Remembering

The air feels crisp today. It reminds me of Jacob and how he loved to wear hoodies. But the weather could be hot today and it would remind me of Jacob and how he would start stripping off clothes when he would come through the door. It doesn't take anything to make me think of him. I think of him all day long, all night long whenever I am breathing.
The other day I was sitting in a meeting with the Sp Ed director, Assist Director and my Principal. I heard everything they said but in my mind I was thinking of Jacob and how funny he was as a child and how I miss his jokes. I don't know where that came from. They come all day long. I can be eating lunch and sniff a smell that somehow reminds me of him. I can be in Wal Mart and see a food which reminds me of Jacob. I can be driving down the street and be reminded of Jacob. Somedays those reminders are just too painful. Somedays they are comforting.
Whenever I am worshipping I try to focus on the image a friend, Cheri, gave me after the funeral. She told me during the final song she saw him sitting high on a wall watching us. He had on his blue and white stripped shirt that I loved with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of baggy jeans. He was so skinny his jeans never fit right and always showed his crack. He was barefoot and his hair was long and silky. She said he was smiling then said, "It is beautiful but I have to go." He had someplace even far more beautiful to be and he was off.
Sunday I was trying to focus on that image at church. The tears were flowing and I prayed, "God, hold me up to day. I so desperately need some comfort. Please God show me he is happy." I could feel a voice in my head saying it is ok mom. It is ok. About that time they began singing How Great Is Our God. This is the song at Jacob's funeral we all stood and sang at the end. The part where my friend saw Jacob smiling and said it was beautiful but he had to go to a place far more beautiful. With tears streaming down I thanked God for that reassurance that he is ok and that through it all God is Great.
I wish I could stop right here and tell you it is easier. The pain is better. But I won't lie to you. The pain is different but it isn't better. Sometimes I ache so hard to feel his hug or hear his voice. Somedays, I stand and think did this really happen? How could it be? Why did it happen to our family? I try so hard to remember those days and maybe just maybe I dreamed it. Maybe today I will wake up and he will be here. But those days are still so vivid I know it did happen.
I know several months ago I said I would get to the funeral but it is such a painful place. I don't remember a lot of it. When we got to the church after the burial I remember all the people who came and helped with the dinner. I worried about the dinner amidst all things. I have a very large family. Two years ago we changed churches and I worried how it would all be done with our small church family. But people came and brought food. People from work, friends, Trinity, our old church, SWC and our own church family. We were so blessed. I went from person to person thanking them for doing the dinner. I socialized with people who were there. Was I really going inside in just a few moments for the final celebration of my son's life. No, if I could just act normal then this would not be true. But Bart came and gently placed his arm on my shoulders and told me it was time. I put my head on him and begged him no, please no, lets just not do this. He stroked my hair and said we had to. This rock, this mere man who had so much strength during this time was still standing strong holding me up. I worried when would he break?
As we lined up the funeral director told us to look straight ahead and not to make eye contact with people or we would get stopped and it would stop the line. Did he not know these were my friends, my family? As we entered the foyer of Old Trinity, CCY, I noticed the people just standing there without seats. They had no place to sit but still wanted to stay. We entered the back of the church. Oh the memories of raising my children in here came flooding. Such happy happy memories. I saw the mass of people who filled the church to the brim. There was no place left to sit. The church was packed. This many people loved our son, our family. Don't let anyone tell you if you don't attend a funeral you won't be missed. You will. The importance of all those people willing to take off work, class or just take time from their life was huge.
We walked down that aisle. The aisle I had watched Jacob walk down to get saved. The aisle I walked down to sit behind him as a youth to make him be quiet. The aisle that I had always dreamed I would watch as Jacob and his bride got married. But instead we walked and walked. It seemed so long to the front. We saw his precious picture surrounded by flowers. We sat. No one tells you how to do this. How do you encompass all of your loved ones into your arms to protect them. I wanted my boys and Bart as close as they could get. I wanted my mom closer. She sat on the end in her wheelchair. I wanted them to touch me and let me know this was real.
I don't really remember much after that. His friends showed such courage in playing a song he had said when he died he wanted play. Hank did his eulogy. Clint preached his message. Then Zach got up. Bart had told me as we walked in that he had just found out that Zachary was going to speak. He waited to tell me so I wouldn't tell him no. No, that I couldn't watch this young man stand and speak with all the hurt and pain etched into his face. His shoulders which days before were square and straight had now fallen with such sorrow. As he got up, I shook my head no. Please don't let him feel this pain. But he continued on. This young man who is so incredibly shy he won't call to order pizza. This young man who feels so comfortable in his own silence was walking to the front to honor his brother. This is what he said.

Struggle.
Where the cold, relentless earth meets the fiery, human spirit, here is where my brother lived his life. He kicked and screamed the whole way down. But this struggle is not something to be ashamed of, it is what it is. It is the dirt under a young boy's fingernails, showing that he has lived life. It is the broken bones and battle scars that tell stories of a warrior's glory. Our struggles show that we have lived.
My brother's struggle consumed him to such a degree that it not only shaped him, but was him. He struggled with faith, with rules, with friends, with foes, with music and with his mind. But he struggled not to get by in the world, but to wring every last drop of truth and life out of this world that he could. Settling into a life someone planned for him had the tasted of drinking vinegar. So he struggled against what the world told him he had to be. Go to school. Get a job. Settle down. Remain the same, Remain mediocre. This didn't appeal to him for one minute. And so, he fought back. He was one of the few who thought, "I don't have to judge, I don't have to hate. I want to love. I want to relate, help and always be true.'
But this struggle didn't come without a cost. He fought so hard, that if the world ever won, part of his world would crumble. He would fight back however he could. He would question what was, and fight for what he wanted. My brother didn't always win the battles. And a lot of the time he lost. But he never gave up. And he never lost the will to fight for long, And in this fight , he was always true.
He struggled in a way that was more pure and true than a single thing I've done in mine.
That is why I ask you not to be sad. The life of my brother was cut, tragically, short. And his genius was not developed or conveyed, but in his life he left a legacy of ceasing turning our backs and running. Instead he asked us to stand and fight against what we've been told and been fed. The cards dealt to us are not what we have to play with. My brother's was true in his struggle, and peace, in death, belongs to those who fight rather than those who hide and survive.
His life was worthy of that title, something mine doesn't yet deserve. His existence was truly authentic and the way he struggled and coped was nothing to be ashamed of. He was a stand-up-sit-down casualty of the world. And no one thought this would ever happen.
My big brother doesn't get hurt. My big brother doesn't die. All he does is live, and he lives in every single one of us.
The hole left by my brother is not something to be filled, but something to see. And when we see this, let us remember how he lived. I could have told a funny story about my brother's life, but I think he would be ashamed if that's all his life meant to me. He was it.
Theology and Philosophy lived among the dirt and dirty. Listen to me when I tell you that, "If his death keeps you down, for very long, then you don't truly grasp his life."
Let us mourn his passing, but all the while remember that our lives can be the tools to change our world.
When we do this Jacob will have finally accomplished his goal. He will have changed the world to be more how it's supposed to be. So let us cry, and then laugh. Despair and then rejoice.
Let's crawl out of this mess and change the world and make a difference. Stay true, fight hard and struggle with everything you are, lest you lose your true life.
And don't ever give up. For my brother's sake and for our sakes. Don't ever give up.

I can say no more The tears have fallen hard today. The drain has been hard on my heart. It aches. I know I have to revisit these places but this is enough for today. Pray for me as the 13th approaches. The day my baby would have been 24 but will forever be 22.