In a Moment

*Trigger warning- this post mentions suicide.*

I come here to process. That's why I'm here. I've been cycling over events that happened just yesterday and I can't get it out of my head. Fitting puzzle pieces together with jagged edges~ trying to make sense of something that doesn't make sense. Monday marked 22 years since we lost our son. I always feel an especial closeness to him around this time of year. Yesterday's events convinced me again that Andrew was there as he always is- below the surface- always looking out for his mom.

Where do I start? How do I untangle this? S had lost his driver's permit for days and found it literally minutes before it was time for us to leave for his band practice. We decided to take my mini-van because the check engine light was on in the "kid car" which is an OLD car but is a great little car from going from point A to point B.

As we were driving south on a 35mph road, I spotted a car parked off to the side of the road but in our lane facing us. I had commented to S to NEVER park like that against traffic and told him to slow WAY down (from an already slow speed) and give the car plenty of room, remarking that there could be a passenger who could open their door not paying attention and hit us. We were the only car on the road at the time so he was able to go into the opposite lane to give plenty of room.

And that's when it happened. The car- seemingly out of nowhere- plowed right into us- me. Almost head on but because S was going around hit mostly the front corner/wheel.

My initial reaction and concern was S. I told him- "You're OK, you're OK. Just pull over~ not realizing the car wasn't really moving. It felt slow motion we drifted to the side in front of someone's house. As my mind started to settle, I tried to open the door and get out of the car- that wasn't happening... I called 911 and apologized saying it wasn't an emergency emergency. We were in an accident. We were going slow and I believed all were OK but could they please send the police. We had to all be OK. Sean was going so slow. That car had been parked. He just wasn't paying attention. Right?

We both exited the drivers side of the car. A kind witness stopped to check and make sure we were alright. I let her know that we were and had asked her if she witnessed any of the accident. She said she hadn't but she saw the driver "take off."

I looked to where she was looking and saw the car. A VERY nice convertible car with no driver in it. I had wondered if perhaps the driver was impaired and worried about getting into trouble. I couldn't understand why he left. We weren't angry/ rather relieved to be OK. The owner of the house we were parked in front of came out to check on us. Another neighbor I assume had also come by. We all commented on how lucky we were and that cars can be replaced but people can't.

People can't.

That's when I gestured to the car and mentioned the other driver had left. The owner of the house, looked to where I was pointing and said, "Oh my God, I think that's my husband!" She took off running and calling his name. S and I sat down and prayed. I knew that things weren't right. Things were not making sense. Something was wrong. It was worse than it should have been. But I didn't know what was to come next.

I heard the woman's voice. Cries for her husband. And then a wail- her husband's name over and over in a way I will not soon forget. I checked my phone, it had been 13 minutes since my call to 911. I decided to call again.

Hello, I just called about a car accident. My son and I are ok but I'm worried about the other driver. The dispatcher asked me my location and let me know- yes, someone had called and that they were en route for the suicide.

Suicide?

Suicide.

And in a moment~ so much changed. All of it changed.

Those jagged puzzle pieces started to try to fit. I tried to make sense of something I couldn't make sense of.

The scene was roped off. We were talking to officers, a sergeant, a social worker. 

My husband came.

It all happened so fast- but slow motion- a blur- 

The day. The scene. The moment- all a blur.

S had said he wanted to still go to band. I wasn't sure what he knew and just kept asking over and over- are you ok. He just kept saying he was fine. He was worried about me. His arm around my shoulder. A touch on my leg just letting me know- he was with me. We were together. We were real. This was real.

As the jagged puzzle pieces try to fit I still have so many questions... And so many whatifs...

What if this was intentional? Oh my gosh. Was this intentional?

He sped up into us didn't he? How did he hit us so hard so fast when he was parked?

What if I was driving? I would have given room but I certainly wouldn't have slowed down so much. What if he had hit us at a faster speed?

And then...

What if he had injured himself just enough to not be able to exit that vehicle and do what he did? What if he wasn't able to get to that house? What if there wasn't a gun?

Would he be alive?

What if? What if? What if?

There were other things I learned- fragments of conversations overheard- me trying to force them together. Make it make sense. Make something that makes no sense- make sense.

But in the end there is a truth. There was an accident. A man is dead. His wife is grieving. Lives changed forever... because of a moment.

Of all the mix of emotions that I have felt about this, the one that I have NOT felt is anger. This person (I now believe) intentionally tried to crash into us. My car is totaled~ trust me- this is going to be BAD and EXPENSIVE and I can't even cross THAT bridge right now- but that bridge CAN be crossed. I can't be angry. We are still here. We still can cross those terribly hard bridges. And so of the emotions similar to that night we lost Andrew- confusion, relief, fear, the coming out of the fog- there is one emotion that is stuck. One that I can't shake.

Sadness.

Sadness for his wife and family and friends and community. Sadness knowing however bad it was (and I believe it must have felt suffocating- it WAS suffocating) that it didn't have to end like this.

Sadness that I am looking at my son and I don't know exactly what is (or isn't) in his head... Do I ask deeper questions? Do I probe? Do I let it be?

Sadness that I can still hear and see and feel all of yesterday. It keeps cycling in my brain and I can't get it to stop.

But perhaps above all a deep deep sadness for him. Sadness that he felt this was what needed to be done. Sadness that he chose this~ whether it was planned out for years, months, days, or perhaps just a moment.

Just a moment.

I do believe that Andrew was there. I believe the many things that happened to keep us safe happened the way they should. I just hope that lessons can be learned, that healing can happen. I am so very sorry for the driver. I am so sorry for his pain. I am so so sorry. I wish I could have changed that moment. I wish he could have too.

What if. What if. What if.

If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, please, please talk to someone. Pick up the phone and hopefully things can improve. The moment can improve. One moment at a time.

Dial 988 if you are in need of help. ANY time of day.

22 Years

 

Perhaps you are here because a kind act was done for you "Because of Andrew." Or maybe you were curious who Andrew was/is.

It's September 2025.

Andrew was my first born son. He was born one minute before his twin brother on September 15th. They were both wrapped in cord. Andrew didn't make it. Jonasen did. HERE is their story.

In the 22 years since my heart shattered for the first time- and grew beyond measure- I have been gifted so many lessons from Andrew. From his absence and I'd argue also from his presence in my life.

As another September dawns, I am aware that for some reason this time of year is one that challenges me in so many ways. My major world-changing tragedies ALL happened in September. It is the month where I have cried the most tears, prayed the most, screamed the most, questioned the most. It is a month of hard as I say goodbye to my grown children and hello to a new group of students. It is a transitional month- the month I always seem to change- and somehow come out on the other side a little better- a little more understanding- a little softer- a little more at peace.

I know that my heartaches have grown me and shaped me and changed me. It doesn't mean that it wasn't hard- that there weren't days where I wasn't sure I would make it. But I'm here- on the other side- stronger than ever.

But September 15th is always a hard one for me. The boy that I think of EVERY day is not someone that the world knows- except perhaps once a year when they are the beneficiary of an act that was done in memory of MY son. Seeing his name. Hearing his name. It all brings me such comfort.

And so, as I travel to his garden and then later to see his brother, I hope that all around there might be other people who pause and think- this day got a little better- Because of Andrew.

If you plan to do a kind act- or receive a kind act- please tell me about it HERE or in the comments below!

If you'd like a ready-made note to print and share with your kind act- click HERE.

Because writing makes me feel better~ Jennie

My tattoo in my Nana's shorthand...
"Sometimes they fly away too soon."

Dear Jennie,

It feels strange writing this to you like this, but then you know that's my way- writing letters has always helped me process and while I sure did tell you a lot about my inner thoughts (and you told me a lot about yours), I wish we would have had time for more.

I will never forget when we met. We got this new teacher at LLE (shorter than I was! haha). You were setting up your new first grade classroom. I met your husband, son (around my son's age), and little daughter with that cute little pacifier always in her mouth! Even all these years later I feel like I'll flashback to that memory. You were definitely on the quiet side but a nut I wanted to crack. 

I remember thinking- she doesn't like me. Her words are saying one thing but here face and body language are saying another and I did something I had never done before and I have never done since... I kind of called you out on it. The crazy thing was~ as soon as I did that we became fast friends and confidants. I'm still a bit in awe with how that happened.

I honestly don't remember too much of our years teaching together, partly because as you know I have the WORST memory on the planet (unlike you) and I feel like our friendship really grew after you left. When you left, our daily small talks became text messages and check-ins. I loved being the person that you could share what you were really thinking about things and that you could be mine (ok- I admit- the not always nice things and I loved laughing about that stuff with you!). I remember when you texted me that something may be wrong and that there would be testing. That you were worried. That your mom died too young. And I remember when you learned on Valentine's Day 3 years ago that you had pancreatic cancer.

To be honest, I didn't know ANYTHING about that type of cancer- you knew I knew about the cancers Jim and Christie had but I didn't know about yours. But dang- when you told me I didn't quite know what to say- but that if anyone could beat it- it would be you.

My gosh you fought and fought hard. I loved our walk and talks and didn't mind one iota stopping when you needed to. I loved our lunch dates. But most of all I loved our daily text messages. I didn't tell you this, but I had a timer on my phone that went off at 12:55 every day (when my kids finally went to lunch) so I would never forget to check in and get my daily update from you. I'm a bit embarassed about that but hey- I'm the girl that had a reminder on her phone to hug her kids on the daily and the fact is those alarms made me get the job done. 

I remember in recent weeks when you told me that you may just need to give a heart to my messages but that you read every one and loved them and to keep them up. I remember when I shared my "window routine"- (opening my window and talking to God, Andew, and other loved ones in heaven- sharing the things and people that were on my heart- and that YOU were always the first person I talked about). I remember when I told you that the camp idea that you brought to my classroom would FOREVER be named after YOU and how you got a little misty eyed when I told you that. That Camp Ashley would be way better- than "Camp Pickles" that the kids always seemed to want to do because- ok. I like pickles... I told you that as long as I was living (and teaching) my kids would know YOU and your story.

I miss you Jennie. I miss every amazing miracle BIG and small those last years. I miss the hope we had. I miss you.

I remember when you had made peace that it was going to happen and when I shared that my new prayers out the window shifted- to your peace- to your comfort- to your husband and children. I remember when you told me you were were sleeping oh so much and that you couldn't keep your eyes open. I told you that I prayed for you to have happy dreams- with your mom and maybe my Andrew. I told you I bet they were excited to see you but that I sure hope you didn't go just yet- but that I knew you'd know your time- people seem to. 

I remember when you wrote me back:

"And clearly you prayed for dreams because 1. I never dream and 2. I had a crazy but happy dream with so many I love in it, even my Mom which is rarer than rare, like maybe 3x in 20 yrs!"

I remember YOUR concern about my dumb surgery- and your check-ins and I thought (and said) you don't need to worry one bit about me. But you loved me too and that's who YOU were.

I remember when I texted I loved you and that I hoped the day was "decent" (what was good anymore?) and you texted me back, "Today was decent." with that purple heart and I was so so so happy.

I remember how in awe I was that you were making all of your kids' things- taking these amazing bucket list vacations- and recording it all. You were superwoman!

I remember how worried you were about Paige. About Emerson.. And how you loved that every time he even walked by a room you were in he had to come in and give you a squeeze.

And I remember your love for Ryan and how in awe you were of all the things he did for you and my smile and laughter when you told me how he put that bed in the back of the trunk so that you could sleep if you needed to rest on the drives from treatments. How you would both laugh at what passers-by would think as they they saw some big guy helping this tiny, gray-haired lady into the trunk of a car. (By the way- you rocked that gray when your hair came back- seriously- though you knew I was always of fan of that color on anyone- you looked awesome!)

And I remembered texting you and not getting that heart. Again. And again.

I remember seeing Ryan's text.

I remember my phone ringing during our Class Valentine Party.

I remember thinking- you left. You picked a good day- Valentine's was already shitty since it was the day you got your diagnosis- it was the perfect day to go tell your mom all the wonderful things about the last 21 years! 

I remember thinking of that hug. The Reunion.

You died that afternoon.

And I remembered you writing once how you never liked to sleep in the afternoon because you read somewhere that most people die in the afternoon. I thought- you changed your mind. You were ready. You fought so hard and lived so much longer than anyone thought. I was not surprised.

I will remember how this week when asked to do a livestream of your funeral I was secretly panicked but would 100% do it because you would do it for me! And how I spent HOURS figuring it out and swearing and sweating and talking to you that you better help me not blow this!!!

I will remember secretly thinking that I was glad I was a little sick (ok- maybe not a little) and that I had to wear a mask and sit quiet and alone in a corner which was pretty sweet because no one really saw my ugly cry.

I will remember seeing you in that casket with your Dr. Pepper (not diet like me) and talking to you in my head like I do our that window. With tears streaming down my face like they sometimes do and how thankful I was that everyone in the room was behind us and that it was a moment just for us. 

I will remember thanking you for being my friend. For confiding in me. For loving me. For saying all those years ago, "No no Laura! I'm totally down- I'm just sometimes quiet." A great friendship was born-We weren't quiet anymore, were we.

I will miss texting you and my alarm going off. I know if I see 12:55, or a Dr. Pepper, Jimmy Johns, someone with jet-black hair and the deepest blue eyes, or (of course) the color purple, I'll think of you.

I'll think of you.

I love you, Jennie.

I miss you.

Say hi to Andrew for me and I'll see you later.

All my love,

Laura

Ps. Your mom went to heaven exactly one week before my Andrew- how did we not make that connection! And I love that you, my Grandpa Jonasen, and son Sean all had the same birthday.