Is it just me or do Wednesdays seem to come around faster now?
I’m off again at the end of the week for Louisiana. We’ll be returning to Slidell, where there is still work to be done. Can you believe it is three years after Hurricane Katrina and there are still roofs that need repair? Homes that need drywall? People who need help and healing?
Can you believe that tomorrow will be two years since Jeff has been gone? As many of you know, I am not happy about the situation. But I am peaceful now, in ways that cannot readily be described in a few words or a million words. I know how he suffered, I know how he loved, and I know that he did not want any of us to see him weaken. He wanted us all to have the brilliant memory of his laugh, his quick and frequent smile, and the knowledge that his heart was big enough to hold everyone, and still does.
PS. You might get a newsletter next week from Louisiana, but then again…. you might not.
Guess we’ll both be surprised to see how that turns out.
Second, you know it’s coming, so we might as well count it down together.
35 days away. Seems like plenty to prepare for a train wreck, if you were expecting one.
I’m not wholly sure if you should be expecting one or not. I don’t know if I should be, either.
I’ve set aside 14 days. Just in case.
I’ve also put myself out there – every day – since that day someone I didn’t know said something that changed everything.
Followed by that day, I thought I was safely anonymous amongst 66K people; letting out what I’d learned on that something someone said day on inspirational site.
Trent Shelton. Remember when I suggested y’all follow him?
Well, no one told me they did. So, I found out the hard way that I hadn’t been honest with the universe as stealthily as I imagined. That night I wrote to no one but myself. That morning I found out my words had been seen.
Notification: 2 likes.
Clicked out of curiosity; hoping to find a kindred discussionist or two, only to nauseously realize I’d inadvertently let my private cat out the bag.
Those two likes? My brother and my brother-in-law. Cowardly non-addressed, at least, until now.
Since then, though. Since October 2020, there’s been this reoccurring theme. Everywhere I turn.
Books I’ve read, motivational quotes, inspirational stories, sermons I’ve heard, songs I’ve taken to, have all been telling me the same thing:
“You’re not the one who died.”
Obviously, I’ve been well aware of that. What I haven’t been aware of is… anything else.
It’s entirely mind boggling. 35 days until 15 not 20. 20 is the sun eclipsed by the 15 moon, because. My God. 15?
It’s going to be a bit of a non-chronological heap. I’m almost out of time, but I wanna get the good stuff in or get it out or just share it dammit.
One request: If you’ve got a JSK story, share it on Knabble. Or email it to me.
I’ll get it out there for you. For us; for all of us.
I never fessed up because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take away the meaning they’d assigned.
What I’d said was, “Five years ago today was the happiest day of my life. Today is the second happiest day of my life, because I can see how very much (emotional throat glitch) he was loved.”
From what I’ve been told, miss-hearings varied from, “how very much Jesus loved him,” to how very much Jesus loves us.”
Our United Methodist Church Pastor was one of the misunderstandees. His own throat-closing confession to an entire sanctuary of mostly unknown-to-him funeral attendees that the decision not to marry Jeff and me was the greatest regret of his ministry career, sealed my lips.
Shortly thereafter, the minister invited everyone to fellowship after the conclusion of the celebration of life for Jeffrey Korte. But, before the dismissing blessing, he also asked if there was anyone who hadn’t had a chance to speak but would like to now.
There was such a complete and awkward silence that if I hadn’t known there were people behind me, I wouldn’t have suspected anyone was there.
Then, it happened.
In a 100% Jeff moment, his picture leapt off the communion rail and tumbled over backwards. The people murmured, the tension broke, and Pastor David took it as a sign.
Paraphrasing, again, it was something that included ‘going’ and ‘eating’ like, “I think Jeff’s sayin’ it’s time to eat,” or “I guess Jeff’s ready to go eat.”
There was laughter and a blessing and then it was over. The funeral had officially ended.
I was advised to stay where I was for a few moments, because there were likely people who would not be joining us at the Masonic Hall who may want to have a word before they left.
So, I stood there, and said thank you and goodbye to some; hello and thank you to others. But, the only ones I remember were the four-in-a-row.
“It gives me great joy that you believe in our Lord and Savior.”
“Jesus was with you up there today and he will continue to be with you.”
“What a testimony to your faith! Jesus loves us -Hallelujah and Amen.”
“Your faith in Christ surpasses mine.”
Then, the witness.
Making our way to cross the church lot, the witness, my mother, spoke.
So, I’ll tell you, again. I have no idea who I was writing to.
I’m at a loss really. I’m not sure who I was addressing, but I have thought a lot about who I wasn’t addressing. The ministers covered so much about family and friends, without some of the more questionable parts, but still with enough give to allow for a watery smile or a grimaced chuckle.
I didn’t really decide to add humor to my thoughts. I wasn’t going for a lighten-up-the-atmosphere effect. I just did what I always do. Wrote in my speaking voice. I just wanted to say aloud to as many people as possible, to explain – the importance of him. And the importance of him + me.
I started out steady enough. Halfway through the second sentence, I strangled – I ran out air. I choked emotionally. I blinked the blurriness (that I refused to let fall) into evaporation, gulped and pushed out the rest in a very short-of-breath fashion.
I’m a little hard to understand on regular days. My natural tendency tends to cause confusion. Speaking softly was never a stylistic choice. I will make an effort to overcompensate when alerted to the need.
Much, like the sex-talk Nannee thought she and I had had, but hadn’t – soft speaker vs hard of hearing.
What I said next was similarly interpreted widely off the mark. Terribly misunderstood.
Yes, I had microphone. But, no. Apparently, that didn’t help.
I never fessed up.
Some very important people in my life sought me out that afternoon to say that the words they thought I’d said had made an indelible impact on their hearts. Not in those words and not collectively, but there were 4 of them, plus 1. The first four were one right after another. The fifth was present for all of the others, but reserved comment for a bit.
Following the logic of lyric interpretation – in the old days, at least – when “so fine” was the precursor to “a bangin’ #ut#” – I respect creativity and adore the creators who, very sincerely, decline to explain their work.
What it means to you might be a world away from the aim. The important part is that it gave you something, whether intended or not. The gift is that it moved you, made you more determined, opened your eyes, changed your mind – for the better, for you, whatever.
Sometimes, there’s just no need to correct the notion.