Tag: grief

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“…a new phase, a new loss.”

C.S. Lewis does few brilliant things in A Grief Observed. Highest in my estimation is the use of questions with very few answers. He has a curious mind and allows it to ponder all the awful Whys, What ifs, How coulds, and Whens of his bereavement.

At no point does he try to universalize the process of grief. Even for himself, he doesn’t claim to find consistent ways of moving through the journey. When a turn in the valley appears to mimic a previous pass, he recognizes that it is in a different sequence and therefore carries fresh meaning, pain, healing, or various mixes of all. Each day is particularly exhausting, sometimes in the excitement, sometimes in the grinding, and sometimes in the slog.

It’s a book unabashedly about an individual grief and, in that way, more honest than most of the literature on the subject I’ve yet come across.

God bless,

Jason

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I Am A Bully

A lot of anger welled up in me this week. I tried to blame other people for perceived wrongs, but today I saw it and felt it emanating from inside of me. It’s a monster with a persona I crafted and used to great effect in my teen years. I had been surrounded by bullies for much of my youth. I was small, geeky, totally different. For years I was smart enough and fast enough to keep away from any real harm. Then, when I was twelve or so, I witnessed someone being bullied in school. It was just words, but the kid was big. Unprovoked, I threw some smart-assy dig at him. Before he could turn his attention to me I hit him with another. He was on his heels and I got the taste of that power. That year I decided that the world was made up of victims and victimizers. And damn if I would be a victim.

I didn’t steal lunch money or knock books out of hands, I used my energy and love of a good, nasty joke to build walls of safety and to strike out at those whom I thought might wrong me or get in my way.

It seemed to work pretty well. I chose my friends and didn’t feel the pressure of being a part of any of the various teenage groups. With an ever-sharpening tongue I was more confident and could impress girls by belittling teachers and other boys. On the soccer field I applied my energy more towards intimidation and violence than skill.

I cultivated the monster for years as he seemed to reward this still small kid who now could get in a mosh pit and instantly identify who to hit. I took him to the workplace and bullied anyone who couldn’t keep up with my pace.

Then I met someone who quieted the monster. Who was never a threat and not impressed by my clever nastiness. Someone who was genuinely kind, loving, helpful, and, most importantly to the monster, confidently independent. Mary wouldn’t be bullied. She had been wronged and was too tough for that. She wasn’t damaged. She didn’t use the lessons she learned against others as I had for a decade. She took her hurt and made it something positive. Mary quieted the monster just by being there. I have thought long and hard and cannot think of one time I said something intentionally hurtful to her. Insensitive? Thoughtless? Negligent? Sure, I said lots of stupid things, but she never roused the monster.

I was sitting pretty, all of a sudden I was a decent guy and looking to do right by people. I got comfortable and forgot about that beast I had fed for so many years.

As we had children, I took on primary care of them and after a little while I started to bully my sons. Usually when Mary wasn’t around, I would find things not going my way and the monster showed up. This abomination was not quick witted, it knew it was bigger now and didn’t need any of the fancy tricks. Yelling, throwing things, threatening…a big, scary, disgusting toddler trying to bend independent humans to its will.

I was in the car alone this evening and cranked up the heavy metal that had fueled my youthful anger. The grieving/healing process has taught me that leaning into unpleasant feelings is the only way to take their power away. The monster hadn’t really been let out in years, not in this off-the-chain, feel every panicked breath, physically paralyzing way. I pulled into the parking lot of a facility where I knew some friends were playing soccer. I was exhausted from keeping it together just enough to control the car. But the tears stopped and I was fearful of sitting there alone, so I went in to watch the game. It was halftime and my friends were playing a man short. “Get in! Get in! We need you!” Without a thought I ran to the car for my gear. Out in the cold I paused for one moment and looked up, “Thank you for bringing me here, God.” I was all smiles and calm and my body was light.

The monster is still there. I treated him too well for too long for ugly crying to chase him off or slay him. But this is the closest I’ve been to this part of my being without giving it control. I hope I can lean into the anger the next time it manifests and find a healing way to engage it.

God bless,
Jason

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Day Eight of My 30-Day Positive Parenting Challenge: Valley

Nearing total exhaustion. Familial pressures, homeschool programs, a friend in need, hours of driving, difficulty focusing on my parenting goals, Thanksgiving grocery shopping, outpouring of grief about mom, some of my own outpouring, and self pressure to create something positive out of all of it. Quite a day. 

It’s the kind of day you try to end as peacefully as possible, without doing any more harm. Dinner was rough, but bedtime is quiet and I’m able to sit here and claw out a couple lines. I can’t make sense of today now, but I’m looking forward to the rejuvenation that comes with exhausted sleep.

God bless,
Jason

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An Angry Ultimatum

In a recent conversation, I foolishly boasted that I had been spared the “anger” stage of grief upon the passing of my wife and the mother of my two young sons. This is an open letter to those who have helped usher in this state and to anyone who would dare bring his poison into my family’s life.

I wake up everyday to this reality. Most mornings I get up early, I’m positive, not lonely, content in the quiet house, and prepared to make our lives better. I think about Mary. I see her notes still on the backs of cabinet doors and on the fridge. I try to write something about her. I let myself cry. I don’t think about what she would do or if she’s looking down on us (although I know she wouldn’t be happy with the general mess or living-room-come-Lego-workshop). I think about God, myself, my boys, and how I can use my agency to make this sinful world a little more tolerable.

Eight months of these habits have served me well. I rarely get “ambushed,” that fearful moment when you’re off-guard and a crushing memory comes forward to sear your eyes and explode capillaries. I have few “shut down” days when I can hardly get the dishes done or pick up around the house.

And I am less and less fearful about talking about Mary. My sons and I are entirely comfortable remembering Mom, but sometimes I am unsure of myself around strangers and new friends. I can tell you that someone will listen to you intently when you are at a playground watching your children make friends and running and laughing and you look her (it’s almost always a mom) in the eye and say, “My wide died recently and we’re figuring things out.” As awkward as that can be, it feels good to have another human turn all of her attention toward you. I’ve quickly made deep connections with people because we start at this fundamental level.

Now it feels as if those who were closest to Mary are the ones who want to hear the least. Grief is impossible to understand, especially in others. Mine is active: engaging, moving, pushing, creating, loving, and wrestling. Now it’s angry. It sees people I love not doing the necessary work. It sees people I love letting their grief destroy them and separate them from those they love. It hears platitudes, empty answers, artificial timelines, and a piling of useless words between humans and their grief.

To you who are not doing the work: That pile you’re building is real and it is not sound. It is casting a shadow over you and letting that grief become a monster. When it falls it will bury you and if you happen to survive and dig your way out…the next thing you will see is a black claw closing around your throat, ready to finish the job.

I’m there too, amongst the piles. I’ve got my own. It’s a mound of dinosaur shit and every day I dig into it with my hands looking for answers. Sometimes it gets taller than me and that shadow hits my feet. That’s when I dig deeper, spreading it out to fertilize a greener and more fantastic life.

If you’re not interested in growing something wonderful right now, then stasis and death are your choice. I won’t have that in my garden. My garden takes plenty of work (have you ever tried to rake out triceratops poop?). You are welcome to walk away from your pile and stroll through my garden; Mary’s memory is living there, being cared for and cultivated, but I am not climbing into your shadow nor allowing your pile to soil my sight.

I pray to God that this is the angriest Jason you will ever know.

God bless,
Jason

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GriefShare Made Me Do It

GriefShare is an amazing, Christian organization that brings together those who have lost loved ones and helps them walk through the grieving process. One of the exercises they suggest is to write a “grief letter” to those around you to explain what you need. What proceeds is my attempt.

Dear Friends and Family,

I lost Mary almost seven months ago. I have goals that may seem impossible. I have a lot of optimism. I have the brazenness to imagine a life that is bigger and better than the one I had with Mary. It is not a dishonor to that life. Mary taught me and showed me how to be a greater man, husband, and father. If I don’t apply those lessons, then I let them die with her.

I’ll never “replace” Mary. She will be in my heart always. She will be my sons’ mother always. She will remain a model for the way I wish to treat people. But, I am lonely.

You’re seeing parts of me that only Mary knew. Things from inside me that were just for her. Every joke on Facebook and every picture I share, those are moments that I don’t know what to do with now.

You’re also seeing parts of me that are growing, taking form. I’ve never known a loneliness like this, I can’t recall being unhappy just because I was alone at all. When I’m writing I can pause and think of a careful way to express this new set of emotions. When I’m speaking I can work through complex emotions quickly, but I’m much less careful. I need your patience and understanding in these moments. 

I need you to understand that I have different needs and desires and that honestly exploring those feelings is a critical part of my healing.

I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to utter an insensitive phrase. But, it is going to happen and I daresay I’ve been on the receiving end of many more unintended daggers.

There has to be something good about this new life. Not just the good things that are left from the old life. I have to joke and smile and be Jason Michael Zerbey all the way. I have to hope and dream and work my butt off to turn those into reality. I have to be allowed to screw up along the way. I’m not very good at that. Too often, I’m playing life like it’s the last ten minutes of a soccer match and we’re down one goal. Win or lose, I have to let that match finish and prepare for the next.

Don’t ever think I’m “moving on.” Mary fundamentally changed me for the better, but she didn’t set me in stone. I’m carrying on, not only because I’m English, but because I intend to carry all the lessons and love of my life forward into the next chapter.

God bless,
Jason

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“I’m gonna push my life today”

Music is a minefield. I often come close to that idiot teenager who thought every song was mocking him when he got dumped.

Lenny Kravitz’s “Push,” has a lot more than a couple lines that hit home. It doesn’t speak to every moment I live, but it accurately describes my current mindset. Things aren’t easy, but I’m trusting in God and determined to push through each day. I get up early and I see the Kingdom past the beasts and the darkness.

Also, Mary would really dig shirtless Lenny in the video.

Push

It’s barely morning
Cars are roaring
The city’s moving fast


My momma’s calling
But I’m stalling
Living in the past


It’s time to face the world in front of me
And make the best of this reality


I’m gonna push my life today
Push to make a better way
Gonna push ’cause I got to carry on


I’m gonna push the clouds away
Push so I can see the way
Gonna push until I find my way home


The jungle’s swarming
Beasts are crawling
They’re all along my path


But God’s adoring,
Love is pouring
I’m gonna take a bath


I am swimming in a violent sea
Trying to find out who I’m gonna be


I’m gonna push my life today
Push to make a better way
Gonna push ’cause I got to carry on


I’m gonna push the clouds away
Push so I can see the way
Gonna push until I find my way home


I can feel it come together
I know God has a plan, oh yeah


Oh, I see the kingdom through the shadows
But it’s all gonna pass
I’m gonna push
‘Cause my Lord ain’t gonna let it last


I’m gonna push my life today
Push to make a better way
Gonna push ’cause I got to carry on, oh yeah


I’m gonna push the clouds away
Push so I can see the way
Gonna push until I find my way home
I’m gonna push ’till my Lord brings me home


Oh oh, oh yeah
‘Till I find my way home

-Lenny Kravitz

God bless,

Jason

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A Vision of Great Hair

heaven GIF

I haven’t had more than two dreams about Mary since her passing. As vividly fantastical and confusing as my dreams have been, sleep has been a safe harbor from direct memory.

I have had waking visions. The most poignant was when I witnessed Mary’s soul going to Heaven. As her annual Dewey Beach Girl’s Weekend approaches, I’d like to tell you about another one that’s a bit more fun.

It’s pretty simple. From a distance I saw Mary standing with Jesus, looking off in the other direction. As the scene drew nearer I noticed some interesting details of Jesus’s appearance. He was broad-shouldered and bare-chested. His long hair was up in a man bun. I never saw their faces, but I know her smile was also broad, holding back that laugh. She was letting me know that she’s just fine, that being with Jesus is even better than we dreamed.

God bless,
Jason

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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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Growing Through the Damage

Mary’s favorite magnolia is planted too far north. In winter we would find ourselves with brooms in a snow storm knocking the snow and ice from the leaves and branches that carried too much weight. At times I thought it was folly. This tree seemed so strong that any damage would surely be minor. Indeed, after particularly hard winters, it would bloom longer and more beautifully.

In the wake of Mary’s death, God gave me a sense of strength to rival that tree. He also gave us a March storm. I waited too long to clear the accumulating snow. I heard the crack of a low branch and cursed my pride. I let Mary’s memory chide me and I felt stupid and small as I scrambled up and down the icy branches to prevent any more harm.

The break was significant and the branch needed to be removed properly. It was also in full view of the picture window, a reminder that I wasn’t taking care of everything. And yet, I didn’t get to it. I’ve got a lot of excuses, but maybe I liked that reminder to keep my pride in check.

Spring and summer continued on in a dreamlike road trip and the half-snapped branch awaited my return.

It’s late July before I inspect the break again and resolve to prune the unhealthy limb. But it doesn’t look unhealthy. All the leaves are green and there’s…a bloom? This is the shady side of the tree and I’ve never observed any blooms there before. In July? It’s usually done blooming in early June.

The limb is low, but not touching the ground; the break is splintered and bent, but not worsening; and the tree just looks happy.

I brought the fragrant, unlikely bloom inside and placed it a bowl with water and some of the rocks my sons had collected on our road trip. I’m a born romantic, new believer, and sucker for a good metaphor.

Maybe that broken feeling inside isn’t as bad as it seems. Maybe you can still bloom without much sunlight. Maybe at the unlikeliest time you can find hope.

God bless,
Jason