Single Days & Seasons: Reflections on Grief Anniversaries

In 1983, September 29th was a Thursday. I was in the third week of my freshman year away at college. It may have been the first day since leaving home that I felt adjusted and had woken up, dressed, gone to breakfast, and then to class without the lump of homesickness in my throat. 

The day was so clear and beautiful. I walked the considerable distance back to my dorm after morning classes. I was wearing a colorful Espirit skirt and a purple, boxy sweater. As I entered my room, the large, black, rotary phone that swiveled between two dorm rooms was ringing. I answered the phone, and a man’s voice came on and said, “Jennifer, this is Mr. Sherman, Keith’s dad.” Before I had time to register my confusion about why the father of a boy in my younger brother’s class was phoning me in my college dorm room, he said, “I’d like you to sit down, please.” The news is never good when they insist you sit before the telling.

Keith's dad told me my 13-year-old brother, David, had been in an accident. He was still alive, in a coma, and Mr. Sherman had arranged the three connecting flights for me to return home. David never regained consciousness. Exactly three weeks later, when images showed his brain activity had dwindled to nothing, my parents made the heart-wrenching decision to extubate him, and he was pronounced dead on October 20, 1983. 

This autumn marks 40 years since my only sibling died. I was certain time would stop because I could not imagine the world could go on without the most important person in my life. The year 2023 was also the 20th anniversary of my mother’s death, the sixth anniversary of my husband’s death, and the first anniversary of my father’s death. 

The approach to this anniversary has been on my mind for over a year now. As is frequently the case with me, the anticipation far outweighs the actual event or day. One of the ways I get through tough days is to remind myself that they are only 24 hours long, just like easy days and good days. The thing is, with David’s death, it is not just one day. For years, I relived the days, perhaps weeks, before the accident. Receiving the call, the travel home, all the days that followed, the day of his death, and, of course, the memorial. That painful, detailed reliving has dimmed over the years. Still, the anniversary is a season for me rather than a single day. 

I am certain David’s death has shaped me more than any other aspect of my life. It’s one of the reasons I was attracted to my late husband, Bob Lehmberg. I knew just how important his work was with patients and families. 

Anyway, this year is special. I have had a beautiful two months in our childhood hometown in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I placed markers for my mom, dad, Bob, and me at David’s grave in Talpa, NM. On the evening of October 1, I will be one of the keynote speakers at the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organizations Leadership Conference. You can read more about my session, and if, by chance, you are planning on attending the meeting, please join my session and say hello.