Dear Jordan

Just when I thought I was sailing through the fifth anniversary of your death (September 8^th) with ease, I am beginning to recognize that is not entirely accurate. I should have been tipped off by my leaky eyes on a long car drive, in the shower, and most recently at work within the past few weeks. While this may be normal for some, it certainly is not for me. The enduring sadness that lingers as a result of your physical absence in our lives is especially difficult to bear this time of year.

I made some efforts to keep my grief at bay. Small whisps of retail therapy, my personal favorite for those keeping track, to decorate my front porch. Three stunning chrysanthemums ought to do the trick. A few terracotta pumpkins on their way from Amazon to fully embrace the fall temps and most beautiful season of the year. And yet, these fun and possibly unnecessary items didn’t combat the emotional fragility that September brings.

I have been workshopping a few ideas for a proper name to represent this phenomenon for quite some time. September sadness. Griefy September. Melancholy month. September slump. The jury’s still out on a front runner but they all fit the descriptive criteria nicely.

In a lot of ways, it feels incredibly unfair that you died… full stop. But, more specifically in September. A month representative of the visual transition into a new season, the return of football, and back-to-school time. Not to mention a month with many dates worth celebrating including our wedding anniversary and your birthday. September used to be my favorite month and sometimes it feels as though your death stripped away the joys of September future, present, and yesteryear. I certainly hope it won’t always feel this way.

Sidebar, stick with me…. I swear this may just be a poorly executed segway into meaningful takeaways. I’m not well known for my brilliant, chronological storytelling abilities so welcome to my brain.

I recently attended a grief conference (for FUN) and was enthralled by the remarkable work of professionals in the grief space. Months prior, I attempted to persuade a few co-workers and family members to go on a grief cruise with me. Education and vacation all in one seaworthy package. What more could a person desire?! Much to my dismay, my attempts were not met with much enthusiasm, so I enrolled in an online conference instead. All my rambling aside, a particularly important point made by grief expert and author, David Kessler, during the conference strongly resonated with me. He stated, “Pain from loss is inevitable, suffering is optional.”

This statement paints an accurate picture of my acute grief experience. It is undeniable that in the first few years after your death, I lived in a world of negative cognition and survival mode. And, hey, it served a purpose. Delia and I survived and maybe on certain days even thrived. Though the many moves, changes, and adaptations required on my part undoubtedly took a toll and a level of uncertainty for the future remained. And then, I had a birthday party.

Turning the big 3-0 felt important. Even more monumental in my mind knowing you died just weeks shy of your 30^th birthday. This propelled my decision to celebrate though I don’t typically consider myself a “birthday person”. Luckily, I had devoted family and friends who were willing to drive short and far distances in blizzard-like conditions to help usher me into a new decade. It was a weekend full of catching up, laughter, Catchprase, and wine in a cabin in the woods. This proved to be restorative for my soul. Sure, the wine helped. But it was truly one of the first times I remember fully embracing the present and enjoying life after your death. And wow, was it incredibly important as I forged my comeback from operating in a slightly dissociative state and into a full-blown life participant again.

Grief is certainly a formidable and inconvenient opponent at times, but also an incredible teacher. I continue to learn so much about myself through the deep wound that losing you created. That in life and in grief there is duality. Amazing and soul-crushing experiences. Days full of wonder and gratitude and days of solace and sorrow. I strive to fully embrace the all-encompassing emotions that accompany grief and transition them to reflective and restorative practices. By doing things like this, writing, which has been something I set aside during graduate school and lacked the capacity for at the time. I can no longer use that as an excuse or diminish the necessity of implementing activities that tend to my grief. It helps me feel closer to you and for that I am always grateful.  

In many ways, September may eventually be a reminder of the incredible feat of survival that occurred in the depths of grief over the loss of an incredible dad, husband, son, brother, friend, teammate, co-worker, etc. Here we stand five years later and what a journey it has been. You inspired so many in your presence and you continue to do so in your absence. You are missed beyond measure.