Today marks twenty-three years since Jamie’s last day on earth. I woke up early this morning, as I do. Bleary-eyed, I read a couple of sweet messages from dear friends, delivered while I had slept. I have written something most years (all years?) on this anniversary of the worst day of my life. Today, though, I wasn’t certain I would write. I wasn’t sure I needed to. Or if I really had anything to say.
That changed the moment I got into my work truck and both saw and smelled a small wreath of lavender someone had left on the rearview mirror.
A few days after Jamie died, Danielle, his sister, requested a viewing. I had a visceral, negative reaction to this idea. I had always found the notion of viewings unsettling and awkward. After sitting with it for a couple of days, I decided that if it was important to Danielle, I would let go of my own discomfort. It would just be attended by a small group of family and friends.
The day we went to the mortuary, we were led into the room where Jamie’s body was laying. The woman who showed us in gently warned us that we should be careful with the right side of his face. I was shaking, filled with anxiety. As I saw Jamie, an indescribable heap of feelings came over me— just overwhelming. A combination of grief, horror, love, gratitude, anxiety, presence, aloneness, togetherness, and things I don’t even know how to put into words. We gathered around him, talking to him, loving him, gently touching him. One of us put a couple of drops of lavender oil on his forehead. I will never forget the scent. It was a mixture of lavender and death. To this day, it is hard for me to smell lavender without at least a touch of the death part wafting in.
I don’t enjoy the notion of “closure”, and that is not what the viewing provided. For me, the most poignant thing that happened was seeing Jamie for the last time appearing close to what he looked like before the accident, which was in stark opposition to what I had seen in those last devastating moments at Children’s Hospital.
As I write this, I imagine if I were the one who had put that lavender wreath in the truck, and were reading this now, I would be feeling really concerned that I had inadvertently touched a raw nerve. However, that is not what happened for me. It was a beautiful, synchronous thing for me to experience. I was very grateful for that lavender wreath.
Later this morning, I mentioned the lavender wreath to a dear work friend and, without telling the story, mentioned that there was this serendipitous aspect to it appearing there. My friend asked, cautiously, if it may have had anything to do with Jamie. She had no way of knowing, and at least consciously did not know the significance of today’s date. I said it did, and then she told me that Jamie had been in her dream last night! She had been unsure of whether to mention it, but I am glad she did!
Throughout the day, there were other Jamie connections and signs. I’ll keep some of them between me and Jamie, but they kind of kept coming.
I miss him. I love him forever. I’m grateful for the time we shared — and for the quiet, subtle ways he still touches my life.
Mychael
Jamie’s Dad
