… If I saw you in Heaven? / I’ll find my way / Through night and day / ‘Cause I know I just can’t stay/ Here in heaven.” Eric Clapton, Tears in Heaven
I have a problem with crying. No, wait, I had a problem being able to cry, but grad school has fixed that for me. But, growing up, I just didn't really cry. That doesn't mean I never got sad—I just wouldn't cry when that happened. My way to illustrate this part of my personality for the past ten years has been by saying, “I didn't even cry at my dad’s funeral.” Okay, technically the 10 yr mark of the funeral is three days away, but that’s close enough. Today marks a decade since my father’s passing.
I woke up that morning to a dark house. Granted, I was a junior in high school & going to 6:30am seminary, but my mom taught kindergarten 2 cities over & was usually up and bustling. Maybe she was feeling sick, but that’s odd. I checked the kitchen for lunch (I was still diligently getting ready), but it showed no signs of recent activity. Odd, but this time with a sudden tightness coming to my chest. Dad had been involved in a pretty bad motorcycle crash on September 10th (which is why, coincidentally, I don’t really take much stock with all the 9/11 hoop-la), but I had seen him 2 days before & he seemed to be getting better. He wasn't in ICU anymore, & they had transferred him from the USC hospital to a Kaiser facility closer to Mom’s work. He still had that Frankenstein-esque halo drilled into his skull and chest. I drew a picture of him in a notebook that I kept with my boyfriend (I still have it somewhere in a box in CA; the only reason I kept those books is so I would remember who I was back then & how I felt). Things were still pretty bad, but it was looking better.
I found Mom in her bedroom. Er, “their” bedroom. She wasn't ready for work. She sat me down on the little cedar chest at the foot of their bed & told me that … things had changed. I don’t remember what she said, exactly. Perhaps that is recorded in one of my old journals from that time period. But I knew what she was going to say before she said it. I may have been a teenager, but I wasn't that clueless. I was shocked. After processing the fact, my first thought was something akin to “I wish Jacie didn't have to find out.” In my mind, she was much too young and emotionally vulnerable at 13 to have to face such a traumatic event. I don’t think I cried that day, except for worry of how my 3-years-younger-than-me sister was going to handle it. I wanted to cry. I just… couldn't.
That was a Tuesday. The next day, I went to school. After 1st period Marching Band, I collapsed into my boyfriend’s arms & said, “My daddy’s dead.” I spent 2nd period Spanish talking over celebrating the life my father had with my dear friend Katie Patterson. It still didn't feel real. I didn't know what type of emotions or thoughts I was supposed to have. The rest of the school day went by in a blur of numb routine. Wednesday was evening Marching Band rehearsal, & I of course showed up. I was section leader of the trombones- I had to. At the end, they crowned me ‘Band Chick of the Week’, a title usually given to an enthusiastic freshman who goes beyond their expectations. It came with a silly paper crown and all. There was also a card that they had everyone sign during rehearsal. That was Katie’s doing. Only a very few people knew what had happened. My section had no clue. It was a nice gesture, though, & I was glad that I didn't have to explain or pronounce anything. I wasn't ready just yet.
That Friday, I missed the very first “Home” football game for Claremont High (previous years, our home games were played at a neighboring city’s field, as CHS didn't have one. Until 2002.). There was a school policy that in order to participate in extra-curricular activities (in this case, marching band at a football game), you had to be at school for most of the day. I was at Dad’s funeral. There was family, ward people, and some of my siblings’ friends. Not one of my friends showed up that day. I wasn't really expecting them to, with it being during school hours, but I didn't know how much that would hurt. Later that evening, I went with my oldest brother, Cory, to see the new Hayao Miyazaki film, Spirited Away. It fit my mood pretty well. To this day, I try to watch that around this time of year. To remember.
It’s been ten years. I've thought about that event many times over the years, & how it has affected my life. I used to be terribly shy around my family. After that, I realized that family is all you have. The death finally sunk in 2 months later while reading Hamlet—for those of you who don’t know, there’s a scene where Hamlet gets all angsty about his mum moving on and marrying his uncle a mere 2 months since his father’s death.. I remember getting back to life, even though I’m not sure when. I even wrote a Beowulf spoof about that time, which I posted on here a while back (sorry, haven’t been on here in over a year… sheesh). I remember getting all paranoid because Dad died when I was sixteen & a half, and my mom’s father passed away when she was seventeen. &, when I thought about it some more, I realized that the time of death on records is just when the doctors have given up working on resuscitating. I figured, since time of death was about 1am, & they could have been trying for hours, he probably actually died on my half birthday. But that isn't important now.
Since then, I have graduated from high school. I played trombone in Carnegie Hall. As part of the BYU marching band, I've played in front of countless thousands, & even had a solo that was pretty sweet—with just me surrounded by a circle of cymbals playing on a little cadenza while the entire band drops out. I've been to multiple March Madnesses & NCAA tournaments, including all of the BYU games during Jimmer-Mania. As such, I've sat court side (albeit behind the basket) at those games, & have been spotted (momentarily) on national television about a dozen times. I've graduated from college! I married a wonderful, brilliant man about 5 months ago. I’m in a Master’s program (Public Policy), & one of my main focuses this final semester is on motorcycle helmet laws, and recommending policy changes that can be implemented across the US. Working on that just now made me think about why I was doing that.
Nowadays, I feel like I have to go out of my way to let people know that my father is deceased. It’s strange. & it also feels awkward when they find out, & they express some form of sympathy, or say that they’re sorry or what-have-you. It’s been ten years. I've come to terms with it. It was very sad, but like I said before—I’m just not used to crying. & I don’t need to cry over it anymore. Something like that happens, & yes- you should have some time to properly grieve. But that doesn't stop you from going on, from getting stronger, from trying to make a difference in your world. At the same time, you can’t let it make you hard; it took me quite a few years, but I finally learned how to cry without feeling ashamed of having emotions.
Another thing about losing someone so early is the realization that … well, that I didn't really know my dad all that well. I mean, before his death, I just knew him from my early childhood to mid-teens. But, I didn't know why he made the decisions that he made in life. I didn't know much about his formative years, or my parents’ courtship, or what dreams he had for life. It took a funeral to show me the full extent of his life. So yes, Eric Clapton, I’ll do my best to find my way through life. & if everything turns out all right, it’ll be just like heaven.
