Why do people make the statement "I lost someone today...?" They didn't lose someone. The someone lost her battle, her life. They feel a loss, but it's not about them; it's about the person who is gone, the person whose absence leaves us with a profound emptiness, a void, a sadness. It is about the grieving process and one's stage in it. For many, the process has begun even before the recognition that the someone doesn't have much time left to share...
I've had a lot of time to think lately. I've read and thought. Talked with some people, but mostly just sat and considered a lot of things that I haven't made time for, especially as of late and the only conclusion that I can come to is that all of the clichés, about death and life, about love and friendship, about not wasting time, while true to some degree, are only relevant if they are used, not discussed or thought about, but used. I listen to people wax on about how a loved one's death helped them realize the true meaning of life and so forth. But, frankly, it's not her death that made us realize that. Instead, it was the role she played in our lives that made us realize that. And now that she's gone, we realize that we no longer have that touchstone, that ever present reminder that life is indeed brief and even more precious than we ever realized.
Today, Jessica Comeaux Burden died. She was done with her physical journey in this life and she now moves into the spiritual journey that began here and will continue on now that she no longer has physical limitations. I imagined her today, greeted eagerly by Annette, her hair thick and long, flowing down her back, laughing at her little sister who had been waiting for her for many years. I thought about the lessons that she taught me and the conversations that we'd had over the years, the last one so recently that it's still too fresh in my mind. I remembered moments of pure heartache on her beautiful face and tears of joy as well. I thought about all of her trips and photos, of her laughter and caregiving nature. I am thinking of her kindness and generosity, of her loyalty and resilience. It all blurs together into that one moment, that second when you realize that you won't get to see her smile again or have her blow you a kiss. But that somehow, even without those precious moments, you have the knowledge that she is better, much happier and at peace where she is now. I believe that. I know that and even as the tears continue to come, I feel that truth deep within my core.
Jessie would send me messages about this blog and whenever I would see her, she would laugh and tell me the things that she thought were funny and she always told me to keep writing. So I hope that she finds it particularly tributary that I have reopened this blog only to write this entry for her. Consider it an early birthday present Jessie. I thought that maybe I would share my stories about her here, some funny and some poignant and moving, but, now that I think about it, I'm not going to. I'm going to tuck those away for myself and keep them where they have always been, in a place reserved for experiences that help shape who you will become and who you will continue to be. Some things are truly better left unsaid.
I wanted to write this for Ryan because I think that over the course of this past month especially, that she, like her mother, has shown the kind of grace and strength that we hope to have in moments of extreme difficulty, but usually are unable to muster. Ryan has always reminded me of her mother, with a huge smattering of Jeff thrown in for good measure. But as strong, capable, influential women, they both embrace life and people and experiences. Jessie never slowed down, even when she knew what could possibly happen. She lived her life; she traveled, drank wine, read, took photos, cared for all 4 of her grandchildren... I doubt that there was a single day in her life where she didn't truly "live." And, like all great stories that come to an end, the details of her last days are hers; they will not be shared here nor will they lessen her dominant, giving spirit. While there may be little dignity and privacy in death, depending upon the circumstances, I can honestly say that all I ever saw in her was honesty and the naked truth about where she was and where all of this might end. And, I am so eternally grateful to you Ryan, for allowing me to participate in these last days, to get a chance to sit with her and hold her hand, to tell her that I loved her even though she already knew. And to tell her that it was okay, all of it, any of it and that whatever happened, that it was okay. Even when I told her that, she grabbed the end of her blanket and pulled it over my arm because she knew that I was cold. Do I really need to say anything else...
Jessie wouldn't want me to write about her; she wouldn't want me to disclose things about her that she herself didn't share with you so I won't. Maybe I am writing this for me, Jessie and for Ryan and for Jeff and Josh, but most likely, I am trying to sink my toes in the sand and not feel the extreme sadness that has washed over me since this afternoon when I heard the news of her death. I feel many things and have all day, but as I type, the most overwhelming feeling that comes over me right now is relief. Truly, relief for her that her physical struggle is over and I have to smile, even as the tears start to come again right now, because I know that she's walking, holding her water bottle, grasping Annette's hand and smiling... because she's free. She's home.
If a life is measured by the amount of love that others have for you in your time of need, then Jessie was more than loved; she was adored. Those who knew her, know that already. She was smart and funny, creative and adventurous. And beautiful... Jessie was and will always be so very beautiful. Ryan, and Jeff, Josh and Christie, Hunter and all of the grandkids... may her spirit be ever present with each of you throughout your lives and may you look up into the night sky often, at the moon, and imagine her dancing above it instead of beneath it. May you hold each other together and find comfort in the days ahead, knowing that she's waiting for all of you. And that she will have many plans when you are all together again...
And Jessie, as the memories come over the days and years ahead, memories of long conversations on your porch step or out in front of your house when I'd stop to see my parents, or late at night when we were doing silly things that no one else needs to know about, I will smile and think of your warm eyes and the advice that you gave me over the years, showing me that sometimes you get lucky enough to live next to someone who isn't just a neighbor, but a real friend. I'm so grateful that you've been present at all of the major events in my life and that you got to know my children. And, I will always be deeply appreciative of this last month, for many reasons that don't need to be listed here. You know what they are. You always did.
I don't have any profound words this time and I truly wish that I did, but I think Jessie would want me to just tell it like it is. So Jess, I wish that my last words to you had not been "Have a good day." Instead, I wish that they had been "Have a safe journey."
Thank you for being my friend, for teaching me to play backgammon and for coming to our wedding. Thank you for always saying something complimentary every single time I saw you and thank you for showing me that the length of your life really doesn't matter; it truly is what you do with that time that matters. By that measure, your life was more than full and so very rich.
I will miss you Jessie. So much. I already do. I love you.
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