It's sort of a somber count down party of one in my household as her death date approaches. Tim doesn't talk about it at all and doesn't make time to visit the cemetery. His escape, if she's on his mind, is the same as with all other situations: copious amounts of sleep.
I checked in with Jake the other night while making dinner. I asked him if the date approaching caused him stress. His answer surprised me a little, but thinking it over today while leaving the cemetery, it was also completely Jacob: calm, logical, and loving.
"Jake, how are you feeling about the fifth coming up? Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine.", he reassured me. "I mean, it's sort of an arbitrary date for me."
Forcing myself not to bristle at "arbitrary" since the date holds such significance to me, I continued filling my pot with water and paused. In my mind, I was wondering how that date didn't just set him on fire the way it does me, but I reminded myself that he wasn't at the scene. (Thank goodness!) Sometimes because that experience has impacted me so much, I forget that no one I know or love was with me when I found her or when they told me she was gone. I somehow automatically include the people that have supported me throughout the years, assuming they have the same memories that I do, when I should be so grateful they do not.
I reminded myself that although he has talked about remembering vividly the moment I got on my knees in our dining room to tell him Cory didn't make it nearly eight years ago, he was only ten years old, shocked, frightened, and unable to fully process what had just happened. His perspective as a child would and should be completely different.
Not looking directly at him (a strategy I've learned over the years puts him more at ease to open up), I invited, "Yeah? Tell me more."
He responded that Cory's presence and absence in his life is constant and static. For him, there is not much of an ebb and flow. She is always with him and she is always missing. He has adapted the best he can. "There's not much else I can do, but love her."
We continued moving around each other in the kitchen as we prepared our food, joking around and asking Alexa to play our favorite songs. A couple of beats later, he volunteered, "It's only really hard for me because it's so hard on you."
At this point, he puts his arm around my shoulder and draws me close, which is precious because of its rarity. He is a reserved soul. Finding myself still surprised to have to look up at him now that he's taller than me, I responded, "I hope I don't cause you to worry."
He answered, "No, I wouldn't say worry. But when you're really sad, it makes me sad, too, cause I love you."
And that is Jacob. We ate our dinner and nothing more on the topic was said. He is quiet, but steady in his love and compassion.
Tonight or tomorrow we'll either visit the cemetery together or he'll accompany me to the road, a place I only visit twice a year. He will be the same at either of her spots- respectful, supportive, and steadfast. Our little family of three triangle from so many years ago will come together again. I hope Cory can somehow see the man her little brother is turning out to be...how I wish they knew each other now.
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