September 26, 2018 (another year goes by)
Two days from now, September 28, 2018, marks the 18th anniversary of Hans Day, otherwise known as Hans' day of transformation, otherwise known as death. Hans is our third son (out of four). He died at the age of 11 1/2 of brain cancer
(glioblastoma mulitforme).
We had fought it with all we had for 16 months. Those 16 months were the best (yes, the sweetest) and the hardest our family has ever lived through. Hans gave the fight his best, best self....taking time to be grateful to doctors, nurses and chaplains that cared for him, taking time to laugh and joke and enjoy his life, even in the hospital. He was a beautiful soul, who in his short life managed to connect to the infinite presence that connects us all, otherwise known as Love, or God.
Today, Hans' two older brothers and one younger are grown men. Jacob is a teacher, married with a lovely 3-year-old daughter. Karl is also a teacher, married with a two lovely children, a 3-year-old boy and a baby daughter. Luke is a software engineer, single, and making music in his basement. These three young men are as stunning to me today as the day they were born. They are amazing human beings, full of light, joy, grace, kindness and love. I like to think that Hans would be on that same team, if he was here. I like to think he's doing victory dances everyday as he watches them grow from his view on the other side.
On my way home from breakfast with a good friend this morning, I was driving through Karl's neighborhood and couldn't resist stopping by just to see him and his little family. A few minutes and a few hugs was enough to give me that shot of fresh air to fill that huge empty Hans-sized space in the center of me. (How grateful I am, I could live this close)
Your kind empathy is well received but I need to say I wouldn't trade places with anyone. I'm a lucky wife, mama and grandma. In addition to an incredible husband (Pete), I have been given incredible children to care for. These four boys, men now, are such a joy. They are such a precious gift, that some days the love just cuts right through my heart, like one of cupid's arrows. My tears are filled with both the rain of the storm and the water from a fresh spring. Today is one of those days. It's so hard to describe that I often don't attempt it but today I really wanted to try.
Maybe it's like the moment when the sun comes through your window. My heart is a prism hanging in the window and the moment I think of my boys, of Hans and his dear brothers, as babes and men, is the moment that the sun hits the prism and all colors of the rainbow explode and spread everywhere in the room. It is a piercing moment. It's a releasing moment. It's a celebration and welcoming of all that has been and that will be, because these boys came into my life.
I do miss Hans. I wish he was here. And some days I miss the old days, making macaroni and cheese, driving car pools, sick days, watching baseball games and playing brain games in the car. But none of us needs to go back. We are all better people for the experience of knowing and having Hans part of our lives. I am a better person for knowing his brothers as well. It is a magical as the moment that light goes through the prism or the light shines through rain. Somehow, God took my love and my grief and made my life into a rainbow of color.
If this doesn't make sense to you, that's okay. It will always be hard to describe. It is enough to know that some of you are out there, sharing the rainbow with me.
It is enough to be in it for another year of life and love and pierced hearts.
~Jules
Two days from now, September 28, 2018, marks the 18th anniversary of Hans Day, otherwise known as Hans' day of transformation, otherwise known as death. Hans is our third son (out of four). He died at the age of 11 1/2 of brain cancer (glioblastoma mulitforme).
On my way home from breakfast with a good friend this morning, I was driving through Karl's neighborhood and couldn't resist stopping by just to see him and his little family. A few minutes and a few hugs was enough to give me that shot of fresh air to fill that huge empty Hans-sized space in the center of me. (How grateful I am, I could live this close)
Maybe it's like the moment when the sun comes through your window. My heart is a prism hanging in the window and the moment I think of my boys, of Hans and his dear brothers, as babes and men, is the moment that the sun hits the prism and all colors of the rainbow explode and spread everywhere in the room. It is a piercing moment. It's a releasing moment. It's a celebration and welcoming of all that has been and that will be, because these boys came into my life.
I do miss Hans. I wish he was here. And some days I miss the old days, making macaroni and cheese, driving car pools, sick days, watching baseball games and playing brain games in the car. But none of us needs to go back. We are all better people for the experience of knowing and having Hans part of our lives. I am a better person for knowing his brothers as well. It is a magical as the moment that light goes through the prism or the light shines through rain. Somehow, God took my love and my grief and made my life into a rainbow of color.
