My sister, Jenn died three years ago this Saturday. I thought I’d just write her a letter. Here’s what came out…
Hey Jenn,
I miss you kiddo. It’s been three years and close to three months since we last talked face to face and it’ll have been three years this Saturday since we lost you . Here’s how life began without you:
That phone call we got from Mom the night you died was the worst phone call of my life. All I remember is vaguely hearing the phone ring and CK answering it and then Mom sobbing into the phone that you were gone – just repeating it over and over — “Jenny’s gone, She’s gone Oh Jimmy Jenny’s gone”. All I could say was, “We’ll be right there.” as my heart sunk. I’d always thought that was a metaphor but no — your heart and then the rest of your body just sink and suck down toward the floor — everything becomes heavy. I hung up the phone and looked at CK. She already knew but I said anyway “Jenn’s dead.”
We bawled and sobbed uncontrollably as we got some clothes on and put out extra litter, food and water out for the cats. I remember trying to move quickly, but couldn’t because I felt if I stopped concentrating on just the little task at hand, like tying my shoelace, that I would just disappear into despair and never ever come out.
We made the drive up in the dark from Elmsford to Poughkeepsie at around 3AM in the morning. It was surreal. We showed up and my mother was at the door and CK and I fell into her arms, crying. Inconsolable. That’s another word I never really knew the definition of either until that morning.
The dawn that morning was fantastic. Fog. Trees. Dampness. Burgeoning light. Changing shapes. A splendid fall morning and a splendid fall day. I stood out there our parents patio, the same patio we grew up together on an played on and tanned on and partied on when the parentals weren’t around. I stood there looking at this great day, feeling the worst I ever have and wondering how I was going to get by at all.
The big question, of course, was what had happened to you. We had an idea of what could have happened, but we were going to have to wait while the Oklahoma City Coroner’s Office performed and autopsy and a ran a toxicology report. That took forever to come.
What happened and why? Those were the biggest questions and in a lot of ways, they still are. I don’t think we got the whole story from your faux lesbian roommate and I’m not so sure what she did tell us was completely true. It’s so hard to know the truth, and you were so good at lying.
In the meantime we made the calls to family and friends and planned your funeral. I wrote your obituary. I remember the parking lot of the funeral home being wet with leaves stuck to the pavement. I had just dropped off your obituary. It seemed unreal. We picked out a casket, a headstone and decided to dress you in your chef’s whites from the CIA.
Friends and family showed up from all around to comfort us and remember you. Five days after you died early in the morning on October 13th, 2007, we buried you at a Catholic cemetery not too far from our old street. If you were there to see it at all I think you would have been pleased. People were devastated, but the turnout and support were great. I know it wasn’t the rocking party you told me you wanted, but we did what we could.
Life sucked for a long time after that. But then it got better. Slowly. Oh so slowly. It took seeing two shrinks and leaning heavily on my wife and a few friends but it got better. Sure theres still an amount of regret and sadness, but it’s tempered by an acceptance and the happiness thinking of you brings. Incredibly, I’m ok with it. Riz, among many other people but none really so staunchly, told me it was going to be OK at some point. And it is.
So things are ok now. I want you to know I’m good. Right after though — man were those some dark hours. For one thing, changing jobs right after you died was a mistake. I’d been looking for a change before and decided one of the things I needed to do was to keep on doing the things I had been doing — like job searching. A month and a half later and I’m out of Westcon and in this little startup called Healthology. Little did I know what I was in for there stress-wise. On the life stressor scale, losing a family member and changing a job are super high. Both in conjunction are bad news. I also feel like I did a disservice to my bosses (Stuart, Dan, Mark, Gino) over there at the ‘Con by bugging out for some more money. After all, they treated me pretty well and I learned a TON there. But you know me. Mister bouncy bounce. Plus, my head wasn’t really on straight at the time.
We’re in California now. CK hated her job with SG and needed to leave lest she lose her mind. I got laid off from NBCUniversal despite efforts to get transferred before the axe fell. Those two events provided the impetus for us to dive into a big life change. We could stay and slog it out and try to find jobs and worry about the money and let the miseries mount or go on the offensive and situate ourselves in the most positive light. Still though, it’s not really a good idea to go combining those big life stressors together if you can help it, but we decided the pros outweighed the cons and here we are in almost always sunny Rancho Cordova, CA. You’d love it here. There’s Napa close by, San Francisco, Tahoe. Lots of places to see, lots of good food. About a month ago we drove out to Rutherford to meet up with Maureen and Mark and drove into St. Helena and Calistoga and saw the West Coast branch of the CIA at Greystone. You could have been happy there. Here.
This weekend CK and I are meeting up with her brother, Matt. You never met Matt because you were in TN when he visited NY. He’s a great guy though and it’s been a pleasure to get to know him better along with the rest of CK’s family out and around here. He’s an outdoors, get it done, I take my fun seriously sort of guy. A lot like you I guess in that regard but quieter overall. Anyway, we are driving up to Redding tomorrow morning to meet him and then head out west to the coast and Eureka for some camping and ATV riding in the dunes.
I’ll be thinking of you the whole trip, especially on Saturday. I’ll make sure I have extra fun, just for you.
Love ya,
Jimbo
