Making Sense

I'm sitting in a Panera with a blank computer screen up. Ten... twenty... thirty minutes have gone by since I opened my torts casebook. The playlist on my iPod looped four times before I noticed.

I can't make sense of the last month, and that lack of sense pervades into most of the things I try to do. I end up staring. Then shaking my head and getting back to work only to stare again. Some days that's all there is- blank-eyed stares. Other days it's not so bad.

That's the funny thing about grief. It's like having a leech on your back sucking out your energy, mostly without you knowing. Maybe you're fine, maybe you're just used to being drained. Then sometimes you laugh and you believe that you're finally alright again, only to be right back to where you started five minutes later. Like I said, I can't make sense of it.

Because I see things in black and white, I struggle with this. I just want to crawl into bed. I don't want to be in a gray area, in a kind of limbo where life is back to normal but it's not back to normal at all. I want every day to be the same, for better or worse, so I can figure out where I am. But it doesn't work like that.

You take one day at a time. One hour at a time, even. Like my dad says- do one thing at a time, and do it right. It's all you can do.

The Important Thing

What my sister and I read at Jon's services...

In times of seemingly insurmountable grief, we seek, more than anything, understanding. We look endlessly for answers. We ache to be “okay,” but we also fight it, never wanting to be “okay” with a loss so great that it shakes us to our very core.

When Jon was born, Sara and I jumped on our bed chanting, “We’re getting a brother! We’re getting a brother!” From that day on, our lives and the lives of those around us have never been the same. We all got a brother that day and we sit here now with hearts that are heavy and soaked with sorrow.

The love we have for Jon fills this room, along with the memories he has forever imprinted in our minds. We cannot find the words to express how overwhelming this feeling of love is, so we look to the words of another to explain.

From the children’s book by Margaret Wise Brown, The Important Book

The important thing about the rain is that it is wet. It falls out of the sky, and it sounds like rain, and makes things shiny, and it does not taste like anything, and is the color of air. But the important thing about the rain is that it is wet.

The important thing about snow is that it is white. It is cold, and light, and falls softly out of the sky. It is bright, and the shape of tiny stars and crystals. It is always cold. And it melts. But the important thing about snow is that it is white.

The important thing about the sky is that it is always there. It is true that it is blue, and high, and full of clouds, and made of air. But the important thing about the sky is that it is always there.

The important thing about you is that you are you. It is true that you were a baby, and you grew, and now you are a child, and you will grow into a man. But the important thing about you is that you are you.

Jon, Jean, Jan, Jake, JB, Jon-Jon, and Goobs-

It is true that you were once a baby, and you grew into a man. Your eyes were blue and you had the most beautiful smile we’ve ever seen.

You were a phenomenal athlete. You were in the goal when history was made, and were a national champion. But none of that came easily. Whether it was five-hour road trips for one-on-one lessons with the Goalie Man or 21 credit hours completed in one summer, you worked hard for everything you accomplished. You approached these accomplishments with a humility that very few people possess.

You were selfless and loyal and gave to others with compassion and without hesitation. You treated every friend like your best friend and the way you treated family is the way everyone should treat family.

You brought Sara and I pizza at 3’o’clock in the morning, installed “surround sound” in the back room for Pa, and somehow managed to get Mom wherever she was going safely even when you were “Textin’ and drivin’, makin’ Ma mad!”

You were a neighbor, a friend, a teammate, a cousin, a brother, a son, and now, you are an angel. But the most important thing about you is that you are you, and you will always be you to us.

We love you, and you will forever hold a special place in our hearts. You are watching over us all now, and there is no one we would rather have looking after and protecting us.

Sharing the Banana

I never thought about going to my brother's calling hours and funeral before last week. I woke up this morning thinking about how long the next two days would be. How unbearable they would be. Picking up an 8x10 for his casket this morning only reinforced that.

But my cousin texted me and reminded me that "You will never be surrounded by this many people who love you and your family. You are not alone these next two days. There is no doubt they will suck but there will be just as much love in that room as there has been pain." She's right. One of the first long days we spent in the hospital waiting room, we found ourselves having trouble eating (not a problem that has ever occurred in our family). I tried to eat a banana for breakfast. I couldn't finish it. I gave it to my sister to finish. She couldn't finish it either. Finally, that same cousin who sent me the previous text took the last two bites.

It may take three of us to finish a banana, and it may take a village to get through the next day, but we will carry each other through it as we've been doing since this awful thing started.

Maybe a Protein Shake Would Help?

One of my favorite Jon stories happened one morning when I was sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. He came downstairs, shirtless, ready to continue his summer work out routine that he had started a week earlier.

"You always want to start out the day with a high-protein breakfast," he said, talking more to himself than to me. "And what's more high-protein than a protein shake?"

"Nice," I replied, and went back to eating and reading the newspaper.

"Let me show you what a REAL protein shake looks like." He started pulling random boxes and jars out of the pantry and refrigerator.

"First, protein powder. You know, for the protein. Milk. For the calcium. Peanut butter. For more protein. Ice cream to cool it down with some more calcium. Some eggs. Even more protein. And chocolate syrup." He paused. "Because it's delicious." 

The blender was filled to the top. "And finally, to mix it. Highest setting. Let the protein begin."

When he started the blender, he looked right at me with his cheesy smile and started shaking it and chanting "Protein!" while it blended. He looked like he was a roid-raging bodybuilder. Unfortunately for him, the shaking caused the top of the blender to break and chocolate peanut butter protein shake sprayed all over his face and the rest of the kitchen.

He looked at me. "Oh good. There's still some left in the bottom..."

Family

When I was teaching, a common beginning-of-the-year activity was to have the kids draw a picture and write about their families. I remember talking about it with more experienced teachers in planning who emphasized telling the kids to only include their IMMEDIATE family. If you didn't, they would include everyone they know- their parents, their aunts and uncles, the kid next door, the man they saw picking his nose on the bus...

I've known for a long time that I'm a part of the best family in the world. I would apologize to the other families I've spent time with, but every time I leave someone else's house or family function, I can't help but realize how awesome we are. I think about how genuinely caring my parents are, how funny my brother and sister are, how warm and welcoming my aunts and uncles and grandparents are (even if we sometimes act a little bit more inappropriately than we should).

After sitting in a hospital waiting room for six days, I've let go of that need to limit the definition of family to the ones sharing the same roof and last name. I still believe that I'm part of the best family of the world, but that family is not just the people I spend Christmas and Thanksgiving with. It's more than the people invited to weddings and graduation parties and family birthday parties. It encompasses a group of people that feels the triumphs and disappointments of my immediate family, a group that rushes to share in our joint happiness and hurt.

My family is the community that knows where we live and where we work. The people who went to elementary and middle and high school with us, who watched us compete from the stands and read about us in the newspaper. It's the students of my parents and the teachers of my siblings and me. It's the coaches and the teammates and the colleagues, the bank tellers and the grocery store workers and the bartenders. Our small town can seem like too much to bear, but at times like these it is a force of incredible support.

My family is the neighbors that watched us as we grew up. The kids who played Fox and the Hounds every night of the summer, who played in our playhouse and swam in our pool. It's the people who lent us money for the Hokey Pokey truck, the ones who pet Tuffy as they walked by. It's those who sat in our kitchen all hours of the night, who drank beer at "Lou's" and by our firepit. The ones who came by for our "town meetings."

My family is the friends who might as well be family, who have reached out over hundreds and thousands of miles to send their love and support. They are the ones who traded reward points for hotel rooms, who picked through our underwear drawers, who somehow made us laugh. They have sat with us in the waiting in silence, knowing that it may be just what we need.

My family is the teammates that played with Jon and Kristin and me. My college coach always told us that you have your friends, and then you have your teammates. Every e-mail ended with "Stay strong, stay together" and I have never seen that more true than the past few days. Strings of lacrosse players, volleyball players, and runners have sent thoughts, prayers, embarrassing pictures... everything you could think of. They remind me of the importance of friendship and camaraderie, the need for support and perseverance. Teammates do not care whether they competed with you or against you. An East High lacrosse player carried in the West High victory poster into Jon's hospital room. THAT's family.

As horrible as the past week has been, I've been carried by the strength of a thousand honorary sisters, brothers, aunts, and uncles. And I cannot thank you enough.

An Open Letter

As many of you may know, my little brother Jonny was admitted to Strong Memorial Hospital on Wednesday morning with a traumatic brain injury. I came from Boston on Wednesday evening and have been here since then. My mom started a Caring Bridge website to update our friends and family on Jon's progress, which you can access here.

I want to start by thanking everyone who has come to Strong to see Jon and our family. The love and support we have gotten in the past two days is incredible. Thousands of people have visited Jon's website and hundreds have posted their thoughts and prayers. This has been an extremely challenging time for us and it is a comfort to have so many people behind us. It's as if our already large family has expanded exponentially. Yesterday, we took over most of the ICU waiting room and the Ronald McDonald House common area. There is enough food to feed an army and enough love to fill our hurting hearts. I literally have never seen so many chocolate chip cookies in one place in my life (although they're diminishing by the minute).

I've always done better in writing than I have in person, so I'm trying to say to Jon what I do not have the strength to say when I am with him. Although the doctors say that he can hear us, I also believe that he has limited internet access to my blog. Don't ask me how- I just know. This letter is to you.

---

Goobs,

I'll start with my most common adage during a close game- keep your composure. Composure is the calm and control we all have inside of us, something that you have filling you up to the brim. You have the composure, the strength, and the patience to make it through this difficult fight. Any composure you lack is coming from God, who can hear all the people praying for you and is giving you strength in spite of the time you fell asleep during Christmas midnight mass (it was so long ago, after all).

Know that we are all here for you, praying and pulling for you. Just like you have always been here for the rest of us, with a joke or a smile or a chicken wing pizza. We're returning the countless, selfless things that you have done for so many others, things that are appreciated more than you could ever know. I know you can hear the (bad) jokes we are making, see the smiles we make because we know you can hear them. I wish I could bring you a wang sub with extra blue cheese, wrapped up fresh from Aniello's.

More than anything, remember that you are a fighter. You thrive in close, important games and this is your closest and most important one yet (although your last East West game is up there). You will get through this. Because at the end of the day, we're just a bunch of regular people, hanging out with a National Champion. Continue fighting like the champion you are. I love you.

Love,
Sari

What Did You Learn Today?

When I was teaching, I used to make my kids share what they learned at our end of the day meeting. Maybe it was because my parents made me tell them what I learned in school at dinner every night, but mostly because it was a good measure of whether they were paying attention to me or to the cap eraser people game they all played in their desks. Now that I'm in law school, I feel like I should keep the tradition going by telling my roommates the legal subtleties I picked up on that day. For example:

• If I can prove negligence by slipping on a banana peel in a grocery store, I'd probably be able to pay for law school with the damages
• I cannot, in fact, rig a spring-loaded shotgun to protect my abandoned farmhouse down the road
• About 90% of disputed contracts occur at either (a) the company Christmas party after several rounds of egg nog or (b) the local pub over frothing pints of ale (according to my contracts professor)
• The difference between sans serif and serif fonts (I'm really not sure why that's necessary to become a lawyer, but oh well)

There you have it, Mom. One thing from each class. Isn't it just riveting?