Tag: Mary

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WXPN Free at Noon

April 1, 2011: World Cafe Live at the Queen opens with a Free at Noon show from Sonny Landreth. Our second son was born a month later and had to wait a few months before he got to see Dengue Fever and Matthew Sweet in Wilmington.

Every Friday World Cafe Live hosts a free lunchtime concert. The next week’s act is announced immediately after each show and all you have to do to get on the list is register here.

These are full-on shows. They’re broadcast live and the artists are often on the rise, so the performances have that high-profile feel. Down on the big WCL stage it’s a lot more like Saturday night than midday Friday. The shows are shorter, they don’t run past 1:00 pm, but performers will often play a couple more songs after the broadcast has ended.

Matthew Sweet in 2011
VIP Balcony Seating

When WXPN was still in Wilmington, Mary would take a long lunch and join us. I think we took advantage of every Free at Noon down at 500 N. Market. A particular highlight was the Queen’s Fifth Anniversary Celebration with Ben Harper. Although I saw him at Woodstock ’99, Mary had a great collection of his music and I got to appreciate the variety and depth of his talent.

Ben Harper 2016: Photo credit unknown: c/o WXPN

Mary never joined us at a Philly show, but family often joined us at shows from JD McPherson, Lissie, Valerie June, The Ting Tings, and Calexico.

Getting that jambalaya at Reading Terminal Market after Lissie, 2016 
Warming up for Valerie June in 2017
Valerie June

#Protips for Families:

Ear Protection! In-ear or over-ear, these are shows are full volume. Also, folks will hassle you about taking care of your children’s ears. It gets on my nerves, but I try to take it as helpful.

Secret Spot! Doors open at 11:30 and the line often begins forming before that. Get there early and you can take advantage of our favorite “seats.” Head straight in along the bar, just past the last support column and before the stairs to the dance floor. There you’ll find the perfect spot to camp out and have a great view with natural boundaries.

And if the kiddos want to get on the dance floor, you’ve got a bird’s eye view of the whole place.

Have fun and God bless,
Jason

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Girl in the Thunderbolt Suit

I walked into Jupiter Records looking for Black Sabbath’s debut record for my vinyl-enthusiast niece’s birthday gift. Mary had vetoed the choice in the previous year. I get to call all the shots now, I thought.

It wasn’t meant to be. No Sabbath was to be found. But someone had unloaded a small collection of T.Rex albums into the New Arrivals bin.

Instead of defying my late wife I was taken back 11 years (almost to the day) to when we walked into the Virgin Megastore at Piccadilly Circus, London. We were in the unabashed, full-fledged touron mode of our honeymoon and had never been in a record shop with escalators. I was trying to be cool and found a Blind Lemon Jefferson album I thought was rare. I tracked down Mary to show off my find and she was holding a T.Rex double CD: Children of the Revolution. “Don’t we have a T.Rex album?” I said, “One’s probably enough.” My veto was vetoed. It was weeks before we were home and I actually gave it a listen. I wasn’t sold at first, but found myself moving every time one of the tunes played.

Now it brings me all of the joy of dancing with Mary. Sexy, high-energy, hippy-wiggle rock with just a hint of headbanging. And fun, damn good fun. She never had a thunderbolt suit; she didn’t need one, she was a thunderbolt.

God bless,
Jason

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Never Just Another Walk

When I’m quiet and outside is when I most often feel the Holy Spirit. That’s when I can hear the Lord and let Him guide me. A breeze can pass right through me and carry off what isn’t needed. The myriad of concerns and voices tugging at my attention are quieted, leaving a moment of peace void of thought. Somehow, the Lord only lets in good after that moment. Whether I’m alone or with friends, strangers, or family, hope and love fill me up and I can more clearly see the world around me.

These moments can’t be forced or scheduled, sometimes they’re partial, sometimes I ruin them. They most often come when invited. I’m best at inviting among the trees and the tall grasses.

Coverdale Farm Preserve

Delaware holds many special places for me and my memories. In the autumn I see God in all the colors. On a recent hike at Coverdale Farm Preserve, I got to remember Mary and our special adventures there, including fishing at the pond and a trick-or-treat hike in 2013.

Classic costumes, unique attitudes.

This weekend I also had the opportunity to walk the labyrinth at Delaware Art Museum. A Día de los Muertos event was cancelled due to poor weather, but I wanted to take the time to travel into and out of my favorite labyrinth before sundown.

I started the walk alone and relished the literal quiet before the storm. I was at peace immediately and lost myself in the rustling leaves obscuring much of the path. Two boys, a little older than my own, came running in with their mom. My peace swirled with their energy and a broad smile carried me to the the center. I’m discovering that being a dad and being alone aren’t at odds. I can have and enjoy both.

I came out of the labyrinth stronger, calmer, and more ready for what is next.

God bless,
Jason

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Listening In: Matt Lewis with Andy Crouch on Putting Technology in its Proper Place

Matt Lewis recently spoke with Andy Crouch about his new book, The Tech-Wise Family.

Mr. Crouch has ten rules with implementable recommendations for how to take control of the devices that are running your life. Some are easier than others, but it wasn’t until the end of the conversation that the message spoke to me.

Rule #10: We show up in person for the big events of life, we learn how to be human by being fully present at our moments of greatest vulnerability, we hope to die in one another’s arms.

My late wife was present. She didn’t have a smart phone and her tablet was tucked away most of the time. She spent her working hours in front of a screen and spent every other possible moment with her friends and family.

At the very end of her life, the machines were disconnected, the lights were lowered, and she was surrounded by loved ones. It wasn’t planned, it was just right.

I’m working to reach that Mary-level of presence. It takes conscious effort as I try to find income online and quell an uneasy loneliness. I’m trying to connect with people on professional and personal terms, but not neglect my sons and the attention that they deserve from me at this time.

I type all this as they sleep and I hope to finish before they wake. I pledge to be present today and make a renewed commitment to show up for the big events of life.

God bless,
Jason

Hear the whole conversation with Mr. Crouch here and subscribe to Matt Lewis and the News on iTunes, Stitcher, or my favorite podcast app, Overcast.

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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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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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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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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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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