Part 7 of The Boy We Loved, Once Upon a Time – posts about my nephew, Jeff, who died of cancer 25 years ago this week.
This is my seventh, and final, post in this series focusing on Jeff (Technically, there are eight, but one of them crept in unexpectedly… like flowers being delivered to your doorstep… when his friends chimed in with thoughts to share. It rhymes (See Yes, It Rhymes). When I set out to mark the 25th anniversary of Jeff’s death in this way, I didn’t know how many posts I would write. I didn’t really have a master plan. For the purposes of being intentional, I could have logically decided to do 13 posts: one for each year he spent on earth.
But I think it’s appropriate to stop at seven. In the Bible, seven represents completion. It’s hard for us to fathom that Jeff lived a complete life. To us, it seems his life was, cruelly, cut short. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter; after he reached 13 years on earth, Jeff’s life was complete.
I searched through boxes of photos in various locations in my house and in my mom’s photo album. I pestered Kris and others for photos and memories. I combed through the “Jeff File” I keep in my nightstand drawer, and reviewed what I had written 25 years ago in journals. I found myself mulling the process of what I wanted to convey on my drives to work, and on the morning after I had posted the 2nd or 3rd post, the song Scars by I Am They came on the radio.
Scars form to repair damage done to the body by a wound so that we can go on. At first red, hard and tender, over time they fade and soften. The scars that form after losing someone you love don’t show, but they are real. They prove that some things that happen can’t be erased.
I’ve found, with other experiences of recovery from grief, that the passage of time helps the scar to form. What was once a wildfire out of control becomes more manageable, like a brushfire. Yes, it can still burn, and it’s still not something anyone intended or wanted to happen. But it’s contained. The “what should have been” thinking and “what if” questions quietly fade somewhat as years pass. I’ve noticed that once a protective emotional scar has formed, it’s possible for me to remember what happened rather than re-experience it happening.
Usually.
As I listened to the song, it felt as though God suddenly slashed through a curtain of some kind to offer me a glimpse of the sheer, raw pain of human grief. Not just my own. I had an overwhelmingly fresh realization of the entire family’s sense of loss — Eastlund and Koenigsberg, as well as all others who loved Jeff. Another wave followed, those who have lost people they love… multiplied millions of times over across the world, millions of times over all generations of human history. I kind of gasped as I felt it like a blow.
Still on my way to work here, going north on Highway 101 in Minnetonka. The “get a grip” part of my brain mocked me. “You’re like the teenager in Mean Girls who ‘doesn’t even go here.’ ”
I have a lot of feelings. But not usually as I’m driving to work. The impact of reopening the Jeff File over the past week may be with me for awhile.
And that’s a good thing. I’m guessing feelings like these overcome everyone from time to time.
As I sifted through the newspaper clippings, pictures and journal entries that I found this week, I thought about the intangible Jeff File, as well. What would the grown man, Jeff, be like? Would he have gone through a man-bun phase and bear a sleeve of tattoos on his arm? Would he still gag on potatoes? Would he have joined the quinoa, kale and kombucha craze? Or would take-out pizza still suit him just fine?
Would he still relish Dave Barry’s writing and Far Side cartoons? What kind of relationship would he have developed with David, when Lisa brought him home to meet the family?
I wonder if Jeff would work in a hipster studio of some kind, or own a craft brewery? Or would he be suited up and crushing it in a corporate office? As one of the Koenigsberg men, who are builders, artists, craftsmen, and architects, he would no doubt be involved in some kind of creative endeavor. Would he still be drumming?
Some scenarios seem more likely than others, but while it seems to us that so much of his story is untold, the reality is that his story on earth ended in 1996, and I believe it continues in a different, unseen-to-us realm. And, as my niece, Britta, noted in her reflections about his life (See Part 5 – Love Letter from the Family), he is engaged in meaningful work that we will one day learn more about.
After the past week of posting about Jeff every day, I’ll soon put my Jeff File back in the drawer of my nightstand.
Every one who knew him has a Jeff File, and for the past week, we’ve taken it out and examined its contents. It has been life-giving to have experienced this kind of organic community organized around a common purpose (albeit online, but we’re still in pandemic mode, so… ). I realize I prompted the family to send memories to me, but I didn’t foresee the virtual episode of Friends that developed when Zach reached out to Kris. And I hadn’t particularly envisioned that so many people — beyond my usual tribe — would read the posts, look at the pictures… remember Jeff all week long. It’s healing. It’s redemptive. It’s inspiring. And now it’s complete.
My Jeff File doesn’t contain much in the way of photos of Jeff’s friends, or memories of conversations about Smashing Pumpkins or Nirvana. Their files are not chock-full of memories of boat rides past the Spicer Castle or Saturday morning breakfasts at King Oscar’s in Richfield. Each of us has a unique file on Jeff, and now that he’s gone, together we collectively hold the pieces that make up a kind of jigsaw portrait of him. Thank you to those who contributed a piece to the mosaic image of Jeff that we made over the past few days. We were blessed to count him as part of our lives then. We are blessed as we learn of new stories about his life now. Thank you for joining me in remembering my beautiful nephew, Jeff.
In the Broadway musical Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye asks his wife Golde if she loves him. She considers it a ludicrous question and they debate the definition and proof of love back and forth throughout a very sweet song. I think I’ve witnessed the proof of the love people still have for Jeff more powerfully this week than I have in a very long time, and I’m guessing it’s the same for Kris and Tom and Lisa.
It doesn’t change a thing. But even so…
After 25 years, it’s nice to know.
Karna Eastlund Haugen 