Last week, I hiked to Jasper Lake outside Nederland. Hiking gives me a lot of time to think and process. This is particularly valuable these days, when I find myself with so much on my mind and so many confusing and conflicting emotions to constantly sort through. Being outside, surrounded by the gentle hum of nature, I almost always feel better. It was a long hike and I was a little intimidated, but I felt drawn to it.
You see, Reed has a best friend. A little boy named Jasper, who was born two months after him, over 1,500 miles away, to a woman whom I’ve never actually met.
I know this sounds odd to a “regular” parent. I understand. I remember when it would have sounded odd to me, too.
Even now, I find myself afraid of what people will think when they see me refer to Reed’s best friend. I worry they will not understand, or that my phrasing will cause people to gently pity me or, worse yet, to judge Reed and Jasper. A large part of being a bereaved parent is holding back details and carefully assessing what is “safe” to share, or who we can trust to receive our children respectfully. But...Jasper is an important part of Reed’s ongoing story. Like all good friends, he and his parents have become a part of our family. Those who have chosen to follow Reed’s story will certainly see Jasper’s name come up. There are many ways I could try to describe who he is, how Marc and I came to know Jasper and his family, but the easiest explanation is simply the one I’ve already given. He is our son’s best friend, and that’s what matters.
I decided to hike to Jasper Lake on August 5 for Jasper’s six month birthday. I wanted to walk alongside Jasper Creek, see Mount Jasper looming above me, and then find the beautiful payoff at 12,000 feet. I wanted to pay tribute to this little boy who I never got to meet, but who I care about so much. I wanted to sit by the edge of the water in peaceful solitude and simply feel the mess of feelings that comes from walking this road without our children. Jasper should be six months old...but he’s not. I shouldn’t know his mother at all...but I do. So many shoulds and shouldn’ts make up our lives now, and yet they never seem to sting any less. We are powerless against them. We are powerless against so much.
As I walked, the roar of Jasper Creek kept me company. I stopped to marvel at the water and, as always, was struck by the power and relentlessness of nature. This creek never stops. It gets to where it is going, no matter what obstacles are placed in its way. There is no stopping its path, only redirecting it. When you try to barricade rushing water, the energy slowly builds and builds until it eventually breaks through. You must find ways to release this power, because it’s going to come through somehow. When you try to hold it back, it ends up doing a lot more damage than if you just let it ebb and flow freely.
I thought of how this applies to our lives. We are human. Being human is exhausting. Especially nowadays, when our levels of anxiety and fear and powerlessness are at an all time high. Of course we don’t want to feel these things. Sometimes we run from them, through distractions or by pretending we don’t feel them at all. Often, we are implicitly taught since childhood to bottle up our emotions and hide our true feelings from the rest of the world, lest we make someone else feel uncomfortable. Just like water, though, emotions have a tendency to break through whatever barricades we have constructed. If we are lucky, the damage this causes will not be irreparable.
I have been extremely fortunate throughout my life to be surrounded by people who give me the space to be honest about how I feel. Especially now, my feelings of profound sorrow and anxiety are generally understood and rarely dismissed. When looked at through this lens, losing Reed has actually given me an opportunity few people are offered - I am allowed to feel the way I feel, without judgement. This freedom is extremely valuable, and I know it is also difficult to observe. In a world where we already feel powerless, sitting beside someone you care about while they are in pain and not being able to help is profoundly uncomfortable.
For those who know me...I feel very acutely. I am emotional, and I wear these emotions on my sleeve. I get overwhelmed easily, even in the best of times. When I am sad, I cry. And I cry a lot.
I used to see this as a weakness. A symbol of my inability to appropriately deal with the discomforts and disappointments of being human. A burden to the people around me. Lately, I am beginning to realize I actually really like this about myself. I see it as a tremendous strength, one I have been allowed to develop because the support people in my life have not asked me to behave differently.
I am not expected to bottle up these emotions, so I have learned to release them. I have learned to be honest about how I feel, and this has allowed me opportunities to process these feelings and deal with them. Of course I don’t always do this well. I’m not suggesting that having a panic attack at work and going home early, like I did in the weeks before Reed was born, is an appropriate way to express your feelings. But it was a step I needed to take in order to get to the place I am today, and I am immensely grateful for the kindness and understanding that was shown to me in those moments.
There is a lot of power and energy in our emotions, just like in the raging waters of the river, and that can be intimidating and painful to deal with. But I encourage you to try. I recognize not everyone is as lucky as I am, to be surrounded by people who do not dismiss the way I feel. They listen without judgement or advice, and instead simply acknowledge my feelings as valid.
As I hiked alongside Jasper Creek, thinking about the power of emotion and how important it is to feel safe, I also thought a lot about friendship. I thought about how lucky I feel to call Jasper’s resilient mother my friend, and how comforted I am to picture my son with a best friend of his own. I thought about how important it is to find friends who can simply sit with you when you are hurting. The fellow loss moms I have met on this road, including Jasper’s mother, are uniquely equipped to do this. I have learned so much from them, and am slowly learning how to offer that non-judgmental ear to those who need to feel less alone for a moment. I’m learning to find healthy ways to release what I feel when it becomes too much, because I know it’s going to find a way out eventually. Perhaps most importantly of all, I am learning how to give myself the same grace I have received from so many - the freedom to feel how I feel, without judgement.
Oh Sammi.....Such a beautiful post. Thank you.