a pat of everyday life. Those familiar smells and sights went unnoticed. Once again, my brain went into protect mode.
Jacob died 9+ months ago. There isn’t a part of me that is desensitized. I feel every feel, all the time. Nights always seem the worse. I don’t sleep much and when I do, I awake suddenly. I rarely dream and when I do, Freud cannot decipher the meaning. It’s as if I’m in a constant, foggy replay of the day Jacob died.
Time hasn’t healed much. If anything, it’s a juxtaposed reminder that feels like it happened yesterday while feeling decades ago. Again, life’s pernicious duality showing its teeth.
The feelings of grief outweigh joy. I do laugh. I find small pockets of love and life within my family and friends. Every one of these moments comes with a price. These beautiful moments coexist with pain but do not replace.
I cannot watch videos of Jacob. I’m not there yet. Since he died, I’ve seen a few but fits of personal rage follow quickly. Instead, I look at a few pictures of his younger years. Pictures with Ana put a smile on my face. I often kiss them when no one is around. I talk to them.
A picture of him running, given to us by our friend Kristen (Momma G) covers a section of the living room wall dedicated to Jacob with the caption, “I cannot choose my challenges but I can choose to meet them head on.” This phrase has become a mantra. Jacob was strong and full of life in that picture. His determined face speaks volumes. My mind immediately goes to pain and hopelessness. Why was he taken? Why couldn’t advanced medicine save his life?
There are so many questions. This pit in my stomach takes me to places from which I cannot return. It’s likely none of this will ever make sense to me. My lack of comprehension is more metaphysical than physiological. I get all living organisms die. What I don’t understand why did Jacob have to die and suffer for as long as he did? This is a dangerous question I’m asking but it’s one that isn’t leaving me. I miss the lad so much. I miss his guidance. I miss his hugs. I miss those long days and nights in the hospital.
I miss EVERY part of him!
