James Lee Jobe

Here is a bit of my story. This was 11 months after losing my son, who was 25. It's been over 4 years now. Usually, since Will's death, I sleep in one hour increments. get up for a bit, and repeat. I might get 3 or 4 hours that way. Last night I had 10 or 15 increments of sleep, and by 4AM I couldn't bear it anymore. Laying down just opens the door to more grief.

In the darkness, my son's death is with me, like the monolith in 2001 A Space Odyssey, urging the primates to fight. Only I am urged to weep, and I do.

And all of this is at 11 months. Shouldn't I be stronger, be better by now? Evidently not. I still fall apart daily.

Through openly accepting my grief I have come to see myself and others in a different light. My son died, and there are people in my family who have never said a word to me about it, haven't contacted me in any way, in eleven months. The same goes for people that I spent 20 years working with -- not a word.

Expectations will kick you right in the heart. In truth, no one owes me a thing, and it is pointless to expect anything from others. It is possible that I have been an annoyance to these people for all of these years, that any real relationships were only in my mind. Just like me, they get to choose who to love and who not to love.

And also the opposite happened. People I didn't feel all that close to stepped up and embraced me, embraced my wife. They held us in their hearts and in their arms. Some did huge things, like help plan and carry out my son's memorial service. Some prepared meals and brought them to us, so we didn't have to cook in our grief. I especially loved that; trying to cook a decent meal when you are grieving your child's death is a dark duty. People quietly left flowers on the porch, often anonymously. Many, many people sent cards. I read and reread every one.

So just like I didn't know which people didn't give a damn about me and my family, I also didn't know which ones did! Looks like the fool is me!

I know better now who my family truly is. Not the people I was raised with, but the people of the community where I live. My church is my family. My neighbors. My townsfolk. I feel awake, grieving, but awake and in touch with the goodness around me. And I am letting go of the past, finally, completely.

There is only the present, right now. This moment. And I chose to live it here in Davis, California, surrounded by the people I care about.

Truly. 

-James Lee Jobe