life, love, loss...love

a couple weeks ago, Jordan and i got an email from a producer who works at channel 11, one of the local news stations in new york. she informed us that they wanted to feature the love story of a nyc couple for valentine's day, and they were hoping to interview us for the segment.

we were pretty excited and honored, so we quickly agreed. a few days later, a tv crew and long-time ny tv personality, mr. g, were in our living room asking us questions about our lives -- and all of the tragedy, suffering, surprise, and joy that has made up the last five years.

during one part of the interview, we walked down 8th ave in harlem, talking to mr. g as we were filmed. it was pretty hilarious to see people stealthily snap photos of us with their camera phones. my guess is that they were thinking, "i have no idea who these people are, but i'm gonna take their pic in case they happen to be somebody." ha!

while we were really excited for the piece to air, it's pretty nerve-wracking to sit for a two-hour interview and know it will be condensed into a four-minute segment. thankfully, we had a lot of faith in the crew and their skills.

on friday, february 14, we made our way to queens so we could watch the segment live with Jordan's 86-year-old grandmother. it was amazing to see her reaction and to receive her encouragement after it aired. Jordan was smiling from ear to ear. i shed a few tears (what else is new?). and we were both really happy to see how the segment included beautiful photos of Jarronn and Danielle.

you can watch the segment by clicking the link below.

It's A G Thing: Life, Love, Loss...Love: Follow the Journey of Jessica and Jordan. This is a story about a newlywed couple who found each other, only after both losing their significant others in the most tragic way.

three years

today is three years since Jarronn passed away. in many ways, the time has flown. i’ve been a lot of places. accomplished a lot of goals. built relationships with some amazing people. in other ways, it’s gone by so slowly. as though i’ve been waiting for time to pass, checking the clock every so often to see how long i’ve maintained.

milestones like these confuse me. on one hand, having a hard, round number to reference seems like it should mean something. that three years after something, i should be far away enough for it to hurt a little less. far away enough for me to have fully embraced my new normal. far away enough for people to not feel so uncomfortable when it comes up in conversation. far away enough to have perhaps even uncovered some life lessons.

and for the most part, all of that is true.

on the other hand, the number seems meaningless. there are still moments of intense missing, of hard sobs, of deep questioning. i can say that those moments have gotten further and further apart. but i’m often caught off guard by how much still prompts me to think of Jarronn in the course of any given day. not just on anniversary dates.

and yet, today is hard. in fact, the days leading up to today have been hard. i have a lot to do, and i'm not sure how it will get done, because there's a pain shifting between my head, neck, and shoulders, mainly due to tension caused by holding back tears and a concerted effort to space out my sniffles, so people around me won’t suspect anything.

in general, i’m at a loss for what to say, though i thought it important to say something today.

in general, i want people to know that while today is hard, i still have hope. to be honest, i’m a little surprised by how much hope i still need, even after three years.

change is

change is the only constant.

sometimes that's good. sometimes it's just a fact.

sometimes it's sad. especially when something you cared about, that felt familiar and consistent, isn't or can't be anything more than a memory on which you reflect.

wondering how or why it changed. measuring the distance between the past and the current reality.

but my mom is a wise woman, and i'll reflect on one of her phrases:

live the moment fully, love it joyfully, leave it gratefully... 
- jennifer tomlinson moreland

when i was 16

getting settled into my new place has been a steady process. i sold a lot of the furniture from the house and had to get new things that would fit in a space that's 1/3 the size of the old place.

it's been a constant flow of adding a new piece, unpacking another box, and finding space to put things away. over the weekend, i got through one of the final boxes, which contained binders and folders and other miscellaneous items from our office.

i came across a blue mead notebook, which served as my journal when i was 15/16. i was never really good at keeping a daily journal and have made several poor attempts to do so. i guess having recognized that about myself, this particular journal was more like a collection of "essays" about different subjects. it also had corresponding collages of photos and magazine clippings that related to the different topics.

flipping through the pages was pretty interesting. first, it's obvious that everything in the life of a 15-year-old seems far more dramatic than it actually is. as i read over my take on school (i was kind of angry), my first love (i was worse than a bad soap opera), and age (i was so ready to be grown), i couldn't help but recognize how time provides perspective.

i was also surprised to see that there was an essay dedicated to the topic of "death."

it seems that 10 years before Jarronn's passing, i was dealing with events such as the massacre at Columbine and my grandfather's deteriorating health -- all of which made me reflect on my own mortality, my beliefs about the after life, and the impact of losing a loved one.

in my reflection, i acknowledged that death was a part of life but still wrote that i couldn't comprehend the idea of my mom, dad, brother, or friends suddenly dying.

"we're supposed to be invincible, so how can my friends die? and how would i live afterwards? how could i look at the world in the same light? my shield will be shattered to pieces."

(i told y'all i was dramatic).

the truth is, even after maturing by 10 years, this was one perspective that didn't really change. while i knew i'd keep living, imagining a new reality after Jarronn died was extremely difficult. and 10 more years from now, i'm not sure that the sudden death of any of my loved ones will be easier to face. 

but reading this, i thought about being able to respond to my 16-year-old self's questions and tell her - "nothing can really prepare you, but you'll just find a way."

good reading

as a lead up to the 10-year anniversary of 9/11, the washington post has been featuring a series of stories focused on different people/families affected by the events of that day.

one particular article focused on a widow and her family, 10 years later, dealing with their "new normal." though the circumstances of Jarronn's death are certainly different, i found the article deeply moving and could relate to so much that was described in it, even some of the words the widow used are ones i've heard come out my own mouth. a few examples...

being ok, but being a mess. 

not expecting to get better, and not knowing if you want to, because what does that really mean?

     searching for an identity outside of the loss. 

losing 10 pounds in a week. 

selective self-disclosure. 

     "i guess God thinks i am stronger than i thought." 

trying to draw the line between remembering and living. 

feeling like it's foolish to plan ahead. 

     and there's no such thing as perfect control. sometimes planes crash. 

it's a long read, but i think it's really worthwhile. as someone who spends a lot of time writing, i thought the reporter (eli saslow) did an exceptional job.

9/11 widow still trying to find her new normal since the Pentagon attack

the paradox of grief

to lose means that you once had.

and that, in itself, is something to be cherished.

an example

this morning i attended a funeral. the grandmother of my Godsisters -- mrs. kirk, as i called her -- passed away. in some ways, funerals have taken on a whole new meaning for me. now that i've had to plan out the details. give the remarks. sit in the front row. as i sat in my seat, i was struck by the fact that whether a person has lived a full life or has been sick for years or dies suddenly, a loss is a loss. even for those of us who fully believe that there's life beyond physical death.

while i experienced my share of tears, it was a beautiful service for a beautiful woman. a woman who exuded grace and love. and a woman who i truly admired. she was a wife. a mother. a teacher for more than 25 years. a great cook. a great card player. and she encouraged her granddaughters to "play the game of life successfully, effectively, and ethically, even in a world where the men were born with four aces in hand."

while many people know me as the one who can be lively and tell stories and laugh loudly, there's a part of me that wishes i was like mrs. kirk. that i had a quiet confidence. an unspoken steadiness. sophisticated beauty. a tender voice known for its wisdom.

mrs. kirk and her husband, dr. kirk, were married for more than 63 years. (in fact, he made sure to mention during his remarks that they were married for "63 and a half years.") when i looked at them together, i saw the kind of marriage i hoped to have for myself. one of commitment. and devotion. and love. a marriage that had built a beautiful family with lawyers and engineers and doctors. a marriage that had built traditions and instilled values. a marriage that made the world a better place. a marriage that truly represented the intertwining of two lives.

she and her husband set the example.

during her eulogy, her pastor turned to dr. kirk and spoke of how intertwined their lives had been. how she feared the thought of being without him. that the renewing of their vows last summer, on their 63rd wedding anniversary, had been such a special way to tell her that she'd never go without him. that at a time when she felt that her illness was such a burden, her husband reminded her of his undying love. and the pastor spoke of how while it may be difficult, dr. kirk is giving a gift to mrs. kirk by being the one to bear the loneliness, as opposed to the other way around.

wow. perhaps i can look at my own situation like this. perhaps my faith was stronger and able to bear this level of loss in a way that Jarronn could not have. would not have. perhaps my continuing on is me giving him a gift. the gift of dying and resting at his happiest -- successful in faith. in love. in friendship. in health. in career. in living life passionately.