Yes, the little things – all of which added up to the wonderful woman you became. There is so much more… no words now, only tears. I’m trusting the contents of my heart are somehow known to you. Oh honey to say that I miss you is like saying I miss light, or oxygen, or water. Yet, I gain comfort from knowing you’re whole, and have a new body, and see Him face-to-face.

Of all the people in our family, you always seemed to go through things first, usually painful things, scary things, at times life-threatening things. Though I miss you every single day, how fitting it is for you to get to the good stuff – the very fulfillment of our hopes – first. Good for you, Jess!

Less than 3 months before she died, Jessica posted one of those surveys that regularly circulate the web via both email and social networking websites. I came across Jess’ ‘25 Random Facts About Me’ survey while looking for biographical information that I was scheduled to present to a bereavement support group I’d joined about three weeks after she passed. Some of her comments are, hands down, hilarious. Parts are very touching. Still other comments have brought tears to my eyes on more than one occasion and though the temptation to delete them from this writing is present, to do so would not present Jess’ thoughts the way she wrote them because overall, I realized the composite created by these ‘Random Facts’ paints a fairly accurate picture of Jessica – woman, wife, daughter, sister, friend – the list goes on. Many of those who read this will no doubt realize they’ve seen it before. However, before clicking off the page, I invite you to read it either for the first time, or to read it again. As you do, I want to invite you to comment – so others have a ‘window’ to remembering Jessica through your thoughts and/or eyes. Perhaps something will trigger a memory. Perhaps, though you did not know Jessica very well – or at all, you relate in some way to a specific comment – or many comments – of hers. Perhaps you simply have something in general you’d like to say. If you’re referring to a specific line, don’t forget to write the line’s number in your comment. All I ask is that posts reflect your perspective of something about Jessica’s life, or her ‘Random Facts’ below. Obviously if you choose not to comment, that’s totally fine. It is my hope that you thoroughly enjoy Jessie’s reflections just the same.

If you knew Jessica, you may disregard the below paragraph and go directly to ‘25 Random Facts’ below.
With the understanding that this blog has a reach beyond my immediate family and friends, I’ll briefly restate the events of that fateful day.
In the middle of the night of last April 11th, 2009, I received a phone call from my son telling me that Jessica was in trouble. He didn’t know much, only that she’d collapsed at home in her husband Matt’s arms, had been in the emergency room of a local Mesa, Arizona hospital for most of the evening, and now had been taken to the intensive care unit. Jessica passed – went *home* – the following morning, shortly before her mother, brother, and myself, having flown to Phoenix from three different airports, could get to the hospital.

That said, Here goes…
 

1. I LOVE chap stick. I’m obsessed with it. I put it on all day long and every time, I put on *exactly* 8 coats on each lip.

2. I’m horribly insecure. I like to say that I don’t care what others think about me but in reality, I care TOO much.

3. If I could pick a perfect temperature, it would be 72 degrees all year long. Why am I living in Arizona then?

4. I can’t get enough time with my dog Meeko. He’s been my companion during the days these last couple years. He’s a midget with no legs and thinks he’s a cat most of the time. He’s severely confused and it makes me laugh all the time. He’s the perfect pet!

5. I carry 2 chap sticks in my pocket all the time… Mine in my right pocket, Meeko’s in my left pocket. Okay so this is mostly a weird fact about him, but I crack up and giggle every time he licks his chap stick. He looks like a baby sucking on a bottle when he does it. He LOVES it!

6. I’m a sucker for Mexican food. Namely, enchiladas. I could eat them every day for the rest of my life and be happy.

7. Even though I have a *ton* of medical issues since, I am still glad I had the gastric bypass. I can’t imagine being that overweight again.

8. I don’t have many close friends anymore. My close girlfriends now consist of Vanessa, (who will always be my bestest girlfriend) Jen, Kristen and my cousin Christine. I don’t see them enough and it hurts.

9. I love to laugh but don’t get the chance as much these days. My husband Matt can always make me laugh though. I don’t think he realizes how well… But sometimes it is just the look on his face when he’s doing something cute or some side-comment he makes. That man *always* knows how to make me laugh, whether he realizes it or not.

10. I am still heart broken over my parent’s divorce. I put on a strong face for them, to be supportive of them and not let them see my pain… But it still breaks my heart. What in the heck happened to my family?

11. I’m scared for my/our future. I don’t know how it could get better, considering the circumstances, but I have faith that God can do anything.

12. A couple of my absolute favorite foods: Got Sushi! chimi rolls, (the BOMB!). Filly’s medium wings with lots of ranch. Macayo’s baja chicken enchiladas. If I ever did move away from here, I’d lose a lot of weight!

13. I have no idea what to do with my life. Broken and disabled… I know what I want but have no clue how to get there. Nor do I know which foot to put forth first.

14. I have an irrational fear of failure. So much so that it handicaps me every day.

15. I’m absolutely obsessed with pens. I *rarely* write anything anymore, (besides the occasional shopping list) but I still insist on having 138 pens at all times. No wonder my purse is so heavy!

16. I used to be the girl who liked the “pretty boys”. You know, the ones with great hair. I married a man with none. (giggling) I think he still wishes for a full head of hair but I would never have it. Not even if he was given a free ticket to the hair club for men or something. I like his bald head. And there is something strangely soothing about running my hands over the peach fuzz on the back of his head.

17. I am completely obsessed with my niece Sarah. My brother finally has a kid and I cannot get enough. I live for new photos and videos of her as well as times to web-cam with her. I *love* the way she says my name.

18. I love Mountain Dew Code Red. It tastes like carbonated fruit punch and has the amount of caffeine I need to get through the day. And in a large cup with LOTS of ice.

19. I don’t like any other type of soda. Too thick! If I have my druthers, its either Code Red or sweetened ice tea.

20. Some of the cutest things my husband does, (that reaffirm that I’m in love with him, every day) the look on his face when he wakes up and sees me there… The little “mmMmmm” sound he makes in my ear when he’s completely asleep and cuddles up behind me… And of course, the cute little, mangled face he makes when he’s playing the drums. That last one makes me giggle uncontrollably, every time!

21. I love movies. I can watch them all day long. And I usually go to sleep every night while watching one, too.

22. I have to sleep with earplugs… Every night! It gets old, but at least that’s the way I can sleep next to my bear-snoring of a hubby.

23. I have a fascination with bugs and creepy-crawlies. They really give me the heebies but I can’t help it. I can’t seem to stop myself from watching them and looking for them.

24. I love the smell of office supplies. The more the better!

25. The only dream I have left for my life is to be a mother. I want to experience pregnancy, delivery, nursing. All of it! It’s the only dream I haven’t already experienced, the #1 dream I’ve had all my life… And it may very well be the one I don’t ever experience.

At sunset I was driving just south of a little berg called Wheeler Ridge when the reflected glow of orange-to-red rays of sunlight lit the bottoms of dark gray clouds scattered across the valley sky. This, combined with vivid purple wildflowers which covered the ground – literally in the millions – created an ethereal scene that fooled my senses. The purple ground cover, illuminated by the reflected dusk, had the appearance of actually glowing from within. It was such a striking effect that a number of motorists had pulled off the shoulder of the freeway to take photographs. Not in the frame of mind to haul my camera out and do the same, I’d simply taken it all in as I continued my journey south.

Now descending the southern portion of the Grapevine after having stopped for gas as well as to stretch in the town of Lebec, I was road-weary. As I drove through the Castaic Valley, I listened to a compact disk I’d made the day before. The volume on the van’s CD player was far louder than I’d have had it if someone else were in the car with me. Thoughts of the past decade had been drifting through my mind all day. Hopes for that which lies ahead were, too. This is a bittersweet move in ways. As I’d mentioned in a previous writing, I’m consciously bringing this chapter of my life to a close. It’s sort of like having surgery. In operating on someone’s body, the intent is to restore, to make it well, to fix that which has been broken or is not working properly. The thing is, the surgeon must inflict intentional wounds in order to make things right. Yet healing from surgery is far better than going on – without being whole. I think of the Apostle Paul in Phillipians, chapter 3; I press on – I do not want to finish this life without laying hold of that for which Christ Jesus laid hold of me for. I guess you could say that I’m going through a sort of surgery for the soul. I’m chuckling to myself as I write – thinking, “It’s sort of like ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul’, but a lot more severe.” Yep, I like that, I’ll not edit that line out – it is fitting.

Reaching La Crescenta, a smallish, unincorporated community in Los Angeles County about sixteen miles north-northwest of downtown L.A., I pulled my van into my friend Terry’s driveway. After gathering my things, I stepped out of the van – and into a warm, welcoming hug. I was tired. It had been decided that dinner would be barbecued steaks, it was too late to go out. That sounded lots better to me than getting back into a car and traveling – even if it would be just across town. Terry’s son grilled Rib Eye’s for all of us, they were fabulous. These are familiar surroundings – Terry and her father Lloyd have been close friends for many years. After dinner I hung around and visited for a short while, then said goodnight and headed out. Food in my stomach had sealed my intentions – I needed to get some sleep.

My night was restless. Changes – a lot of them at one time – can cause one to tilt off-balance for a time. I’m doing what I need to do in taking care of myself – mostly through reframing my thoughts when there is more than one perspective to be seen. It is infinitely more difficult to reframe while asleep – I don’t believe it’s actually possible – the mind will go where it needs to go and mine was buzzing with activity as I tried to sleep. Physically, an old billboard climbing injury to my left knee has flared with all of the activity connected to my move. There are few things I like less than being awakened by pain, and my knee bothered me, aching intermittently throughout the night. I finally drifted off around first light, and slept soundly for a couple of hours.

My move is going along well, I’m getting down there. I had to stop yesterday and today in order to sift through a mountain of paperwork for taxes, etc. Having nearly completed the task, it’s time to get back to boxing my remaining stuff. I’ve had a couple of kind offers for help, yet the stuff I have left to pack are largely things which require my personal attention.

Though I believe I’m doing the right thing on a number of levels, I’m doing my best to shake off lingering doubts which annoyingly lurk in the periphery of my mind, my heart. Doubts such as unanswered questions about my future, the fact that I am putting a greater distance between myself and many whom I care deeply for, etc. A habit I’ve been reengaging in with the intent of being single-minded is in the ability to ‘reframe’ my thoughts, to get underneath and to peel back the layers of a thing. It really helps in my coming to a place of peacefully trusting God. I certainly don’t usually start there. The scripture in 2 Corinthians 10:5 comes to mind, “…casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.” A good example is when, a number of months ago while in the throes of grief and despair, a woman commented, “I’ve never lost a child, but I had this dog…” I think I may have written about it in a previous post here. Anyway, I was initially shocked. I began to angrily ask myself why she would make such a clueless comment. “Reframe, John, reframe, take these thoughts captive.” I soon realized that her intention was to comfort me, she was trying her best to relate, not to offend. Although she was reaching, she (thankfully) had no real point of reference. I asked God to forgive my assuming the worst – and was able to let it go quickly, before getting too worked up over it.

I’m re-framing a lot today, and doing my best to remember the things presently weighing me down are earthly cares.

I’m also realizing as I write that I have had a couple of *blocks* in returning to my packing. There sits on one of my couches a couple of small bags. They have been in the same spot for more than a month, because they are a precious few of Jessica’s personal belongings. Inside the bags are an old personalized “CHEEZY” license plate, a number of photos, some of her most prized pieces of jewelry, and a couple of gifts I’d bought for her – all of which I value – I just had no idea I’d be inheriting them. Now I’m beginning to cry – no need to reframe when it comes to remembering my girl. I also have a beautiful forest green cloth satchel in my bedroom, a gift from a friend, which contains the urn that held Jess’ remains. It is the same one I carried from Arizona in September, then Matt took to Gualala when he cast them into the sea. I’ve opened it once since our family made the trip in November – only to see the dust covered, copper-colored urn inside, still in the burgundy satin cloth I’d reverently, lovingly wrapped around it. The satchel has remained unopened since.

Okay, a short break and the tears have stopped, I actually feel better. Catharsis, related to just letting the tears fall, is my guess. I find a cathartic release through both music and writing as well. In adjusting my focus, I believe it’s time to pack these things. I’ll not store them – they shall go where I go. Part of closing this chapter of my life is in closing the figurative door, as much as I am able, to the intense sadness and heartache which has accompanied Jessica’s death. In less than a month, it will be a year since she passed. I will remember her on that day in my new digs. That’s one of the reasons I decided to move on sooner than later. I’ve known from the beginning that I could not, would not, stay in the emotionally spent, depressed and just plain downtrodden mindset I’ve been in. Yet the balance for me is, it’s my opinion that each grieves in a distinct manner – and I have been careful to not pin myself down with laying expectations upon myself that I have not had the emotional reserve to fulfill. I find the pain is and will be there, yet my memories are changing from replaying that horrible day over and over a million times in graphic detail, as well as replaying thoughts of the night before as described to me, when she collapsed in Matt’s arms – to remembering Jessica in life.