When the Inside Oozes Out

Last night I cried for the first time in a long time.

I didn't cry at my sweet Grandpa's funeral last week. Or during some painful relationship stuff the week before. When, during our camping trip Friday night, torrential rain flooded our tent, Margaret felt sick, and she and I had to sleep sitting up in the front seat of the car. Or when all the moms/daughters I know were at the Taylor Swift concert, which would have been the perfect 14th birthday present for my girl, if only I'd had my act together and $300 bucks sitting around.

I cried in Chipotle.

I went to grab some carryout because Chipotle was donating 50% of its proceeds to an organization that gives extra support to families whose kids have cancer. I hoped to run into a few friends who also support this organization. What I wasn't ready for was to reach the restaurant at the same time as a big crew of 16-18  year old boys. How did I know their ages? Well, I am a student of teenage boys, their mannerisms, their size.  I search their faces for signs of my kid in them, in their joking and jostling, their acne, their abs.

I saw my friend Dawn and asked about her son, one of Jack's buddies. He has started driving. He just got back from motorcycle camp. I wondered what Jack would be doing this summer before junior year.

Teenage boys all around me.

Dawn's son spreading his wings.

The moms and dads whose kids have cancer.

It became too much. I was trapped in line. Hemmed in close behind by another boy I knew from church, the son of another friend, I started my routine to try to stop the tears. Biting the inside of my lips. Digging fingernails into my palms. Looking away from Dawn's kind eyes when she asked if I wanted her to stay with me as I made my way through the line.

No, I shook my head, unable to speak. I wanted to regain control. Not that I think crying is bad. It's cleansing, healing, and natural. But last night I just wanted my damn burrito bowl. I didn't want to be different. I didn't want to show my inward pain on the outside. Others in the restaurant surely didn't want to be different either. The adolescent girl with her hair gone to chemo. The kind dad in front of me who noticed my crying, told me his daughter is a cancer survivor, and asked if I needed to talk. "It's okay if you don't want to talk, but I'm here if you do." I am guessing had his life not fallen apart one day in some pediatrician's office, he wouldn't have taken the time to notice a middle-aged woman sniffling behind him.

But he did notice.

His perspective, like mine, changed and can't be changed back. Same with Dawn, whose red-headed boy, Cortland, lost his friend in the creek. Christine, across the restaurant, who didn't feel snubbed when I finally got my food and darted for the side door without saying hi. Her new path started when her baby's bloated stomach turned out to be neuroblastoma. Even the laughing, joking teenage boys around me were surely acquainted with difference and pain.

Who isn't?

When I made it to the car, I let it all out. Heaving sobs, hands gripping the steering wheel for some semblance of rootedness.

I cried all the way home.

Different

Margaret and Tim were making snickerdoodles after church yesterday when they ran out of flour. We decided to borrow from one of our neighbors rather than go to the store, so Margaret and I bundled up and traipsed across the street. My neighbor apologized for the huge pile of blankets in her hallway, and I laughed, thinking of all of the times Jack, Margaret, and friends had stirred up our old house, moving things around as part of a game. I glanced to the right, and saw that three kids had set up a sort of ramp of pillows, blankets and couch cushions to slide down the carpeted stairs to the basement.

As Margaret and I carried the flour back home, I started to cry quietly. I think she thought I was missing Jack, which of course I was, because it was hard and wonderful to see those cute boys who reminded me so much of him, but I was missing her old life, too, when there were made-up games to occupy a Sunday afternoon. Kids around the kitchen table cracking each other up, talking about nothing and everything. When Margaret had the easy give and take of kids in and out of our home, and the noise and chaos they brought with them.

Our house is quiet now. We use electronics to fill the hours and the silence. With the exception of the clothes strewn all over Margaret's floor, and the shoes Shadow insists on stashing around the house, things pretty much stay in their places now, which is nice, except when it isn't.

People talk of the hustle and bustle of these days leading up to Christmas, but we don't really feel it.

But we make plans. We go to a play and out to dinner. We go to church. Tim and Margaret bake delicious cookies from the recipe she learned in Home Ec.

We're doing okay.

We're doing.

It's just very different. And different takes more getting used to than one might think.

Jack and...Jewelry?

Thank you for all of the kind words and encouragement after yesterday's post. I am dealing with just plain old missing Jack, as well as being patient with God right now.

Breaking News:

Not only has Jack's life and death touched so many hearts, he is also making a tangible difference for suffering people around the world through his favorite charity, Samaritan's Purse. Thank you for all you have done to help with this by running races in his honor with Jack's Lanterns, packing shoe boxes through Operation Christmas Child, and making monetary donations. Thaknk you. Thank you.

My dear friend and fellow blogger, Jill, has generously come up with another great way to raise money in Jack's name for Samaritan's Purse... through an online Stella and Dot Jewelry party!

What will this look like?

Well, we will force ourselves to look through the gorgeous baubles and bling and see if any (ha!) pieces call our name. Items will be shipped directly to buyers' homes.

A SIGNIFICANT (like, VERY significant) portion of every sale will go to Samaritan's Purse in Jack's name, most likely earmarked for Emergency Relief. Our local congressman (and friend) recently visited refugee camps in Sudan where Samaritan's Purse was at work feeding and caring for needy and hurting people and shared his report with us. The needs! Oh the needs!. You can read more about this humanitarian work here.

Soooooo, please do not feel as if you have to buy something. No pressure! But if, like me, you might like a few pieces of lovely jewelry and you love the idea of not only helping others but thinking of Jack while you do so, please check out the invitation and start browsing.

A few of my faves:

Thanks and Love!

Jack's Jokes

When Jack was about 6 he wrote a little joke book with cute little clip art illustrations. He would probably be embarrassed that I'm sharing it here and would find fault in his corny, little-kid humor, but oh well; I'm the mom, it's my blog, and I could use a smile today:

Q: What did the tree eat for breakfast?

A: OAK MEAL!

Q:What kind of plant isn't really a plant?

A: A POWER PLANT!

Q:Why were the scissors a bad student?

A: BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS CUT IN LINE!

Q:What do you call a mean kid?

A: A BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD GOAT!

Q: When does ginger ale taste the best?

A: WHEN YOU ARE DRINKING IT!

Love and hugs to you!

Ch-ch-ch Changes

Dear Jack,

It feels like you’ve been gone forever. I crane my neck as I sit here at my desk, imagining what it would sound like to have you run down our wooden stairs and out the kitchen door again, but I come up empty. So much has changed here, in HUGE ways, yes, but even in the mundane, everyday details.

Did you notice we have a King size bed now? After years of insisting we needed a King, I just went out and bought one. Yep, and that’s a TV on the wall. C-razy. Of course it’s hooked up to Netflix, not cable YET, but baby steps, dude, baby steps. I’ve always wanted to curl up with the whole fam and watch a movie in bed, which we can do now, but there’s an empty spot. A glaringly empty spot without you.

Oh, and that’s an old fashioned hot air popper from the thrift shop on the kitchen counter. Have you ever seen one of those? Totally 80’s, I know. We're having fun with it and I think you would like it even better than the microwave popcorn we ate each night in the summer.

Our family TV shows have switched from Merlin, Man vs. Wild, and America’s Got Talent to Cupcake Wars, Chopped, and American Pickers. I think you would get a kick out of these shows, just like you liked watching The Next Great Baker last year. It seems like every episode of Man vs. Wild has a perilous river scene, so that’s out for us right now. I’ve gravitated a bit more into your space on the couch, under Great Grandma Jackson’s blanket, but it still feels so weird not to have you next to me. I loved the way you would let me wrap my arms around you like a pretzel and squeeze your guts out as we sat together. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend that you are there, but it doesn’t really work. Do you remember the last movie we watched as a family, two nights before the accident? Yep, “Anne Frank.”

The basement is pretty empty, too, now that you, Margaret, and your friends aren’t playing that car game down there. In fact, it’s rare to have kids over at all. I haven’t been on the treadmill down there since the day before the accident. It reminds me too much of you, because when I exercised last summer I’d watch that show, “Lie to Me,” and I know the premise intrigued you. I told you all about the man who could tell if people were lying just noticing their facial expressions. You would be at my desk at the top of the stairs on the computer and would poke your head down on occasion to ask me a question and peek at what I was watching. I also think about how I couldn’t use the treadmill on that last, horrible day after school because we had no electricity. No stinkin’ electricity. But I didn’t mind at the time because we were having fun together, laughing and talking.

Dad is running all the time now! He and Auntie talk about running gear and training and heart rates and hydration, which I find oh so boring. After knowing Daddy for 20 years, I find it weird to see him with a whole new hobby, but I know it is helping keep him going at this point. He misses you so much. Oh, and another thing, Jack. Daddy is leaving the toilet seat up! Seriously! What do you think about that? Do you think he is doing it to show some pent-up hostility, or do you think he’s just being forgetful? Is it totally inappropriate that I’m talking to you about this, Jack? “Totes Inapprops” as Marg would say. That phrase is new, too.

My interests have changed. I haven’t picked up a single piece of furniture from someone’s trash pile, or spray painted anything since the accident. I do try to go to the thrift shop every month or so, but nothing there sparks my interest anymore. When I pass the row of khaki pants I have to stop myself from checking to see if any will fit you for your school uniform. And the puzzle aisle? Is not my friend.

I’ve thought about writing a book, Jack, called “Things I Used to Give a S*** About” because so many of my former interests seem so empty now. I know you hoped I’d become a big-time blogger because of my decorating and refinishing projects, but that’s not exactly how it is working out. I have a ton of amazing readers and they are reading about you, our family, God, and grief as we try to make sense of the craziness of what has happened. They pray for us and support us every day.

Oh, and Jack? I guess you now know that I cuss. Can’t believe I did so well hiding it from you for 12 ½ years. There was that one time when you were 2 ½ and that guy stood up in the middle of the road in front of our car and I yelled the “S” word, but I did a pretty good job convincing you I really meant “Sit!” as in "sit down!" Ummm, you did believe me, right?

I just seem to feel like cussing an awful lot right now. I know that in addition to having perfect grammar, an extensive vocabulary, and impeccable dental hygiene, you did not have a very foul mouth, Jack, and for that I am grateful. "Butt and sucks" were the worst you said, even though we got on your case about it. Now those words just aren't cutting it for your old momma, let me tell you.

Our fridge is different too. You and I could power through a little tub of hummus with our Wheat Thins after school each day, but Margaret doesn’t like it. Same with Baby Bell and Yoplait. I find myself throwing out a lot of food, which is weird, because it’s not like you were a big eater in the first place. It’s just hard to stop buying the usual, and to plan for 3 instead of 4.

The kids still play outside in the neighborhood, but that has changed, too. The trail of kids in and out of our house has dried up, and a couple of your friends are now riding snazzy go-carts up and down the driveway. I’m guessing you would have thought that was a lot of fun, but I don’t know for sure. I do know that the sound of the go-carts makes me feel like throwing up. Or throwing something. Or both.

We haven’t had any snow, except for about an inch one Saturday morning. I was amazed at how many green saucer sleds like the one you used to have littered the yards around our house. They reminded me of all of the fun times we had in the snow, like when I almost slammed into the mailbox when Mrs. H and I decided to sled down her hill, or during the blizzard when you, Margaret, Daddy and I went night sledding in the street and Shadow kept jumping on top of us. For some reason, the kids are sledding behind the houses this year, right near the pathetic, empty creek bed. Needless to say, I don’t see sledding in my future. Shadow wandered near the creek a few weeks ago and I couldn't walk down there to get her back.

Your classmates come to my car each day to give me hugs in the pick-up line. I try to make sure I have Shadow with me so they can pet her as we talk. I hope they don’t feel weird talking to me. They seem to have more freedom than you all did in 6th grade, and I miss that for you. I really love your class, and when I see the kids, and how they care for and look out for each other, I can’t help placing you there with them and imagining what entering your teens would have been like with such quality friends.

Speaking of friends, you might be surprised to see that Daddy and I are hanging out with some new people, whether we didn’t know them before or have just gotten to know them better. You would be AMAZED at how many people have reached out to befriend us and comfort us in so many ways since your accident. We are also meeting other parents whose children have died.

So there are a lot of changes. A lot going on. Even this computer is different. How often did you say we needed a new computer, since mine kept crashing whenever you tried to use it? On Christmas morning, when I opened the box and saw a new laptop from Daddy, I felt a sinking feeling rather than gratefulness, because it felt like just one more way I was leaving you
behind.

Change is hard, Jack, but we're doing it. I hope you are as proud of us as we are of you.

I miss you so much.

Love, Mom

Ugly Truth

It’s not that I want your child to die. I just want mine to live. But when I see your child, it really hurts. I feel jealous and bitter inside. And that doesn’t feel like me. And it doesn’t feel like Jack either, whose short life reminds us to:

Be Kind.
Pay Attention.
Think.
Play.
Never Give Up.
Share Others' Joy.

I think it is going to be hard to share others’ joy for a while, but I won't quit trying.

Keeping it Real

Lest you mistakenly think our family life is all sweetness and light, I thought I'd share a picture I came across last night.

When Jack imagined taking his kids to Mount Vernon, I really don't think THIS is what he had in mind:

Way Too Hard to Leg-o

Remember how I told you Jack was patient? Well, that's why we had Gamestop giftcards from his birthday last March to spend today.

Every few months he'd have me put the cards in my purse, and we'd go "look." I guess he hoped that someday the perfect game that interested him would intersect with one I'd actually let him buy. Didn't happen. He never whined or badgered, just said, "Not today," and we would leave, puttting the cards away for another time.

Now I question whether I should have just lightened up and rewarded him for being the great kid he was, realizing that stupid video games would not have made my peace-loving son into a violent person. Oh well, there are a lot of things like that to think about, and I have a long, long time to do it. But today we took Jack's gift cards to Game Stop to buy "Just Dance 3" for Margaret. Tim and Margaret are dancing in the basement to a song called, "Let's Go to the Mall!" Oh my. Thanks Jack, I think.

I also don't know what to do with his Crunch bars in the kitchen cabinet. The week before school started a mom called and hush-hush asked what Jack's favorite candy was. I didn't know, but Margaret said definitively: "Nestle Crunch" On the first day of school, Jack found 4 full-sized Crunch Bars waiting in his locker as a back-to-school treat. Did I tell you our whole family had a feeling Jack would love his middle school experience? Oh my yes.

We drove home that day in the rain, and during homework time, Jack opened the first Crunch bar. He seemed so happy, and his movements struck me as somewhat ceremonious, kind of how I imagined Charlie slowly opening the winning candy bar in Charlie and the Chocolate factory. Jack divided the bar into 3 sections: one for Margaret, one for himself, and one for me. I got the "CH."

It's not unusual that his candy would still be in the cupboard, even month later. After all, I recently threw out Jack's Halloween candy from two years ago, but having a kid who saves his candy is vastly different than having a kid who is no longer here to eat it.

I don't know whether I want to eat the Crunch bars, throw them away, or run over them with my car. It all just hurts so much. The gift cards and candy are emblematic of so many things I wonder about right now. Like the jigsaw puzzles and games in our game closet. We used to leave a jigsaw puzzle out on the dining room table for Jack and Tim to work on when they had a chance. 3000 pieces was their biggest one. But Margaret and I don't like jigsaw puzzles, and most of our games are too hard or too sad to play with 3 players.

We tried to play a game with 3 people last night and the episode ended in anger and tears. What a far cry from that Wednesday night in September, the first day of school, when we all played Clue together. You may recall Clue had been touch and go in our family over the years, but that night it was perfect. Jack won. Margaret accepted the win graciously. Life was good.

But now we are left with the Clue board, Jack's room, his toys, his clothes. There is certainly no rush to get rid of anything because that part of the house sits empty now, and we don't need the space. I am just so angry that the things that meant so much to our little boy are just that...things. Things to be dealt with at some point. Things that mean nothing without our boy here to enjoy them.

The same boy who saved his Halloween candy also saved the box from every Lego set he bought. I remember asking his pediatrician about this during a checkup, hoping the doctor would back me up. "Doctor, is Jack a hoarder, or at least a very neat one? Shouldn't we throw away those boxes?" The doctor asked him about his interests and concluded "Jack is not a hoarder; he is a collector. To a Lego collector, those boxes have value. The boxes can stay."

And now, with hundreds of Lego sets, their boxes, and neat piles of instructions in pristine condition, I wonder if that will be yet another way Jack will be helping me as we decide, someday in the future, how to deal with his treasures. I don't think my heart could withstand throwing all of his collections willy-nilly in a donation heap. But perhaps with boxes, instructions, and all the pieces intact, I could fathom getting them to new homes someday.

I don't know where I'm going with this post except to say I miss him. I miss all aspects of his personality that made him so special. That made him a patient person. A saver. A creative spirit. A collector, who took good care of his things. I miss liking what he liked. Doing what he liked to do. Looking forward to this next phase of his life with him. Talking to him. Holding him. Ruffling his hair with my hands. Kissing the world's softest cheek. Walking around the block after dinner.

Wondering whether he would ever choose to eat his Crunch Bars.

Every Last Thing.

Thank You, Jack: Patience

Jack taught us much about patience, and not just because being a parent requires patience, which it surely does, but because HE was a patient person. He was patient with us when we made rookie mistakes raising our eldest, or “Practice Child,” as he once called himself (See Thank You, Jack: Forgiveness at a later date).

Even from Jack’s youngest years, he realized there was value in waiting.

For example, Jack would ask for Lego gift cards for his birthdays and Christmas. He saved them up from season to season until he could buy something he REALLY wanted. Just this summer, he took $400 in Lego cards to the mall to buy special sets he had wanted for so long. That took patience. It actually pained Jack to see friends “squander” their money because it was burning a hole in their pockets when they could have saved it up.

Jack was patient in the face of estrogen or low-blood-sugar-induced-mania from his mom and sister. He kept his mouth shut. He didn’t engage. Sometimes he just quietly walked away (See: Mom’s Great Wolf Lodge Meltdown, Class Party Psycho Mom, or pretty much any post labeled “Molly” or "Vacation").

Jack also saw value in waiting for a project to come together. When he, Margaret, and their friends had lemonade stands this summer to raise money to decorate a clubhouse, he was in it for the long haul, making up weird songs by the side of the road to keep morale up, never expecting parents to jump in and pay for everything as some parents do. He simply enjoyed seeing the project progress bit by bit.

Doing a 3,000-piece puzzle would be like Chinese Water Torture to me, but for Jack and his dad, it was an enjoyable exercise in patience.

I think of our favorite TV show, “The Amazing Race.” Tim and I watched for years, but we did not feel the kids were old enough for it. On Monday mornings, Jack waited for my edited synopsis of what happened on the show the night before. He kept better track of the contestants and their idiosyncrasies than I could, without ever seeing the show! Each new season, he would ask, “Is this the year we can watch Amazing Race with you?” For a long time, the answer was “No.” When we did start watching as a family, 2 seasons ago, he was overjoyed.

And speaking of tv shows and movies, Jack loved it when Margaret had a sleepover at someone else’s house, because that meant he could watch guy-type movies such as Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Transformers, and Pirates of the Caribbean. You see, when our family watched movies together, it was most often something that skewed younger and more girly, usually about a girl and a dog-- you get the picture. But Jack knew that if he waited, with the DVD’s in their paper mailers for days, weeks, and sometimes months, he could watch something special and guy-ish with his dad.

Patience.

It was harder for Jack to be patient with himself. He could get very upset in class. And, during one sports season, he had major trouble accepting close losses. Later, he would beat himself up for getting so upset. “Mom, why did I act that way again?” But Jack persevered, grew, and matured, and in later seasons was able to serve as an example to younger boys who might have been struggling with similar issues.
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Jack also had to be patient as his body grew. He did NOT like being so short, or so thin. He did push-ups and sit-ups to grow stronger and began eating a lot of foods he had spurned when he was younger and his diet consisted primarily of cheese.

I remember taking a walk with him, my arm around his shoulder. Up ahead were his dad and grandpa. I told him that what he was seeing was his future. Being so thin and wiry as an adolescent was hard, but when his friends were dealing with beer guts in about 20 years, he would most likely still be built like a 16 year old—just look at Dad and Popi! Jack smiled and told me that it didn’t really help very much right then.

Patience is hard.

And you know, I KNOW that Tim, Margaret and I are going to survive this devastating loss, this nightmare. This ripping away in an instant of what was dearest to us.

I know that in my mind and maybe even with a teeny, tiny part of my heart. I know that, but it doesn’t really help very much right now. But I’m not going to rush it. I’m going to try to be patient.

Thanks, Jack.

You Say Potato, I Say Nut Sack

A few weekends ago, I was sitting in the kitchen with my sister and her son. Her son is exactly 9 months older than Jack. You see, 13 years ago I came home from a few days of helping my postpartum sister take care of her sweet baby boy and gave Tim the “green light,” if you will. The result? Two boys like brothers from another mother. One short, one tall. One from the country, one from the 'burbs. Each the other’s biggest fan.

Jack’s cousin misses him terribly.

He and his mom sat at the counter sharing Jack stories, as my mind reeled with should have beens. I said to myself, “Jack never got to have a phone, or send a text, or go on a date! He never got to read the latest book in the Inheritance Series, which I already promised I’d buy him for Christmas. He’ll never get to ace his PSAT’s, be in a high school play or go to the freakin’ prom! He’ll never fall in love! He won’t even get to be a teenager! He’ll never get to sit around with his friends doing gross teenage guy things like using words like 'nut sack' or lighting their farts on fire. Never, Never, Never!”

Eyes filled with tears, I looked up at my nephew, who was still reminiscing, and I heard him say this to his mom:

“We loved looking at that book together. Jack thought it was so funny that the guy’s last name sounded just like “ball sack.”

So there IS that, I suppose.

Not Fall, Too!

I saw a gorgeous tree today with green and orange and red leaves, the first full glimpse I’ve had of fall, and it made me want to gouge my eyes out.

I thought, “Not fall, too, God! Not fall!” Because fall is my favorite time of the year with colorful leaves, the promise of a fresh start, new school supplies, pumpkins, sweater weather, and good hair days.

And truthfully, it has probably been my favorite because the other “popular” season, spring, was so brutal for so long. For me, having lost my mom in spring when I was 18, that season meant the pain of audaciously beautiful flowers, Mother’s Day, and Memorial Day— a season which obnoxiously insisted on glowing every year, despite the pain it represented. The fertile promise of spring seemed wasted on me. The pungent smell of soil, which used to entice me, just reminded me of loss.

It wasn’t until 12 years ago, when Jack came along and changed everything, that I was able to reclaim Mother’s Day as a day to rejoice. Mother’s Day? I was now a MOM! What an honor. What a privilege. And over the years, experiencing spring through the eyes of the kids, of buds and blossoms and rain puddles, I was able to enjoy the season again, too. Spring was Jack’s birthday, but was also my rebirth.

But now? Fall sucks. And Back to School? Not ever going to be a time of rejoicing for me, I don’t think.

So what does that leave me with? Summer? In Virginia? With frizzy hair, mosquitoes, humidity, and kids playing in the street late into the night, but not my kid? Of family vacations with one extra space in the room, on the couch, and at the table?

Or winter. Are you kidding me? Don’t even get me started on the short, bleak days, the ice storms, and…Christmas.

So the seasons and the cycles and all the things that make us look forward in anticipation? I’m not feeling it. At least not today. That glorious tree seems like a personal affront.

If it Could be So...

Tim and Margaret were running errands on Tuesday and Margaret made a list of what she wanted:


Oh how I wish it were that easy. We want him back too.

Seriously, though, if ANYONE has any connections with Justin Bieber, please use them! This is one time I think it's perfectly acceptable to play the sympathy card.

And speaking of famous people, for Jack's Little League banquet in June, he had to fill out a questionnaire about himself. One question asked what famous person he'd most like to meet. His answer? "No one." After two emails back and forth between the sweet mom in charge and me, I finally asked him why he couldn't just choose someone. He said, "I just think it would be really awkward to meet someone famous. What would we talk about?" Good point.

That kid knew how to make me smile.

The View From the Back Seat

After Margaret's soccer game yesterday, as Tim drove a little too fast and swervy on the highway for our tastes, this is what we heard from the backseat:

"We're coming, Jack! We're coming!"

Gotta love that little girl.

For some of my favorite backseat chatter from the kids, check out this post.

How to Contribute in Jack's Name

Thank you so much for your love and support. I am almost, almost but-not-quite-yet ready to get back on here and write and rant and process and share and cry with you, my friends.

But first, I know a lot of you have been asking for ways to make the world a better place in Jack’s name. In addition to one of Jack’s favorite charities, Operation Christmas Child at Samaritan’s Purse –- (there is a button on the second page of the donation process to select a memorial card), there will be a scholarship set up in Jack’s memory at Dominion Christian School. If you would like to contribute to this fund, please send a donation to:

Dominion Christian School
10922 Vale Road
Oakton, VA 22124

There is an additional fund that our family will be able to use for future projects in memory of Jack. We are excited to include Margaret in these decisions. Any contributions to this fund may be sent to:

Jack Harris Donaldson Memorial Fund
Apple Federal Credit Union
PO Box 1200
Fairfax, VA 22038-1200

Thank you for your loving support during this heartbreaking time. Above all else, we are grateful and dependent upon your prayers as we figure out how to live and breathe. Your outpouring of love has been amazing, and we are thankful that so many of you have been touched by Jack’s life.