"Sometimes it feels like a heart is no place to be singin' from at all"

It has been two weeks since we received news that Jordan's tumor has grown. During this time Jordan has continued to lose strength and feeling in the left side of her body. She struggles mightily to stand even with the full assistance of another person. It is a huge effort for her to go from her wheelchair to the bathroom or to the bedroom. These short transfers come with a racing heart, shortness of breath and a desperation for rest. It is hard for her to hold her head up for longer than a few seconds before it slumps down at a depressing angle. Sometimes you can hear the weakness in her voice as she whispers a thin thank you for helping her. Jordan is in rough shape. I don't know any other way to put it. I've avoided saying it for two weeks. There is an overwhelming sense that each passing day might be the best physical shape that Jordan gets to experience moving forward. It is a gut-wrenching process to watch each day.

Jordan and I had our worst date ever a couple of months ago. Which is saying something considering that our first date over fifteen years ago was sitting in a K-Mart food court that had closed for the day. This last December we snuck away from her visiting family and the kids for a night out at our favorite brewery. During the van ride, I asked Jordan if there was anything she wanted to talk about. Without hesitation, she said "my funeral". As we awkwardly made our way to the brewery we chatted about just that. What it should look like, who should speak, what the music should sound like. As we sat at dinner I did my best to just stare out the window at the darkened Columbia Gorge. I had trouble eating and drinking as I was using all focus to hold back tears.

Since that night we have started talking more and more about a funeral.

Jordan wants a friend from Portland to lead a service for her in our local community. It is a man that I love and respect with everything that I am. Someone that I have looked up to since the day I met him. He and his family have accepted Jordan and I since day one of our relationship with each other. He has encouraged us, pushed us, loved us and challenged us to have a life full of joy and full satisfaction. He has been someone that has been helping us navigate this whole mess. We went skiing recently. While riding the lifts we talked about a funeral. The strangers stuck sharing the lift with us quickly stared at the horizon or pretended to mess with their gear and not look in our direction. What a great way to cut through the awkward "where ya from?" small talk you have to have with everyone on the lift.

I've started listening to music in a different way. Songs that have meant so much to Jordan and I in the past take on new meaning. How do you find a song that honors and captures the essence of a person and conveys that to everyone else? I mean I'm leaning hard towards a Neil Young tune, just to be honest.

This week I went to a funeral home. I had a meeting with a very nice lady. Too nice really. I sat in this large room filled with funeral upgrades. For an extra grand, you can get an American flag carved into the corner of your casket. For just an extra hundred bucks you can get gold leaf trim on your funeral programs. She talked and I stared blankly just over her head at some book on the wall about how to deal with grief (complete with some bad pastel painted flowers on it). I had a hard time deciding if I should be angry, vomit or laugh at how ridiculous it all was. We filled out legally binding paperwork and I pre-paid for my wife to be cremated. Locking in the best rate to protect against rising inflation! They actually say shit like that. I left dazed, angry, broken and with a nice little packet of information (full color and super thick card stock) with a receipt stapled to it. I had a few extra beers that night with all the money I saved.

I've recently enrolled the help of a local friend. A new friend. A friend that had no idea what she was walking into nine months ago. A kind, loving, thoughtful weirdo with a knack for small and creative gestures. She even happens to have a mom that makes pottery and has agreed to make a tasteful urn that doesn't have "made in China" stamped into the bottom of it.

When we first found out about Jordan's diagnosis she had to force me into the hard conversations. I was in denial and I was angry (and I still am). Yet somehow I've become comfortable with wading into the uncomfortable. Jordan has said so many times that we are lucky to have the time to have these conversations about death, her final wishes, our fears and the future. So many sleep through the alarm of life and just don't wake up one day.

This funeral is a nail that I can pound on for a while. A problem to be fixed. Something that is broken and needs my attention. But in reality, it is a distraction. A distraction from watching my wife slowly lose a battle. In reality, a battle that we knew she would eventually lose when she was unwillingly recruited.

And right now she is losing hard. The most excruciating part is that neither of us knows if there is a tomorrow, next week, next month or next year in store for us. Even in that, the whole of the last nine months has been a perfect reflection of who Jordan is and always will be to me. A "rich, real and authentic" (borrowing a line from a recent letter to Jordan from a friend) human. Someone that despite the hell she is being drug through on a daily basis has found a way to remain true.

-Brack