In Memory of Jake

A brief update and a broken heart. And then, the writing will continue, as Jake would want it to.

Jake died on Wednesday at 8:30pm. After so much suffering in the last two months, the end, when it finally came, came without struggle. We sat together as we have for the last 15 years, only this time I held his hand and told him I loved him over and over until he was gone. Being with him came naturally. Loving him came naturally. Getting up and having to walk away after he passed, knowing that he couldn’t come with me, and I couldn’t follow him, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Nothing about it felt natural. Everything felt and still feels wrong. Jake was my anchor and my home. Without him, I’m adrift.

Jake would (and did!) tell me that no amount of grief, or fatigue, or pain, or struggle should stop a person from writing a draft of an essay or an e-mail in a timely fashion. Now is always better than later, was his credo. So even though I’ve freshly lost the love of my life, I wanted to post a few thoughts right away:

Jake and I spent most of our adult lives together. We met when we were 25-year-old grad students and really grew up together. We shared so many mistakes and triumphs and never once stopped loving one another throughout all of it. We thought together and wrote together. Reading and ideas were a central part of our lives, and so we never ran out of things to talk about. We inspired each other, encouraged each other, and just really liked each other. Jake was wonderful company. It’s incredible how well suited we were.

I not only feel like I’ve lost my life partner, but also half my brain. Not being able to give him this post to edit before it goes out feels crippling. Not being able to run a thought by him does, too. But I’m clinging to the knowledge that we influenced each other so profoundly, and were so entangled, that much of his way of thinking continues in my own mind.

I am so grateful for the way we were able to share the last year. A lot of people turn inwards in the face of terminal illness, becoming angry and frightened, and their relationships suffer. Instead, Jake lived for his connections to other people. He and I were able to move even more deeply into our partnership. We made a point to leave absolutely nothing left unsaid between us. We faced his end knowing that we had done exactly that. I don’t have the words right now to describe what a gift that is. It’s a comfort though nothing feels comfortable.

Jake said that even in the face of all this suffering and loss, he felt lucky. I feel lucky, too. Not only for what we had, but for the future we created together in the form of our daughter. Being able to love and support Jake, as he loved and supported me, has been an honor. I have never known a braver person. I hope Athena is just like her Dad.

If you’ve gotten this far, consider the Go Fund Me that is supporting our daughter Athena’s care and future.