Risky Business

I think the shock of what happened is starting to wear off. I tell myself that perhaps this is one of the longest crazy-ass dreams ever, and I’ll still be able to wake up from it. When I awake, it will be September 8th, the second day of school. I’ll be worrying about how to fit all the baseball and soccer practices onto the family calendar and wondering when sweater weather is going to start.

Jack will still be alive and well.

I think one of the biggest hindrances to getting me to stop rowing down the river of DENIAL is the fact that Jack was not a big risk-taker. He was not a real rough and tumble kind of guy. Jack was more comfortable building with Legos or sitting around on his friend David's back porch while they cracked each other up than being all that adventurous.

When I worried about Jack, which was often, it was that someone would DO SOMETHING TO HIM, not that he would be in an accident. My fears centered around bullying and sexual abuse since Jack was small for his age, quirky, and on the quiet side.

That's why we were careful about Internet use and choosing a summer camp, and were extremely selective and prayerful about sleepovers. I knew the statistics, and they weren’t encouraging. Tim and I were considered too overprotective by some.

So we did worry. But about an accident like this? So sudden? So violent?

Inconceivable.

As a toddler, Jack would walk to the very end of our little driveway and his toes would not cross an imaginary line there. When my friends found out I wasn’t a spanker, they would ask, “Yeah, but what if Jack ran into the street? Would you spank him then?” “Uh, well, I’m not thinking that’s going to happen,” was my reply. Naïve, perhaps, but he was just so cautious.

When he was in second grade, I did have to yell at him to be more careful on his bike in our cul de sac, but in general I spent more time trying to get him to be more adventurous than to be more careful.

“Jack, do you want to ride this roller coaster?” No way.

“Skateboard?” Not really.

“Go in the ocean?” No. 10 years of beach trips, and the sand suited him just fine.

“Shoot a rifle off of Uncle John’s back porch?” No thanks.

“Ride your bike outside our cul-de-sac?” Uh-Uh.

“Walk to a friend’s house in another neighborhood?” Nope.

"Go on a dirt bike?” Are you kidding?

This is the kid who, thankfully, was alarmed when his neighborhood friends played with matches and ran home to tell me immediately. “MOM, there was even lighter fluid nearby!”

After Jack completed the slowest time imaginable on the dinky go-kart track during a beach trip, his friend Nathan said, “Sorry you lost, Jack.” Jack was like “Huh?” The snail’s pace had felt plenty fast for him.

Jack carried his car booster seat with him on outings until he was a rising 5th grader, and even as a 12 year old felt the safety of the back seat suited him just fine, thank you.

He chose to attend the one-week session of his beloved summer camp rather than the two that most kids his age did, because the longer sessions had "high adventure" activities and he was worried he’d be pressured to do something he wasn’t comfortable with.

How different is childhood today from our childhoods of being outside all day long, our parents not having a clue where we were. Night sledding. Being dropped off at the mall. Getting rides home from goodness knows who. Going to the pool by ourselves all day, every day. Riding bikes to the 7-11 or into Washington, D.C., with nothing more than a dime in our pockets for a pay phone call.

Jack did love the outdoors, and the increasing freedom that growing older allowed. Unless, of course, there were bees around, which would send him running. He loved to geocache, hike, go caving and climbing. He and his friends climbed onto the neighbor’s (low) carport roof from a stone wall. He liked to climb trees and rocks. He loved to ski with his dad.

So he wasn’t a couch potato, but he was not a big risk-taker either.

I find it strange that in all my Mama-worrying, and I did my share, I was focused on social and sexual risks, but an accident like Jack's never crossed my mind. I still don't understand why neither I nor the other parents who let their kids play outside in our neighborhood that day recognized the risks, even those who knew the kids going to the creek.

So here I am, exactly 8 weeks after the accident, and I still find it so hard to believe that that Jack is the one who is gone.

I keep saying,

Jack?
Jack?
JACK???

Really???

I just never would have guessed that.

Here's hoping I blog in my sleep and this is all just a very bad dream.


P.S. Roller blading was something Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to try. Look at these pictures of Margaret helping him out at a birthday party in December. Blurry but so sweet And that's not a miniskirt he's wearing; it's a long t-shirt.

Oh Shirt.

As I wrote before, Jack’s sheets had been changed the morning of the accident. His dirty sheets were downstairs by the washer and accidentally got washed by friends before I had the mental capacity to consider saving them. All of his clothes were clean and folded.

So, for weeks one of my best friends has been praying fervently that we would find something, anything that smelled like Jack. A week ago I went into his room and spotted a gray long-sleeved Ski Utah tee crumpled on the floor. I hadn’t seen it there before. I picked it up, nervous yet hopeful.

It smelled like Jack.

Margaret and I shoved our faces in it, inhaling deeply. Thank you God, for this gift!

So yesterday I was folding laundry and picked up… a Ski Utah shirt.

Crap. I’d washed it.

I'm a Belieber, Part 3: Facebook Status Style

You are AMAZING! Your outpouring of love in the form of tweets, blogs, calling in favors, dressing up in costume, FB posts, phone calls and of course prayers MADE SOMETHING HAPPEN! No details for you yet, but our little family will be taking a trip in NOV to see JB perform. Seriously! Faith in humanity restored yet? Sure hope so. You should be proud!

Thanks and XO, Anna

P.S. K-Mom, if you are reading this, I would love the pictures of the sky one week after Jack's accident.

Heaven

Heaven had better be:

Better than any stinkin' Youth Group costume party…


And being trapped inside a Lego Factory over a long weekend with plenty of Cheez-its and Dr. Pepper.

And the buzzy feeling you get when the person you have a crush on crushes on you back.

And sledding down a huge hill with your best friends until it’s cocoa time.

And a wonderful, fumbly first kiss.

And skiing black diamonds with your dad in Colorado.

And a high school debate trip to New York City with fun but slightly lax chaperones.

And praising God at a retreat and finally getting how much He loves you.

And sitting around with your friends at college laughing until your stomach hurts.

And falling in love.

And watching in person as the Yankees win the World Series…again!

And surprising your little sister by flying in for her college graduation.

And doing work that fulfills you and honors God.

And dancing with your mom at your wedding.

And holding your newborn baby-- staring at your wife thinking, “We made this?”

And giving that baby a bath and zipping him up in footy pajamas.

Oh yeah, and sex.

Heaven had better be more wonderful than sex.

Okay, God? Good.

Halloween

Jack, thank you for...

Your honesty. You did not lie to us. You did not sneak around. A mom we’ve never met told us how at baseball camp this summer you were trying to get her son out at second, and the ump called him out. But you told the ump that no, you hadn’t quite tagged him. Your honesty and integrity gave us great optimism for your future, because you firmly had our trust.

Your humility.

Your willingness to dumpster dive. Thanks for all the times you helped lift old broken furniture from the curb into the car for one of my many projects. I remember when I had you jump out of the car on the way to school to pick up a weird horse head thing that turned out to be solid marble and super heavy!

Snuggling. During the lice fiasco of 4th grade, when I was going psycho and didn’t want to put my head near anyone else’s pillows, you pointed out that I was becoming a tad obsessed and that it was cutting down on our family’s closeness. Thank you for that wisdom-- wisdom that led to several more years of snuggle time.

Your generosity of spirit. You were happy for other people's joy and success and celebrated with them. I remember how happy you were when Margaret won an American Girl Doll at a toy store. I would have been all up in my mom's business about why I couldn't get something of equal value. You just smiled and celebrated with her.

Not badgering. When you asked us for something and we said no, you accepted that. You accepted that the reason you couldn’t play the same video games your friends could was because we loved you and we thought Grand Theft Auto and those other games were trashy. Your lack of badgering made us want to work with you and give you more privileges. Win-Win.

Accepting, if not embracing, my cheapness. I love the way you came home from school on the last afternoon of your life and said, “Mom, did you buy all my binders at the thrift store again this year?” When I admitted I had, instead of getting mad, you just asked if we could maybe wash off the .69 written in grease pencil on all the covers so everyone wouldn't have to know about it.

Obeying your parents. I remember the Saturday before the accident, when you stayed up late with your cousin in the basement. It was time for lights-out and you asked if you could finish the ½ hour show you were watching. You had seen the first ½ of the episode about 4 times and wanted to see the end. I said no, and you turned it off. Your cousin finished it for you both when he was here for your memorial service one week later.

Forgiving Us. You forgave us our parenting mistakes, again and again. Whether it was our accidentally catching your chubby little baby tummy in the zipper of your footy pajamas, or coming down way too hard on you for things that were really OUR ISSUES, not yours, you forgave us.

Forgiving others. You didn’t hold grudges. When neighborhood spats occurred, and someone or other would yell, “I’m never playing with you again!” I would have written them off. But not you; you always gave it another shot.

Bettering yourself. Whether it was doing 100 sit-ups and push-ups a night trying to finally ace that damn Physical Fitness Test, learning to show patience and flexibility during neighborhood games, or practicing your baseball fielding with Dad in the yard, you worked to better yourself.

Your empathy. When you were very young, you worried A LOT about my dear friend Cynthia. You said, “How is she ever going to find someone to marry if she works in an old folks home?” When she (finally!) did get married, you were ecstatic. You prayed that she would be able to have babies and were so relieved when she did.

Your gentleness. You did not yell at me. As a kid who yelled at her parents a lot, I really appreciated that.

Never wearing a muscle shirt. Okay, there was one that time in 4-year-old Vacation Bible School, but that was mandatory.

Talking to us. Even though you were quieter at home than at school, you were great to talk to, especially at bedtime. You asked mature, thoughtful questions. Sometimes you would say in the dark, “Um, I have another word to ask you about.” I loved that you could do that without being embarrassed. The night before you died you were trying to understand a friendship that was changing. Thank you for talking to me about it.

Liking things that we could stand behind. Thank you for discussing houses and Shakespeare with me and the Yankees and books with Dad. I have a feeling you were a rare 4 year old for being into Origami and word games. Thanks for being obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine and Legos. I know if you had been into Pokemon, Bakugon, and Super Heroes we would have developed a taste for them, too, but I’m glad we never had to.

Your faith in God.

Making us laugh. You and your sister kept us entertained every day. I would have loved for you 2 to have the chance to make each other laugh as grown-ups.

Never blaming. You must have gotten this trait from your dad, not me. I could drop a can of corn on my foot and look around for someone else to blame. And now, I want to blame everyone and everything for what has happened to you, but that’s meaningless, and it's not what you would have done. So, even in this time of pain, yours is the example I want to follow.

There is so much more to thank you for, Jack. Like every family, we had good times and bad, but the good FAR outweighed the bad. I am reluctant to post this, because it is such a small representation of what made you special.

I am thankful to God for giving me an intelligent, quirky, gentle, strong-willed, respectful son to love. And that love will not end.

Roll It

I was trying to explain to my sister how everything, and I mean EVERYTHING in our lives has changed since that terrible night. Our hopes, our plans, our dreams for the future, our home, the rhythm of our days.

“Even the way I wipe my (rear) has changed!” I blurted out.

Say what?

Well, when your world is turned upside down in an instant, chances are you are not capable of running out to the store for essentials like TP. Instead, your amazing, wonderful, supportive friends will buy it for you. And if their love and support for you is measured in rolls, let’s just say that they love you a lot. We’re talking Jumbo-Pack Love.

And chances are pretty high that these amazing, wonderful, supportive friends will buy you the GOOD stuff, not the cheapo flimsy ply you’ve been purchasing for your family for, well, about a million years.

And while you are exceedingly grateful for the generosity and thoughtfulness of your friends, you’ll note during several, uh, private times during the day-- as if a moment really could go by without your realizing it-- that EVERYTHING indeed has changed. Even the way you wipe your, um, rear.

I’m guessing this will be one of the easiest changes to get used to.