Last week, a friend called to tell me of a friend of ours who was in a medically-induced coma, from an accident that left him unconscious, not breathing, and without brain activity. They were going to try to bring him out of it Sunday, but Jake passed. He had just turned 26, but didn't look a day older than when I met him at age 18. He was just as sweet and loving as when we met too. Many people are mourning his passing as I write this.
I wish that I could be there to celebrate Jake's life, in person. I have missed nearly every memorial service that I should have gone to in my life, because of being so far away. It hurts, and I do what I need to do to say goodbye in my own way. The best way, I have found, is to sit and think of the good times we've had, and to imagine them smiling and at their happiest. The tears flow from both happiness and sadness. Sadness because I can't make more memories with them, but mostly for their closest friends and family members who are hurting the most. I would be giving them all tight squeezes right now if I could.
At the farm, Monday afternoons are spent in our personal gardens. Each of us has chosen a garden area that we spend time in, tending it, planting, weeding, contemplating. Mine is the cottage garden, closest to our communal house, which doesn't get much attention during our workdays. But it remains beautiful, with herbs and fruit we like to eat and lights for night time. Today, I went around the farm and chose beautiful pink and white flowers to create a bouquet for Jake. I asked that our group holds our "check out" at my garden, and I said a few words for my friend then. Trying to keep the bouquet from blowing over (again), I talked about Jake's fantastic hair, his brilliant smile, and his kindness. How, even though we haven't spent much time together lately, it doesn't matter. He touched my life and I'll never forget the memories we have.
Much of my gratitude right now is going to friends and family on Facebook, who are posting memories and wishes to Jake for all of us to read. I re-posted a favorite photo of him, sleeping happily in a cuddle puddle of us girls at Burning Man. I remember that morning, he stayed up all night and fell alseep there, and we were up and hanging out all cuddled in with him. It was just the memory he would have liked, but probably more so if he were awake with the bunch of us cute girls! There have been a lot of great pictures and stories posted. I read one post aloud today to the group, and I am copying it here. It is beautifully written and sums Jake up well. Here it is. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy some old memories yourself today.
“I see myself as a huge fiery comet, a shooting star. Everyone stops, points up and gasps "Oh look at that!" Then- whoosh, and I'm gone...and they'll never see anything like it ever again... and they won't be able to forget me- ever.”
-Jim Morrison
The first time I walked into Lucky Lou’s about two years ago, I was just looking to get a few beers with some friends. It was mid-October, and Lou’s was one of a handful of bars that offered patio seating to enjoy the colder weather, plus they had some cheap drinks. I never expected to meet someone like Jake that day. But, I guess you can never really expect to meet someone like Jake, at all.
I always felt around Jake, like I could put my guard down. Lower my shoulders a bit, quit biting my nails. I remember how he would sit down at our table in the middle of a shift, light up one of his long cigarettes in that creamy white holder he always used, and ask me or a friend, “How’s life?”
For most people, it’s not worth answering. They don’t really care. Even our friends only want to hear the interesting bits of our lives. But Jake wanted to know. He wanted to help. Because it meant something to him, to see people smile. It empowered him. Helping others helped to ease his own pain. That kind of humanity is not unheard of, but Jake took it to another level. He specialized in helping the people he loved, and he loved a whole lot of people.
Every day, we try again and again to be happy, or at the very least, to reach a certain level of contentedness that we’ve grown familiar with. Jake seemed to understand this more than anyone I knew. He could look into your eyes and sense your pain, and he would try to do something for you. Be it a drink, a job offer, a hug, a lifestyle or hobby recommendation, or in my case, a loud blasting of “The Ghost Inside” by Broken Bells over the bar stereo. Jake would do just one thing that would make someone smile, because he understood the importance of smiling. And he would do this hundreds of times, day and again, for just about anyone (especially if you tipped well.)
We talk a lot about our biggest fears, about what brings us the most pain. For me, it’s the idea that I will be forgotten. That my life will be meaningless, because I failed to make an impression on this earth and on other people's lives. But this is where I think Jake has inarguably set the standard. He has given so many of us a piece of his heart. He truly lived for others. Not only did he help to give me one of the best nights of my life, doing a pub crawl in Phoenix, but he has continually inspired me to be a good person. To never give up on finding happiness, to never give up on trying to make others happy. It is a constant battle throughout our lives. We can only hope that in the end it was worth the fight.
Jake made the fight a little easier for all of us.
I just wish he were here to see that.
(Benjamin Sohr)
