Category: The Healing Journey

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Healing and Memory

You probably didn’t know Mary. You certainly didn’t know the Mary that I knew or the unique vision each of my sons has of a lost mother.

Aunt Mary: Footwear Aficionado

I met this Mary. Cool, fun, loving Aunt Mary. She had five nieces and they worshiped her. I didn’t question why she didn’t have her own children, I knew that to simply be near this big, caring family was enough for the moment. I don’t know how, but we talked easily about how many children we would like to have in the future. That was our second date.

God made Mary to be a mother and he gave me the opportunity to fulfill my dream of being a father with her.

Smooches at Longwood Gardens, just because.
The pre-smooch at Strasburg Railroad.

These beautiful boys are now seven- and nine-years-old. I didn’t always know why we took so many pictures. I’m intensely experiential, I want all my senses turned toward the world, taking in all the stimuli, gorging on the moment. The camera seemed in the way, “How could we forget this?” “The picture won’t do this instant justice,” or “Can I get some of those smooches?” 

The fact is that we adventured too often to remember them all. Young minds are not designed to capture and transfer events into long-term memory (I’m convinced this is to protect them from all their parents’ screw ups). It seems now that we lived as if we knew we only had 13 years together. From picture taking, saying “Yes” to everything, home educating, and becoming Christian to cursory end-of-life planning and discussion, I believe God was guiding us into this storm. He’s here with us now and guiding us out.

One of our last escapades had all the ingredients. We trekked to Hagley Museum and Library and had the snow-blanketed grounds to ourselves. The boys were total rascals, but we spotted ducks, a red tail hawk, and frozen ginkgo fruit.

These connections to the times before the storm carry us forward. All the beauty of the world is there to discover and rediscover.

Mary is fully in Heaven with Jesus, but I am darn glad that she left so much love behind. The enormity of what she created in her 47 years on Earth is hard to comprehend. The pictures buttress the memories, preserve and enhance them. They give us a foundation of living love to stand on and heal from what we have lost.

God bless,
Jason

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Z3 Adventure: Delfest ’18

On the morning of Saturday, February 10th, my sons trained at their Brazilian jiu-jitsu studio, then were summoned by their father to Wilmington Hospital. Mom had been there for a week. Dad had been a rare sight. They were in their gis, cuter and stronger than any children I know. I sat them down on a bench outside their mother’s room. I confirmed that they understood how sick Mom was. I told them that she would probably not survive this. Hugs and crying. We were then in the currents of things we could not control. Their mother, Mary, would pass into the hands of God two days later.

We can’t control this moment, but we can plan the next. In that hallway I cooked up a road trip. “This will be a beginning,” I said to myself. Nothing radical. We were campers and festival goers already. The Delfest lineup was perfect. As littles, the boys had seen Rhiannon Giddens as a member of the Carolina Chocolate Drops at the Appel Farm Arts and Music Festival in 2012. 

Front row. Zerbey style.

Six years later (essentially their whole lives), they’d get to see her again in all her iconoclastic-americana-irish-opera-fusion glory. I didn’t cry, but got pretty damn close to what might be called “crying.” My sons loved it and we had our first night together in a tent as the Zerbey Three.

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Lighting Fires

This has been a big week. I skated along the edge of disaster and took on three new responsibilities that mean a lot to me and provide me the opportunity to create value for others. I can’t rate them as each is aligned with my passions.

The invitation to write for Macaroni Kid Wilmington-Newark-New Castle gives me a tangible way to share and promote many of the enriching experiences our area has to offer. Nothing in my life is expressly separate from our grief journey, but this will be much more than the story of us “moving on.”

As a volunteer Community Outreach Moderator for Homeschool Delaware I’ll be able to create formal relationships with many of the local educational resource providers that we already know and love. I’ll also get to form new relationships and build connections between the home-education community and the wider world. There are many local resources not being exploited during the school day. I believe that home education is for all; not necessarily full time, but as a lifestyle outside of school. By facilitating more programs directed at smaller groups of children with broader age ranges, I believe we can benefit families of all educational stripes.

I’m also back in a managing role with Classics II, the over-30, co-recreational soccer team that has meant so much to me in the last ten years. My late wife was my co-manager, accountant, cheerleader, roster adviser, inspiration to stay fit and play hard (she wasn’t easily impressed, it was my greatest joy when she was), and confidant. A couple great friends and teammates have stepped up to help me lead the team again. 

spanish time GIF

There are FOUR new responsibilities! I’m coaching a FIRST Lego League Jr. team. I’m not quite an AFOL (okay, maybe I am), but my sons are insane for the bricks and programming, so this is the best game in town. We finally received all the materials and will start sharing that journey here as well.

So yeah, I could use some of your prayers. 

God bless,
Jason

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Who Is Delaware Dad?








Who is Delaware Dad?

When our second son was born seven years ago my wife and I decided that I would leave my job as a proofreader and editor to take care of our boys. Exploring our world with these wide-eyed wonders quickly became my calling. We visited museums, zoos, parks, and any place that would admit us. I saw the unexpected connections the boys made between our expeditions, read aloud sessions, and play time. “Unexpected” would be a good title for the rest of the story. We watched how they learned and decided to try home education. We analyzed the trials and tribulations, looked at the results, and fell in love with the lifestyle. Smaller in material ways, but seemingly boundless in love and learning.

We became libertarians, then Christians. We put God, family, love, and learning at the center of our universe and it seemed to be working out.

Then my wife, Mary, got the flu. She was healthy and strong by any standard. She went to her doctor, we went to urgent care, we went to the emergency department, we went back to the emergency department. She was gone six days later.

Delaware Dad was born shortly before Mary’s passing. I wanted to share our experiences with home education, my love of Delaware and the tri-state area, and help other families find their own adventures. I am so excited and grateful to be able to write for Macaroni Kid. We haven’t stopped exploring, learning, and loving.

God has given us an unexpected life. One that I believe is worth sharing and can help others. Feel free to reach out to me on Facebook to share your local favorites, educational opportunities, and any questions you may have about our grief journey. I look forward to bringing the best Delaware has to offer to you and your family.

God bless,
Jason Zerbey

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Strength?

Betrayal. Language conspires against us as we strive to understand one another.

I met a new friend going through a similar grief journey of losing a spouse and struggling with a single-parenthood that had not been imagined. The word “strength” kept emerging. What does it mean?

I delivered a strong performance in soccer yesterday because I abstained from running and nursed an injury for three weeks. I was there when my son wanted to talk about his mother late at night because I had taken time earlier to rest. I bend so I won’t break.

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Temple

On Independence Day we took an uncharacteristic turn as full-on “tourons” in Washington, D.C. Mary introduced me to this term and we never used it as strongly as the Urban Dictionary describes. For us, it was just that unimaginative sightseeing and photo taking one does on holiday from time to time.

I plotted our walking route from the Metro station to the White House, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, and finally a spot along the Potomac River to view the fireworks. I hardly expected my seven- and nine-year-old sons to make the journey with heat, crowds, and detours in our way.

Our saving grace came early in the day at Renwick Gallery, across from the White House. We love museums and an escape from the sun was already in order.

We found much more than an escape. No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man is an exhibit that recreates the other-worldly California desert spectacle. Within this world there was the Temple. A place of remembrance and introspection about those things that have been lost. It is simply composed of cut and sanded plywood, but the intricacies are unending.

Visitors are encouraged to take a 4″ by 4″ block of wood and write about something or someone they have lost. This could have been one of those “ambushes” you learn about as you grieve, but it wasn’t. I invited my sons to participate and was surprised at their reactions. Westen, the older and more vocal about his mom, declined and chose to quietly walk the space. Isaac has been much more reserved about losing his mom, but wanted me to transcribe something for him.

As he mentally created his message, a phrase came to me: We will gain more than we have lost. I can’t take credit for it. It was purely divine and seems all but impossible. When God asks you to do the impossible it’s because He knows it can be done. I hope my faith is strong enough to keep believing that.

For Isaac’s part, his message was all sweetness and love and compassion. It was also arms-outstretched broad for so few words. It speaks for itself.

God bless,
Jason

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The Wrong System Restore Date

During Mary’s final days, I was inspired to take my sons on a real adventure. Mary took every opportunity to spend time with her family. Not one vacation hour was ever held over year to year. She was present as often as possible and we are (literally) eternally grateful for the time we all had together. She would amass her paid time off and start rigging the calendar in January to prepare for her favorite two weeks of the year, and by December we would have her all to ourselves to close out each year. But we never took time for a proper road trip adventure.

It took me three months after Mary’s passing to pull out of the driveway in a borrowed 19-foot RoadTrek 190 with little idea of how long we would be gone or how far we would go. After nearly seven weeks and 3,000 miles of visiting with friends and family, wandering, and exploring, we rolled back into that driveway and we had gone far.

But I messed up.

In the three months between Mary’s death and the trip I had started to develop our new life. Laundry, dishes, meals, bedtime, church, play, rest, blogging, personal business sorting, soccer, jiu-jitsu, Facebook engagement…everything was different in small and large ways. I was watching the changes, analyzing them, and through trial-and-error and important prioritizing, I was internalizing and owning those changes.

I thought the road trip would be an extension of that process. A way to prove to myself that the Zerbey Three could love each other, adventure, and still get the basic practicals done. It felt that way for six weeks and three days. Then I got sick with a nasty stomach bug and was blessed to be staying with Mary’s parents. I know I’m not going to do this alone, but I was almost incapable of providing for my sons and lying in bed thinking about what was next. Going home. It was one of those changes I hadn’t faced. Mary wasn’t there to build the ready-for-the-car pile in the hall. Mary wasn’t there to negotiate our departure time. Mary wasn’t there to wrangle with her mom about how much food we’d take with us. All of a sudden, she was gone again. Driving home, I had that empty passenger seat and no one to figure out what “had to” come in the house tonight and what could wait. I lost all the rhythms I composed in those first three months. I didn’t have enough food in the fridge and the washing machine wouldn’t accept any quarters.

I’ve got to look at this reset as an opportunity to do things better. I made a ton of mistakes in those first months. I hadn’t elaborated a perfect system that’s now lost. I had a survival system that would not last and now needs a full rebuild. So, I’ve got my first pot of coffee and blog post going. I think that’s something.

God bless,
Jason

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Word Up

Mary and I started out slow. We had each been hurt, but refused to be damaged. It was the MySpace-to-Facebook-pre-social-media-insanity era and we didn’t communicate online much. Before our first date, an analog miscommunication led me to believe she wasn’t interested and I thought, “Oh well, another flirt bites the dust.” We didn’t have these tools to express every anxiety and emotional whim as they arose.

I didn’t see our initial attraction turning into something greater. A good, healthy summer fling with a pretty, kind girl who hardly got me into any trouble. A win, but alas, no more than that.

I invited her to an outdoor wedding for what I thought was our last date. A five-hour round trip in my noisy ’95 Eagle Talon on the hottest day of August, 2004, with a lot of people neither of us knew. I figured that would be it. At best it would be a tiring affair and a low key end to a low key romance.

We sat with my mother and grandmother and had a better time than, I daresay, anyone there. I don’t know how we did it, dabbing (read: mopping) sweat and laughing like mad hatters through the day.

We got to southern Delaware late, stretched out under the stars, watched meteors fly overhead, and at 25 I asked this 33-year-old to be my girlfriend. We weren’t in love, but we could see it coming.

Our relationship didn’t heat up, but it swelled and matured like time lapse photography. Ahead of the game, as usual, Mary felt and expressed her love first in early December. I didn’t come around until her birthday three days before Christmas. So I loved this gal and had bought her a DVD player. Forget the fact that she received one for her birthday, this was not going to cut it.

I wrote her a letter. I just found it and had all but forgotten that first Christmas gift.

It wasn’t a revelation or poetry, but no object could have come close to showing how I felt about Mary. I could have terrified her (and myself) and told her how I wanted to be with her forever, but I reserved myself to writing how this was something wholly different than I had ever experienced.

We were never apart long enough to exchange letters, but left notes for one another; expressed our heaviest grievances on paper before discussing; and constantly shared emails about new events to attend, my latest unschool win or loss, and her work day. I’ve even found emails from me that Mary printed to keep.

I’m blessed to have all those words. As that life with Mary gets more distant, the notes and emails and that most important letter are still here.

We have a lot of pictures, but the words interpret them, show us what they meant at the time, especially when our memory deceives us.

Blogging this journey through grief and into a new life has been vital, but there is so much more to share. I’ve been inspired to return to letter writing and send permanent pieces of myself into the world. Revive relationships, tell stories, and grow the joy I’ve always had in creating written works.

I feel a lot less alone when I’m scratching out a letter, I feel like I’m connecting to someone now, in the future when they receive it, and maybe again in a later future. It’s bigger than a moment. It’s taking a moment and recording it, translating it, and stretching it out over time and space.

God bless,
Jason

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Waking Up With Iggy Pop

I’m gonna break into your heart
I’m gonna crawl under your skin
I’m gonna break into your heart
And follow till I see where you begin

-Iggy Pop, “Break Into Your Heart”

Mary would not have liked to hear this first thing in the morning.

She broke into my heart at a time when I was completing construction of another defensive shield. She opened me up to a world that I was reluctantly giving up on. She introduced me to a big family and community of friends and showed me how to navigate all these wonderful people.

Mary’s death hasn’t broken my heart, but broken into it. It’s the excitement and possibility of a new love, the terror of being found out to be an unworthy sinner, and the adrenaline pump of being one goal down with four minutes to go.

Mary was the perfect concert mate, even when she wasn’t particularly thrilled about the artist. This show was something special. It was shortly after David Bowie had died and Iggy didn’t mention him once, but played almost all of The Idiot, an album he wrote and recorded with Bowie. He played his best material with the tightest backing band. Although I failed to turn her into a fan, she thoroughly enjoyed the show and I earned permission to play the cleaner songs around the house.

Life is different around here, nowadays you might find the Zerbey Three listening to this gem:

God bless,

Jason

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Where the Angels Ever Sing

This would have been Mary’s first Easter as a Christian and member of Aldersgate United Methodist Church. She was very patient with me as I took the long path to Salvation. She just led the way, showed me what it was to live like a Christian before we made any promises.

We had attended Aldersgate for a couple years and enjoyed the variety and energy of the community. We volunteered in small ways and engaged in their fun social events, but I had an obstacle that prevented me from being ready for baptism. I couldn’t identify my problem directly and felt stuck. Right around this time I was invited to join a new men’s Bible study organized through the church. As He had done so many times before, God offered me another baby step towards Him. Mary is the one who made it happen. She was our master scheduler and ensured that I attended as many of these weekly meetings as possible. She was naturally in tune with God and effortlessly did His work on Earth.

I finally spent time with God’s word: reading, listening, and discussing. I was surprised at the excitement I felt on academic, spiritual, and psychological levels. (If you’re unsure if “faith” is right for you, listen to Jordan Peterson’s Psychological Significance of the Biblical Stories lecture series.) It wasn’t real time, but at a certain point I realized that I believed in God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. I had seen God in the natural world from an early age. I had known I wasn’t just lucky, that the Holy Spirit had been working through me for some purpose for years. But I didn’t know Jesus Christ until I spent time with the Word. Seems stupid now, how in the world would I get to know someone without listening to him? However stupid I was, I’m confident I know less now. But, at least, I know a couple very important things.

Mary’s there with Him now. Free of this awful, suffering world. Being patient with me again, peacefully waiting for me to join her. I don’t know when my work here will be done, but I know the reward of eternal life will be that much sweeter knowing Mary is there.

Thank you and God bless,

Jason