Eight years ago two words changed my life. The two words I dreaded hearing that had played repeatedly in my head for months prior to the phone call. Two words that when I heard them caused such a painful reaction I shoved the phone at my now ex and left to be alone with my emotions. He couldn't understand, so I left him to handle my sister on the other line, as she tried to explain to him what I couldn't bear to hear. "Jason died."
I had heard the words so many times in my mind for no reason at all. He was healthy. He was young. He had just gotten his life together. He was a newlywed. I had no reason to hear her say those words while I silently worked, wondering why I had such a sick imagination.... And then it was real. As if I had somehow willed it into being. The guilt was indescribable. The questions are still unanswered.
But I have memories. I have so many memories I could fill journals. Many of them I'm keeping for myself... because they're mine and no one would understand the way my mind sees them. I will share one though. It's not profound, but it's special to me.
A month before he died was the only time he ever called me on his own on my birthday. I'll admit I was pretty excited to hear from him even though he only lived about 90 minutes away at the time. It wasn't a long conversation.
Jay: Hi.
Me: Hi. What's up?
Jay: I just wanted to call and let you know I'm married now.
Me: That's cool! It'll be an easy date to remember too. For anniversaries and stuff.
Jay: Yeah... Why?
Me: ....well... you got married on my birthday, and yours is a week later. Should be easy to remember.
Jay: Oh, yeah. I didn't realize it was your birthday. Happy birthday too then.
Me: Thanks. You too... next week.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not bitter. I actually love that memory more than all but one that I can think of right now. In fact, I hold onto that memory tightly because it was a very rare time I actually got to talk to him one on one. I loved that. I was thinking about that day several weeks ago when I moved some stuff to the shed and I came across some letters he had written to me when I lived in South Carolina. He was in high school and he needed relationship advice. Me. The person who clearly married the absolute wrong person who was only kind of right at the time. What can you do, right? But I saved those letters. He wrote in pencil. I hope they don't fade too much.
It's strange. I had a really bad feeling when we left the Thanksgiving before he died. I almost felt like it was goodbye. Almost. He hugged me, which was unusual. Even more unusual was that uneasy feeling that haunted me as we drove away, and the unshakable fear that something bad was going to happen soon. I got the stomach flu the day he died. I didn't answer the phone until we turned the ringer on the next day. I was the only one in the house that managed to catch that bug.
You know, I hear a lot of people talk about dreams they had of their loved ones after they died. I've had many dreams. Most of them I'm saving for myself. Some of them I don't understand. I will share the last one I had, though. We were walking. Somewhere. It was just me and Jay, and he was his adult self instead of the usual 9- or 10-year-old that normally came to visit. The background was completely irrelevant apparently because it almost didn't exist. We didn't say anything. He never says much in those dreams, especially when he shows up as an adult, so it wasn't an out-of-the-ordinary visit. We stopped at a bus that must have been waiting for him because the doors were open when we got there. Once he was on, the doors closed. I pleaded with him to stay just a few minutes longer. His mouth didn't move, but I heard him tell me he couldn't stay. He was busy. And it would be fine. I felt like that one was goodbye. I just wish I could tell him I love him.
In memory... Jason T. Kidd 10/30/81 - 11/30/02
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