How can two years feel like an eternity and 10 minutes all at once?
We added numbers and figures to time thousands of years ago to orient ourselves in the space we occupy.
Why then, does time feel like the most disorienting thing in my world.
Why then, does time feel like a trap I am caught in.
2 is such a small number compared to the number of years I am expected to live here without you,
and yet, it is the largest number of years I have ever lived without you.
“Time heals” is perhaps the biggest cliché thrown around after a tragic loss.
So far, the only thing that time has taught me is how to compress the gargantuan hole in my body into a pocket-sized portion of grief I can carry with me always.
Time has taught me how to wander through my life speaking your name and carrying forward your legacy with the weight of you dragging behind me. My legs have grown stronger but endurance has never been my strong suit.
It has been two years and I am both angry and amazed by that. The number of days between when I last saw you and the present moment continues to grow and my anxiety and dread grows with it. So does my strength. My determination. My will to carry on.
My biggest fear, and perhaps the biggest fear of anyone who has ever lost someone who held the stars in their sky, is that we will stop saying his name. That we will all get tired of carrying the pain and weight of the 14 letters in your name, Jake, and slowly we will start putting them down in the hopes of carrying on a little lighter. One of the many beautiful parts about being your sister is that I don’t carry on without you, because to do that would leave 50% of my cells behind. So if you meet me at the grocery store or online or at the movie theatre, I will probably say his name. I will probably start sentences with “Jake loved…” or “Jake would think that was so funny…” for the next 50 years. Please smile back at me. Please acknowledge that part of me with as much strength and vulnerability as you can. Please don’t shy away from his name or grow awkward when those 14 letters spill from my mouth like it’s the only thing I can say. Please let me include you in the space in my brain that constantly assesses the world through the beautiful blue eyes of my brother.
In two years I have gotten married, bought and rebuilt a house, started my masters degree, and continue to cultivate your legacy through The Jacob Puddister Memorial Foundation.
In two years I have experienced more sadness, grief, anxiety, depression, loneliness, anger, hostility, and fear than I ever thought one person could contain within themselves.
In two years I have felt more supported, loved, appreciated, and uplifted by my friends, family, and community than I ever thought I could accept and hold within myself.
Time has passed and somehow I love my brother more than I did on August 24, 2016.
Time has passed and I somehow have more and less to say to you all.
Time has passed and I am still here.
With Jake's Heart 
We will NEVER stop saying those 14 beautiful letters that create the name of a little boy who captured my heart from the very beginning. And now that I have my own little boy I find myself telling Ben more and more about Jake, what he was like when he was little, his interests and those tiny green army men that were everywhere! Ben loves to hear about my time with you and Jake and he knows how much you both mean to me. So my darling girl you are not alone in carrying his name and his legacy… we’re all with you and always will be! xoxoxo
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Kelsey, this is beautiful. Two years. Wow. Please tell us more about Jake’s memorial foundation. Where does the money go? How can we help?
Love to you and your family on this difficult day.
Mel
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Kelsey, there is no forgetting; there is only longing for more remembering. Remembering instructions like, “Miss, you should never lick the glue on an envelope because a cockroach may have lain an egg there.” “A good way to keep from having nightmares is to recite the 23rd psalm before you go asleep.” (Think Nanny Carey taught him that one) “Watch them girls because they are not as good as you thinks they are.” (I hope he saw all their tears along with mine at his funeral). Yes, Kelsey we will always remember, not just little anecdotes like these, but the way Jacob made us feel, the times he made us laugh til we cried, the times he made us want to scream uncontrollably, and the times when “just being Jacob” was enough to brighten your day and fill your heart with love. Kelsey, these memories still bring a tear to my eye almost 16 or 17 years since I was his grade 1 teacher. Remembering is not always an easy task. It brings tears and feelings of loss, but the memories fill your heart with love; therein, lies their therapy.
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