Today I got two stacks of letters ready to mail. The first was made up of some bills Jake left behind. I wrote a brief letter explaining the situation to the creditors and printed copies of the death certificate. Seeing those documents over and over as I folded them and stuffed the return envelopes did nothing to mitigate the surreal world I now live in. There is still this vast dichotomy. I know it happened, Jake isn’t coming home, but I can’t really process it. Six weeks in and it still doesn’t feel real. I mean, how can it be? Jake, of all people.
The second was a stack of letters to publishers of Jewish children’s books asking for donations to Jake’s library. I outlined the tragic story, and shared a bit of Jake’s unique relationship with books and reading. He was an early reader, a very early reader. We intentionally fostered this from the beginning, reading to him every day practically from birth. He became an avid and voracious reader. He loved books. All kinds of books. Jake had a thirst for information, for adventure, for mystery, for science, for literature, for the journeys to all the magical and varied worlds to which books transported him.
The juxtaposition of these two tasks caused me to look at once forward and back. Back to the last few months, and what might have been. Examining what we did, asking how we could have prevented this, what we should have done differently, what happened that Saturday morning. It is a futile exercise, there are no answers. It doesn’t really matter now. We did what we did, what happened, happened.
I also looked forward to receiving boxes of books from generous publishers. To creating the team that will bring Jake’s library into existence. Fund raisers, builders, volunteers, readers, leaders, donors of material, time, money, and effort, all united for a common goal: to keep Jake’s legacy alive for the betterment of children. A lofty goal, perhaps, but Jake was such a huge thinker, to strive for anything less wouldn’t be worthy of his gigantic spirit.
Later, some dear friends took us out to dinner. Sitting with them, enjoying their company, talking, laughing, planning for a future, seemed normal and right. Jake was there with us. Approving the steaks. Commenting on the bread. Enjoying the mashed potatoes. These are friends who are both Firemen and Builders. They were there from the very first instant, and continue to walk beside us. Always will. We are blessed to have such people in our lives.
A casual acquaintance just sent me a link to some interesting information about the Solfeggio Scale of tones and their effects on the spirit and mind. How different frequencies have different effects; eliminating fear and guilt, transforming grief, facilitating change, re-connecting and rebalancing. We were planning to get a Tibetan singing bowl, now we know what frequencies to look for. So touching, such a simple, seemingly trivial thing from a person I barely know, but he took the time to send something he thought might help us through these dark times. Something that might bring some healing, and help us move forward. Such a tiny gesture, but gigantic in its way.
Thank you everyone. Near and far, close and casual, met and unmet. We are so grateful in so many ways to count all of you as friends.
I am following your blog, it’s as if I personally need to fill my day with your words, and written thoughts while you process the grief and reality of this tragic loss. I want to help. but and I know it is impossible. Instead I pray and keep your family and Jake in my heart.
I have been using singing bowls for years. I have two, one Tibetan brass and one Crystal. I have never bought a bowl tuned to a specific chakra, but I do love them and use them often for different purposes. One of the most interesting things about the bowls is that they require that you are centered and present in order to play them. For me, that is part of the benefit.