Jase is one of the very first friends I made through the blog world and Twitter. I connected with him and his then fiance Traci. We read and commented regularly on each other’s blogs. Jase and Traci were both very supportive when Amy passed away. Sadly enough I got to return the favor and offer what I could (an ear to listen) when Jase lost Traci last December. I am so honored and grateful to have Jase here sharing the story of his loss, grief, and the healing he has found through love. He has included both of his blog addresses here so you can find those if you’d like to read more from him.
A click, a loss and the aftermath …
Early in 2009 I was given a second chance by my then girlfriend.
The quick backstory is I’d cheated on her, but it wasn’t just the matter of me cheating. The truth is I’d been a cheater for years. I cheated on my first wife. I cheated on the people I was cheating with. And after finding Traci and falling in love with her, I cheated on her. I was a serial cheater and looked everywhere for an explanation … or so I thought.
In late 2008 we separated, I moved out and not long after that I realized I was throwing away a pretty incredible relationship. And, admitting that to her, I fought hard to win her back, but she told me no. Repeatedly.
She told me I needed to change.
And over time, through honesty, hard work and determination, I did, and she was willing to take me back.
My click came during a gut-wrenching phone call made to my parents. Specifically I called to ask for advice from my father before I moved back home to Traci. I was in tears, frantic, scared.
During the course of our conversation he told me that the choices I make are mine, and that he and mom would support any decision I made. He told me he could tell me what to do, but wouldn’t, because the burden of that choice, good or bad, would be his, and not mine. He also told me that I needed to live up to and honor whatever choice I made.
I don’t remember his exact words, but they were something like this.
“You need to stop messing around. You’re not a kid anymore, there’s no status in what you’re doing. If you don’t stop it, you’re going to grow up to be a bitter, lonely old man.”
He went on.
“Your mother and I have had our share of problems. We’ve fought like crazy. But I honored her each night by walking in that door. I may not have wanted to walk in it, but I did it every night. You need to do that.”
My dad’s an emotional guy as it is, but as he said this he was choked up and I knew he was crying.
His words cut to my core. They weren’t spoken in anger or as an admonishment. They were spoken in a somber, gentle tone, almost like a request … like one last lifeline he had to throw out to his son.
Through meditation I’d already begun to change, but hearing my father’s words, the emotion in his voice, the anguish both he and my mother expressed over the phone, it finally clicked.
I cheated because I was immature and selfish. I’d looked everywhere for an explanation for my behavior except for the one place that mattered … myself. My choices were completely within my control and I needed to stop looking outside of myself for an explanation and own up to it and take responsibility for my actions.
I vowed, from that moment on, to clean up, to honor Traci and honor our relationship. And I did. From that moment on, the beginning of April 2009, I was faithful in word, thought and deed.
Our relationship bloomed again. We reconnected. We made wedding plans for January 2010. There were challenges, but we fought through them together. We had an amazing eight months.
Yes, I say had.
On December 10, 2009, moments before she was to meet me for our commute home together, there was an accident. I frantically texted her, called her, hoping to hear her voice and find that she was ok.
She never answered.
In a moment, a heartbeat, I’d lost everything I’d fought so hard to get back.
I’d never again kiss the woman I’d kissed goodbye that morning. I’d never feel her head on my shoulder. I’d never feel her hand in mine.
I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.
The plans we’d made, the hopes we’d shared, the dreams we’d dreamed together … were gone.
I could write thousands of words and I’m not sure I could convey the depth of my loss. My wish is that none of you would ever have to endure it.
In the weeks that followed I realized I had a choice (As an aside, I’m not trying to minimize what I went through … in the interest of space and the time, I’m condensing things quite a bit. If you’d like to read more about my journey you can visit my blog – hopeintheaftermath.wordpress.com).
I could wallow in my grief, cloak myself in my loss and be a victim. Or I could do my best to pick up the pieces and move on.
Or, as I told someone at the time, “I could either own this, or it could own me.”
Which goes back to my click.
It came down to me being responsible for how I dealt with the loss. I could throw away all the progress I’d made, all the positive changes I’d made, and return to old ways and self-destructive habits.
Or, I could take the lessons I learned on my own, and the lessons that Traci taught me, and I could choose to take the hard way out, to fight to see the positive when everything was bleak. I could choose to be as strong as I could at any given moment, understanding my limitations, and be the dad and man I needed to be.
I could choose, simply put, to live. Another click.
And as I looked at it, I saw no better way to honor Traci’s memory, and what she taught me, and the relationship we had, than to live the life I’d fought so hard to rebuild.
So I made that choice … and some days were better than others. Some days my grief was debilitating. Some days I managed to laugh and smile. Some days I just did what I could to get through the day.
But I didn’t give up.
Winter gave way to Spring and in early May, while on Facebook, I came across the name of an old high school sweetheart. I’d not seen her, heard from her or really even thought of her since we were kids – 22 years ago.
But I sent Ketra a friend request and a message, just wondering how she’d been, what she was doing.
As it turned out, her life was in roughly the same place as mine, though for different reasons. So we began to talk … innocently at first. But the more we talked, the more we both knew something bigger than we’d expected was happening.
We ended up sharing our complete stories, the good, the bad, the ugly … as I put it, warts and all. There was no holding back. There were no walls. Just two people – who for so long hid behind walls and other means of protecting themselves – being vulnerable.
She invited me out to see her in San Diego. I accepted and we planned a June visit. As May gave into June we realized we’d fallen for each other, again, and the visit would be more than just two old friends hanging out.
We talked a lot about where we’d been and what we’d gone through. I told her a lot of the things I’ve written here, the bad, and the good. She did the same for me.
And that weekend, in the desert, with the winds blowing through the palms as we sat and talked for hours, we began to talk about forever. In the dark I took her hand and I asked her to marry me.
And she said yes.
She showed me faith and trust, and my father’s words still rung in my ear … “…I honored her each night by walking in that door…”
As I write this, Ketra is days away from moving back home to me, and to walking into the door that is the gateway to our home.
And I come back to my click moment.
Sometimes I wonder, fearfully, where I would be were it not for my click?
Had I not changed, would I have been able to survive the loss that I experienced?
Had I not honored Traci for the last eight months we were together, would the guilt, literally, have killed me?
Had I not grown up, and finally become a man, would Ketra have responded to me? Would she have opened up to me? Would she have let me in?
Would we be together, on the verge of forever?
Obviously these are rhetorical questions … but I think I know the answers to all of them regardless.
And thankfully, I know the key to making sure the relationship we have is the relationship we want.
It’s the key called honor that fits in the door to “our home” … and it’s one I’ll gladly turn and walk through each night, from now until our days are done.
Thank you dad … for helping me find my click. I love you.
Note: I’ve mothballed the blog I mentioned earlier. Not that my “journey through loss” is ever going to be over, but my life is about more than just that journey now. If you’d like to read more about my life, my family and whatever else comes to mind, visit our new family blog, theedgeoftheearth.wordpress.com
