Jeffrey & Jonathon
“The highlight of my childhood was making my brother laugh so hard that food came out his nose.” – Garrison Keillor
As I’ve mentioned before, I come from a large family, being the oldest of seven children. I certainly didn’t know that when I decided to incarnate in that particular family that six more would follow me. I guess my parents must have seemed like a desirable set of parents from the other side. Not only that, every one of our names started with a “J”. Not quite sure what that was about, but I don’t think it was an issue with any of us.
Out of the seven of us, two of my siblings are no longer with us in the physical world. Jeff (on the right in the pix) and Jon (on the left) have departed and moved on. They were number 3 and number 4 in the birth order, and they exited way before their time.
I have stories about both that I would like to share. Families have always been complicated worlds to explore. They involve so many dynamics and provide so much material to consider, that no wonder they have been the subject of so much writing, art, music, drama, science, etc. throughout the ages. But of course, there is one major reason above all. Families are the very basic foundation for all of civilization. Without their proper functioning and growth, there can be no civilization. None whatsoever.
Some current learned people have suggested that is why many cultures of the world are falling apart, because the basic structure of the family is under heavy assault. That may be, but hasn’t it always been that way? And maybe we notice it more because there are so many more of us? And maybe, that technology has sped this process up, because we are now more dependent on it, instead of our families? But enough of the generalities. On to my two brothers.
I have to admit, that writing about Jeff and Jon is not easy. And I imagine that is also true for any of my family members who may be reading this. All families have issues, baggage and stories to tell. Most of them stay in the family, because that is just how it should be. Airing such laundry is just plain rude, distasteful and frankly, unnecessary. I prefer to remember the good and fun times, because there is plenty to draw from that. I like to say, remember the good and learn from the bad. I think that balances it all out quite nicely.
I have fond memories of them both. I think I knew Jeff better than Jon, because we were closer in age. The first three of us were each only born a year from each other, so only two years separated me and Jeff. Jon was born a few years later, when there was another close string of three. Then the last born was several years later, out there on a string by himself. Poor Jay (the youngest), he got the leftovers of the leftovers, and 14 years separating first from last. I know there is plenty written about birth order, and I imagine some of it is true. I have read some of the material, but I don’t think we should only be defined by that. I guess those could be tendencies, but they are not the totality of it. After all, we are individuals, and I believe we have free will.
I feel that Jeff was the most compassionate of my siblings. I think the grief and pounding that he took from his two older brothers contributed to that. No, I in no way take any credit for that quality in him. He very well could have become bitter and negative about it, but he wasn’t. He was the type of person that would have given you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. Even if it was the last thing he owned. Yes, he was that way.
Over the years, as time and distance separated us, we had very little contact. Usually he would call me once a year to check in, and to tell me what was going on with everyone. He rarely talked about himself, but if he did it was the last subject we talked about. Most people in my family don’t know that about us, because it was just between us. Years before, Jeff and I had formed a bond because for awhile early on he had practiced the same meditation system as I had. And we had had some experiences we could share together that were outside the normal family channels.
When we got the call in late 2002, about ten days before Christmas, that Jeff was on his deathbed, I could hardly believe it. I knew that he had been diagnosed a few months before with a serious illness, but I thought it was under control. Plus, it had been awhile since I had talked to him. I now felt guilty, because he was always the one calling me, never me calling him.
I hopped on a plane two days later and arrived that night. As soon as one of my brothers picked me up at the airport, we went straight to the hospital. When I got to the room he was unconscious and on oxygen, having been previously taken off life support. He looked in pretty bad shape, but then I expected it, so I was not really shocked. My other brother had stayed in the lobby, so I was alone with him. The first thing I did was go over to him, touch him and start talking to him, hoping to let him know I was there. Then I sat next to the bed, meditated a bit, and began talking to him physically and inside, telling him what he could to do to check out, in case he needed any help. He seemed to be hanging on somewhere inside.
What I got was he still felt he had obligations in this world, and could not let go of the feeling he had not fulfilled them. So I stood up, leaned over close to him, ran a hand through his hair, smiled at him and then told him softly that it was really time for him to go and that he had no obligations left to anyone in this world.
Standing there thinking about the times I had had with him, and how he was always taking care of someone else, I started to feel the emotions overtake me … but I couldn’t afford the luxury right then. I knew I had to keep it together, or else I would be no good to him. And that was why I was there, certainly not for myself.
Anyway, I got back to it, trying to work with him, helping him understand what to do. A couple times he seemed to almost wake up, but never quite became conscious. There finally seemed to be a point where something broke free and there was nothing else I could do. I had the feeling that he wouldn’t last too much longer. I said my goodbyes to him and left the hospital, holding back my tears until I was alone.
The next morning while taking a shower, I got the strong impression that he had just passed away. And then I saw him (spiritually). He looked worn out and seemed to need help. Without even thinking about it, I took a hold of him and projected up inside (spiritually) with him hanging onto me. (I will post something about this process in another post). At first he seemed disoriented, until the environment around us kept getting lighter and lighter. And then he began to feel lighter and happier. At some point he just let go and I assume he went where he needed to. Less than an hour later we got the call that Jeff had indeed passed away. The time coincided within a few minutes of when I had seen him. Over the past few years I have only had a little more contact with him, as I assume he’s integrated into whatever life he now has.
Jon, I am sorry to say, I did not know real well. I just didn’t hang out with him as I was growing up, and then as happens when we grow up and move away, those connections become less strong and more tenuous.
The main thing I remember about Jon is when he was little and we still lived in Iowa. He was the last one born in Iowa, as everyone later was born in Texas. I remember we had nick-named him ‘Buddy’ so that was all we called him. And unlike us three older ones who fought all the time, we loved our little ‘Buddy’ to death. We took care of him as if he was our special pet project. I’m not sure how that developed, but it continued on even after we moved to Texas. I guess him being the very little one out of all of us certainly had something to do with it, but I don’t remember when that all stopped. Maybe when more kids came along and he wasn’t so little any more? I wonder if being the middle child out of seven means anything?
In the summer of 2005 we got the call again, this time about Jon. I remember at the time being in the middle of several things, and not being able to figure out how to get out of them. Looking back at it now I do have regrets. The regret being that I decided not to travel from California to North Carolina to his funeral. I remember at the time my family telling me it was okay, and not getting on me for not going. I took that at its face value and accepted it, but I still wonder about all that. I last saw Jon at Jeff’s funeral, so that was the last time I saw him, at least in the physical.
No, Jon did not come to me like Jeff did. However, several years later I swear I saw him astrally hanging around in our bedroom. Just for a quick glimpse, but then gone. So I chalked it up to my imagination. But several months later, my wife (I have remarried) asked me if I knew who that was over there. We were in our bedroom, and there was Jon, standing right there.
I stood there for several seconds, waiting for some kind of signal as to what he wanted. He seemed tentative about any kind of contact, like he didn’t know what he wanted or maybe he didn’t know if he could ask me something. I started to move towards him and he disappeared. I have not any more contacts with him, other than to feel him around a couple more times. When that I happened did have some subtle mental contact, and I gave him some advice in case he needed some help on the other side. I assume (hope) it helped him, because I have not had any kind of contact with him in a couple years.
Yes, families are complicated, huh? I am beginning to wonder what more surprises there will be in the future for mine. As far as Jeff and Jon, I think they are probably doing just fine. I still feel I could have done more for them, but I can’t really dwell on that now. I do know, that in my own way, I loved them both. And I have a sneaking suspicion I will see them again, someday, in some other place and time. And we can pick up where we left off, and progress beyond where we are …