I woke this morning at the cabin to grey sky, pounding wind and a temperature of 13 degrees. Quite a departure from the excessive heat and smoke of the last few days. I also woke to find the dog wrapped around me, face tucked into my neck, gently breathing.  He knows what day it is.

Our boy would have been 29 today. How impossible that is to imagine – especially here where everywhere I look I see my boys building sandcastles, jumping off the dock, mastering wakeboarding, tearing off down the road to the Mac store on their bikes. Where did the time go?

It’s also the day of the Frank Dunn Triathlon and Greg is once again riding out his grief, quietly wearing his Bell “Let’s Talk” jersey from Clara’s Big Ride in silent tribute to his lost boy. As decades of gymnastics began to take its toll on his knees, cycling was something Greg could pour his energy and athletic drive into. It also became a way to connect with Jordan when he competed in Junior Triathlons. And again when Greg tried to pull him out of his depression and back onto his bike in the hopes Jordan would remember that he used to be someone else and could be that person again. Since 2013, the race has been about honoring Jordan’s memory – and it’s the first time it has coincided with Jordan’s birthday. Perhaps the rain that is forecast is nature’s way of sharing Greg’s tears.

Five Years.

It’s funny the significance we put into these half decade markers – as if my grief is better or worse simply because we have hit the five year mark. But I did find it poking at me over the last few months – forcing me to look at where I was and how I was doing. And frankly I was feeling stuck, pinned in place. I shared with an old friend that maybe the five year mark was when we should finally spread some of Jordan’s ashes. Her loving advice made my breath catch.

“Let Jordan out of his box – metaphorically speaking – and deliberately place him where he can find peace. And in so doing, so will you and Greg”. And then she quoted Thich Nhat Hahn – “People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar”.

And so we took that leap of faith. And on his death day – which was breathlessly calm and beautiful – we sailed into a hidden cove on the lake and released Jordan into the water and into the air. There wasn’t a breath of wind and yet the ashes kept rising in these white clouds; drifting into the boat and gently covering all of us with the essence of our boy.

The peace I felt, and continue to feel, is remarkable. I feel myself starting to shift into that “unknown “. And I find myself thinking that if I allow my grief to become a little softer, a little more gentle to carry, perhaps I will be able to step forward and discover who I am now.

But today – today is Jordan’s birthday – and I plan to spend it immersed in memories of my beautiful boy.