Day Ten, Tuesday, May31st
The day after Jonathan’s passing our home was filled with relatives, most of them were Judi's siblings and mother who have traveled from Canada. This was the most people we had had in our home for some time. Around Ten O’clock in the morning, we got a call from KSL TV asking to do a piece on Jonathan. They wanted to interview us. We were not sure if they wanted to see us or our whole family. Some of the family left and some stayed. Everyone helped out and the house was somewhat presentable when they arrived.
The crew consisted of TV news personalities, a cameraman and another assistant who took a bunch of still photos after the others had left. The interview came off alright and at least, I succeeded in not looking at the camera or crying. Judi answered most of the questions and that was ok by me. Daisy, our cat tried to walk in front of us while the camera was on but she was shooed away. So, she did an end run and walked along the back of the couch. I didn’t even know she was there. This became a family joke, if it was caught on camera. But it was cut from the final take. We laughed about it anyway and for a few moments we were somewhere besides this nightmare.
Afterwards one of them stayed and took a bunch of stills. We talked and as he was loading pictures into his computer he told me about the death of his brother and father. These stories were heartrending. It was good to connect if only briefly with others who suffer and still feel the loss of loved ones even after years have passed.
Later outside, the photographer took several stills; Travis, Samantha, Petra, Judi and I, the house and the flags.
That afternoon we met with the funeral home. This took a couple of hours and was a very painful ordeal. We picked a royal blue casket – BYU- and a white and blue floral arrangement. The program was arranged but the program was not finalized for a couple of days. Gold Cross wanted to do a color guard and final call at the cemetary.
At this point I was all but useless. My wife had taken charge of planning the funeral and I was grateful. I was taking this much harder than her or at least she was holding up much better than me.
We planned on a closed casket viewing at the funeral. This was due to the swelling on the side of Jonathan's head. We decided not to embalm Jonathan for fear that the embalming would exacerbate the swelling.
Our bishop was there and was very supportive. We talked about dressing Jonathan. I just couldn’t bring myself to help in this, so the bishop agreed to oversee the dressing. Jonathan was dressed according to LDS custom. I was pleased about this.
At some point we were called by the hospital. They were taking Jonathan to the OR to remove his main organs. We knew in our minds Jonathan has passed away but for me lingering doubts remained about giving his organs away. Any chance for life would be completely gone. There was no turning back. No organs, no life.
I felt like something inside me had shattered. I had just been pushed off a cliff from which there was no rescue. All the talk about Jonathan being called to help in the Lord's work on the other side or that he was in a better place or that it was “his time” meant nothing. All I wanted was my son back. He didn't hurt anybody. What sins did he commit to deserve this?
The pain was increasing as the days went by. I watched a movie to try and hide my mind from the ache in my chest. I walked, sat, slept, read a book, went for a drive but I yearned for my son. My sorrow had no end, and there seemed to be no way out from under the emptiness that was filling my heart.
Day 11, Wednesday June 1st
We traveled to the Provo cemetery. My folks are buried there. Jonathan always wanted to attend school at BYU. We thought he would like to be buried near my parents, near BYU. We examined the plots available and narrowed it down to two separate plots not far from where my parents were interred.
As I studied the cemetery map in the main office, I started crying again. We asked the receptionist for a closer look at the two plots just east of my parent’s grave site.
We walked the ground and got a good idea where the plots were located. I wanted to give Jonathan a good view of the ‘Y’ on the mountain. Such an idea was silly, but I thought Jonathan would approve.
When we returned to the office, Judi and I talked it over. I thought I had made up my mind but I felt confusion and I couldn’t get past it. I stopped and reconsidered. I picked the other plot of ground and the decision felt right. I felt a small measure of calm, of peace. We held the option on two other plots next to Jonathan’s for Judi and I for another 90 days.
Why the confusion, I was not sure. Probably nothing. But once I made the final decision, I felt I had made the right decision and it was the only thing I’ve felt good about since Jonathan’s accident.
We had lunch at the Brick Oven Pizza restaurant located at the south west corner of the campus. I was not hungry but I tried to eat anyway. While sitting at the table, waiting to be served, I dropped my head and started crying. Just like that. I struggled to control my emotions, to regain my internal balance. I apologized for the breakdown, ashamed of my own behavior. From across the large round table, I heard Judi’s younger sister Dana’s voice. “It’s ok John,” she said softly. The warmth in her voice was calming, soothing.
But it was not ok. Another awful day! More choices had to be made that no parent should ever have to make. The loss was truly staggering and each of us must deal with his or her grief in our own way and time.
We returned to Murray and Judi and I visited the hospital to attend to some issues involving expenses for Jonathan’s hospital stay. So far, hospital expenses alone were approaching $130,000 and not all of the charges had been reported. The actual costs for this one accident included hospital, insurance costs, city, state and federal law enforcement and court expenses, Medicaid, and Medicare payments, lawyer’s fees, funeral and cemetery costs, destruction of property, and of course the loss of life and incarceration are staggering.
Add to the costs the pain and loss to Judi, myself, Petra, Samantha, and other close relatives and friends. It seems there is no end to the pain, emptiness and sorrow. Our lives have been shattered. All of this because of one brutal, selfish act.
Day twelve, Thursday, June 2nd
We stopped by the mortuary to give final details of the funeral program to the funeral director. We requested to see Jonathan one last time but he was not ready to be viewed. We got into a discussion involving her brother. These tragedies did not involve us directly but they were heart rending all the same.
Not much else to write about except the pain and emptiness that are always present. I just want this nightmare to end. I am re writing the story, trying to get it ready to put onto a blog. Today is July 28th, 2011. It has been two months less two days since Jonathan died. I have not changed the history of events relating to Jonathan’s accident. Most of the re-working is clarifying and cleaning up my grammar, my syntax, although my writing skills have much to be desired regardless. My hands are slowly turning to stone or at least that’s how it feels due to the myositis. My fingers are weak and very inflexible.
The point is that the pain, emptiness and sorrow at time seem to calm down and vanish as it were. But sometimes they re-surface like being hit with a triple knock-out punch. There are times when I’m afraid if I start crying, I will never stop. It seems to form like waves in the sea. The waves curl up as they move to shore, unleash their energy as they hit the shoreline then return to the sea to regain their strength, from some unseen source, to return again and again to assault the shoreline, each time with renewed energy, and strength. So it is with me. The sorrow and pain seem to have a life of their own, a source of strength from somewhere inside that is self- regenerating that I can’t seem to control.
I know each person must face deep sorrow and loss in his or her own way and time. That each individual is distinct in how they react to such circumstances. I still grieve when I visit my parents’ grave in Provo. My father has been dead for 29 years. My mother since 2001.
The days passed in a state of dreariness pain and fatigue. There were some good days. We had our grandchildren with us for a couple of weeks and we went to a family reunion at my nephew’s wife’s parent’s ranch in Idaho. It’s called the May Ranch and it is a kind of bed and breakfast arrangement but without the breakfast. It’s set up more for family reunions that anything else. It was a great place to take the kids. But it is a bit too far for most of the family to travel. Pretty valley, though with the Salmon river running only about half a mile distant.
I would like to visit the valley again someday.
On the 25th of June, I tore a ligament in my knee. Fortunately it happened at work, so most of it should be covered by workers compensation. It has been very painful, the recovery slow. It has only added to the burden of my son’s death. Whoever said that life is fair?
Day 13, Friday June 3rd
Today, preparations were finished for the funeral. Judi and I went to the funeral home to see Jonathan for the last time. He was covered with a blanket up to his neck. He was lying with his left side facing us. This was on purpose. I am relieved because I didn’t want to see the cut on his abdomen and chest where they removed his internal organs nor did I want to see the swelling.
For the last time in this life, I kissed my son tenderly on the forehead and expressed my love for him. Judi did the same. We cried and caressed his face. His skin was cold, due to being kept in cold storage. The body was not embalmed because of the fear of increased swelling in the head.
We stayed only for a few minutes. Then we said our good byes and left. I dreaded Saturday, the day of the funeral. I wanted to run, to flee .Anywhere but here. I wanted someone to smack me upside the head and wake me up and reassure me all of this had been a terrible dream.
But I am awake and I am in hell.
Day 14, Saturday June 4th
It was 12 years almost to the day, that my family traveled south across the Canadian border to take Jonathan to the mission home and to seek employment in the United States. Samantha, Judi, Jonathan and I were in the car. Petra stayed behind with Judi’s parents. We drove all night. The car was a Blue Oldsmobile Station Wagon. The body was rusted but it had air conditioning and it was nice to drive.
One day before Jonathan was to report to the mission home we went out into the desert and went “plinking” in a ravine.
When Jonathan left for his mission, my heart ached for my son, and I knew I would miss him terribly. But I was comforted in that I would see him again in two years.
There was a family viewing prior to the funeral in the relief society room. Many people showed up including many of Jonathan’s friends and co- workers from Gold Cross Ambulance. On a table, pictures of Jonathan were displayed in frames, and showed my son from baby photos to very recent stills.
Just before the funeral the flowers were removed and put on stands. The casket was draped with an American flag. Gold Cross Ambulance requested this. It was a wonderful idea.
The casket was wheeled into the chapel and we filed in behind and took our seats near the front. The opening song was “How Great Thou Art” from the songbook. After the invocation, Rob Rowland, Jonathan’s uncle, gave the eulogy. There was a special musical number, and a fellow member who lives across the street, and who had given us so much aid and support, gave one of the talks.
By far, this was hardest day of my life. I grieved for my parents and my sister, Karen at their passing.
But this was and still is much, much worse.
The service ended with the song “God Be with You Till We Meet Again.” This is the same song that was sung at my farewell in the Chicago mission home in 1972.
After the funeral, we followed the casket as it was wheeled out to the hearse. Co- workers from Gold Cross had formed two lines, forming a lane through which we followed the casket. They were decked out in full uniform and stood at attention as the casket passed and was loaded into the hearse. Almost on impulse, I turned to the Gold Cross supervisor and asked if I could shake each of their hands. He nodded slowly and said yes.
Slowly, I walked down each line, and shook the hands of each one, thanking them for such a beautiful demonstration of respect and friendship for my son.
The front of the church house and sidewalk were lined with American flags. There was a fire truck, from one of the local towns waiting and it formed part of the funeral procession that was going to Provo. It stayed with the procession until we reached the point of the mountain.
At the cemetery, the procession wound itself along the cemetery lane. I was lost in my thoughts and my pain. Both seem inseparable. I didn’t know when I would be able to have another thought without thinking about my son. I didn’t know when or if ever the pain and emptiness in my heart would end. I knew it would come in time. But my heart ached all the time. Every waking moment was this way and I could not escape it.
Slowly the cars came to a stop. We were parked in front of a temporary tent like structure with chairs underneath for the next of kin. We took our seats while the pall bearers carried the coffin to the grave site. The pall bearers were my sister in law Cynthia’s boys including Suzie’s son John, and Travis, Samantha’s husband. The coffin was placed on the structure that lowered Jonathan’s body to its final resting place.
Our bishop opened the service with a few comments. The opening song “I Need Thee Every Hour” was sung and then Gold Cross Color Guard stretched the American flag over the casket and held it in place while I gave the dedicatory prayer. After I finished, the Gold Cross Color Guard folded the flag and handed it to my wife. A salutatory last call was done over the Gold Cross employee’s pagers, and Jonathan’s name was called out over the mike. This was the ‘Last Call’ ceremony for my son to answer the page.
A few more comments were given by the bishop. The color guard stood at attention until the service was over. Then they were dismissed. They returned to their ambulances and drove away.
Life goes on.
Xx
Today is Sunday, July third. We are in Denver Colorado. Samantha’s newborn is to be blessed today. His name is Logan Alexander. His baby clothes are the same ones Jonathan wore when he was blessed 31 years ago. I cannot even remember the day of his blessing. Perhaps someday when the pain has subsided and my mind has cleared…
I am looking at a picture of Jonathan holding Jared upside down over the water fountain in front of the Denver temple the day of Samantha’s wedding. They are both smiling, laughing and having a great time. There is another memory, where Jonathan is posing with Jared at a hockey game, not long before his accident. They are toasting the camera with a soft drink. Jonathan is doing the ‘thumbs up’ gesture, and he and Jared are posing, big grins plastered on their faces. Another image shows Jonathan teaching Jared how to ice skate at a hockey rink.
Fond memories, happier times.
Other memories, frightening, filled with sorrow. A nurse had taken Jonathan off sedatives and was trying to wake him up. She was yelling at him, shaking his shoulders. But there was no response. No sign of life.
Nothing. At the time, I could not admit what my eyes were telling me. I wanted so desperately for my son to wake up, to be himself once again, and to rise from that hospital bed healed, and whole. But I knew then what hindsight has since offered me. The simple truth that my son wasn’t going to rise from that bed then or ever.
For my beloved, my dear sweet Jonathan had passed away. XXXX
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