August 21, 2019
August 21, 2019
CELEBRATING Joey
... another year
........ another 365 days
.... Feels like yesterday
........ 9 years
~Anniversaries of loss feel like a big 747 approaching the landing strip
Heavy, noisy. Old. Loud.~
And i can hear it coming for a while.
I know it’s arriving at a specific time, on schedule.
And I am supposed to get on it.
Ride that plane for the day.
Ride its heaviness.
This plane is slow.
It swoops me up.
It takes forever to get to the destination of tomorrow.
But i feel there is no other way to get to the next day but ride the plane of the anniversary of my loss.
It is not a birthday.
It is simply a death day.
I am so very sorry to call it with its own name.
I remember riding that plane during the first few anniversaries.
Honestly I was nauseous.
Everything came back.
The hospice .
The last tragic days.
The oxygen masks.
My kids saying goodbye to their dad.
I mean.. talk about torture.
Bring out the knives.
That anniversary plane is not fun.
It is all about the death day.
And not about the man I was in love with away from the hospital beds, the morphine and the pain.
It has nothing to do with honoring him.
Nothing at all.
I am honoring death every time I take the anniversary plane.
So 10 anniversaries later the plane is approaching…my date is August 21st.
And I am standing at the terminal gate.
I can hear it arriving. Heavy, loud. Slow.
And all the death memories are flashing before my eyes even before my boarding.
I have to ask myself is this what I have to go through every single year and is this remembering him?
The answer was a big loud NO. Louder than the plane.
I leave the terminal and run.
Running away from the anniversary plane.
Where do I go instead?
To the beach.
To the places we visited.
I will talk about him to people who never knew him.
I will smile when I say his name.
Yes it is sad.
Yes there are tears.
Yes it sucks.
I am sorry there is no way around this.
My heart feels heavy.
But I won’t get on the death day plane.
I run away and find the sky, the moon, the sea.
The memories. The journey. The celebration.
On his birthday me and our son prepare a nice dinner, my son makes his dad's potato salad recipe.
We sing and share a favorite memory or two.
In a couple weeks he would have been 42, and then in a few days after that he would be gone for 9 years.
The plane will not be visiting me anymore.
There is nobody waiting at the terminal.
From where I am standing those anniversaries are excuses to celebrate the life of the man who is the father of my kids.
The man who taught ME how to be a warrior through his 10 month battle with the beast people call cancer.
The man who showed me how much he loved life and how much he did not want to say goodbye to his kids.
Yes its sad, and unfair and not what happens to most 41 year olds but that stream of thought takes me back to the plane.
And that is not where he would want me to be.
He said to me once. “Jill, look at the big picture. The first couple of years will be tough but after that you have to make sure you get to live.”
If he knew about the anniversary plane, he would smile and shake his head and say it is not where he lives.
It is not where his legacy is.
His legacy is inside of me.
And in the lives of our kids.
Go. Go. Go. Remember me, but don’t get on that plane.
~Healing only lives in celebrating the lives of the ones we have lost, not how they died.~
Joseph A. Bollman
9/24/68 - 06 8/21/2010
... another year
........ another 365 days
.... Feels like yesterday
........ 9 years
~Anniversaries of loss feel like a big 747 approaching the landing strip
Heavy, noisy. Old. Loud.~
And i can hear it coming for a while.
I know it’s arriving at a specific time, on schedule.
And I am supposed to get on it.
Ride that plane for the day.
Ride its heaviness.
This plane is slow.
It swoops me up.
It takes forever to get to the destination of tomorrow.
But i feel there is no other way to get to the next day but ride the plane of the anniversary of my loss.
It is not a birthday.
It is simply a death day.
I am so very sorry to call it with its own name.
I remember riding that plane during the first few anniversaries.
Honestly I was nauseous.
Everything came back.
The hospice .
The last tragic days.
The oxygen masks.
My kids saying goodbye to their dad.
I mean.. talk about torture.
Bring out the knives.
That anniversary plane is not fun.
It is all about the death day.
And not about the man I was in love with away from the hospital beds, the morphine and the pain.
It has nothing to do with honoring him.
Nothing at all.
I am honoring death every time I take the anniversary plane.
So 10 anniversaries later the plane is approaching…my date is August 21st.
And I am standing at the terminal gate.
I can hear it arriving. Heavy, loud. Slow.
And all the death memories are flashing before my eyes even before my boarding.
I have to ask myself is this what I have to go through every single year and is this remembering him?
The answer was a big loud NO. Louder than the plane.
I leave the terminal and run.
Running away from the anniversary plane.
Where do I go instead?
To the beach.
To the places we visited.
I will talk about him to people who never knew him.
I will smile when I say his name.
Yes it is sad.
Yes there are tears.
Yes it sucks.
I am sorry there is no way around this.
My heart feels heavy.
But I won’t get on the death day plane.
I run away and find the sky, the moon, the sea.
The memories. The journey. The celebration.
On his birthday me and our son prepare a nice dinner, my son makes his dad's potato salad recipe.
We sing and share a favorite memory or two.
In a couple weeks he would have been 42, and then in a few days after that he would be gone for 9 years.
The plane will not be visiting me anymore.
There is nobody waiting at the terminal.
From where I am standing those anniversaries are excuses to celebrate the life of the man who is the father of my kids.
The man who taught ME how to be a warrior through his 10 month battle with the beast people call cancer.
The man who showed me how much he loved life and how much he did not want to say goodbye to his kids.
Yes its sad, and unfair and not what happens to most 41 year olds but that stream of thought takes me back to the plane.
And that is not where he would want me to be.
He said to me once. “Jill, look at the big picture. The first couple of years will be tough but after that you have to make sure you get to live.”
If he knew about the anniversary plane, he would smile and shake his head and say it is not where he lives.
It is not where his legacy is.
His legacy is inside of me.
And in the lives of our kids.
Go. Go. Go. Remember me, but don’t get on that plane.
~Healing only lives in celebrating the lives of the ones we have lost, not how they died.~
Joseph A. Bollman
9/24/68 - 06 8/21/2010
