Sow

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Six months. It seems impossible, but somehow I have managed to continue living six months after my baby brother breathed his last breath. There were moments and even days when I didn't want to... Why would I want to live another 50 years with this pain and grief--this massive hole in my heart that could never possible begin to be filled? But somehow, I've managed... Because I know Jed wants me to.

 

Again, I use the present tense for a very special reason--because Jed is still with me, trying to help me, guide me, and comfort me even though I can't see him. And he shows himself to me in signs (you can scoff if you want... But those who have gone through any kind of deep, painful loss will know that our loved ones never leave us alone and are always reaching out to us in little ways that prick our hearts).

 

When people think of Jed, they might think of the color red (Red for Jed) or balloons or even feathers. When I think of him, I instantly think of acorns.

 

When he was a little boy, we gave Jed an acorn to help him overcome his fear of going to school. Again, we gave him an acorn the night before his surgery to give him courage--because mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow. It gave him the courage to walk into surgery and it gave him courage through the next two days where he fought frantically for his life... and he died with that damned acorn clutched tightly in his hand... I still have it.

 

So for me, it's an acorn.

 

I've permanently put an acorn on my body, hidden behind my ear. My early love for Peter Pan and the "kiss" he gives to Wendy soon became painfully ironic when I got my own hidden kiss the day Jed and I were supposed to go and get tattoos together.

 

 

Wherever I go, I search for acorns. Is it a sign from Jed? Not necessarily. But the minute I see one, I think of him and in my thoughts, he is there with me and sometimes that is enough.

 

On my honeymoon and in Russia

 

But sometimes, I do think it is a sign... like today.

 

After a rough day (the 8th will always be hard), and just ten minutes after I had painted these three acorns in memory of Jed, I was walking back to work. As I was walking, something orange caught my eye. It was a plastic acorn lying on the sidewalk. I stopped, turned around, and went back to pick it up. To me, THAT was a message from Jed. I've walked back and forth along that path for almost a month and a half now and never have I seen anything other than broken bottles and cigarette butts. Here, six months (almost to the minute) after Jed's passing from Here to There, and just a few minutes after I painted these acorns, I happen to walk directly over this plastic orange (Jed's favorite color) acorn.

 

I'm not a real believer in "You reap what you sow." Jed sowed so much good and got screwed over in my not so humble opinion. But it got me thinking today...

An acorn is a seed that can be sowed to make a mighty oak. Jed was that acorn. He never did become that mighty oak (Life never even gave him the chance). But he sowed and sowed and sowed GOOD into people. And if you sow enough, soon you can bring in a bountiful harvest. I think the good that Jed sowed in his laughter, his kindness, his goofiness, and his epic determination and stamina will be the greatest harvest any of us will ever have the privilege to see. For years--as long as people think of Jed, say his name, and remember how he made them feel--that harvest will continue to come in and the forest of mighty oaks that he planted in each of our hearts will continue to spread and grow.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn."  Jed was that little acorn. And we are his forest.

a.r.w.