Grieving in Quarantine

There are people who come into our lives for a reason.

They may not stay long, you may pass one another by, and you may very well end up missing one another entirely by the time you realize just how much those people mean to you. But the impact they have on you and your life remains the same… regardless of how long or short their time was in your social sphere.

I lost a dear friend this week to complications of COVID-19.

He was 31 years old.

For those reading, there is a memorial fundraiser being hosted with 100% of the proceeds going to his wife and family. If you would like to donate, please check out the link here: Jacob Page Memorial Fund. If you are unable to, a share of the link would be appreciated or even just a kind word/moment of silence in his honor would suffice.

That said… let me tell you a little about him.

Jacob, known to several online as “Adi” or “Adimus”, was about two weeks younger than I am, give or take a few days, was married to a wonderful woman he loved and cherished above all else, and not only was he a great role model for those around him, but he inspired others to do better just by being in proximity to him.

Star Wars was his passion, so much so he became one of the Charter Representatives for The Saber Legion in New Jersey, and the meet ups, competitions, and community were some of the happiest times he’d ever posted video, photos, and other material on. A passion he shared with his wife and they became a true Battle Couple in every sense of the word.

Passion is a good word to attribute to that man.

He lived with passion, he raged with passion, and he loved his friends and family with the fiercest kind of passion there is. There is little in his life that he did not meet with passion. He felt intensely and embraced that. He would call your shit to the carpet in an instant when you crossed that line and made sure you understood where and why you messed up. He encouraged everyone to do better and held himself to those same strict standards– something I not only respected but try to do in my own life.

He took care of his family even when it was difficult and all he wanted to do was say “Fuck this.” and just let them lie in the bed of their own making. He’d take some space, take some time to cool off, and then, stubborn as he was, he’d be wading right back in the thick of their nonsense to rock their shit and get them to see sense if he could. He cared too much to do otherwise.

He was a survivor; warring with MS and Lupus at the time of his COVID-19 infection and it scared the shit out of him. He took the diagnosis with sheer unbridled grit and came out the other side of it going, “I lived, bitch.” When he was able to, he gave those of us on Facebook the play-by-play of how being sick with COVID looked like, felt like, symptoms and updates to let us know what the news media doesn’t focus on. To shine a light on that virus and to let us know just how serious a mild-to-moderate case really is.

We were so fucking happy when he came out the other side of it and seemingly recovered. We had no idea the extent of the damage it had done nor that the boomerang effect and the multi-system inflammatory disease was going to come for him several weeks later. We had no idea that he wouldn’t make it through this time around- or that it would claim his life so fucking quickly. Less than two days. That was it. And then he was gone.

He was patient, even though he didn’t consider himself to be, and he was an excellent listener. He had a wicked sense of humor and God knows how many times he would have me losing it laughing just from something he’d post or comment on. The man could verbally savage you with the best of them and still leave you laughing and cheering for more. He was supportive and always getting on my case to “do something” with our mutual love of writing, given that we’d met online at a play-by-post roleplaying site for a fandom we both liked at the time.

Though it went way downhill in terms of quality and drama, as a lot of those sites tend to go, he was one of the two people whose character profile/application inspired me to create one of the same section– to prove it could be done. As a result, I rediscovered my love of writing and story-telling all over again; a gift that has no price tag and a debt that I had hoped to one day repay in some manner.

We’d planned to collaborate together, at some point, and write a story or two when things settled down in life.

The past two days have been filled with grief in its varying stages.

The numbness of shock (“This doesn’t feel real. It hasn’t sunk in yet.”) , the anger and disbelief that this happened (“You should have told that place to get fucked and your life was worth more than the conditions they forced you into!”) , the gut-wrenching sorrow and weeping that comes with understanding, realization, and acceptance that yes, this person is gone from this world (“I keep wanting to reach out and talk to you/show you this/look for you and you’re not there.”). And the crying. Good lord the crying. Every time I feel as though I’ve tapped out, that I’ve cried all there is to cry– another round begins. (Like I have been writing this.)

One of the lessons I took from him was to stop repressing and to ‘stand in it, lol’. And I have been, as difficult as it is for me to do. I feel it and stand in my emotions, I own them and feel them as they pass– and like the waves to the shore, it does pass. Some bigger, more intense waves, others softer and quieter. I’ve even laughed a few times and not have it feel or ring hollow.

Other times, like going through the grocery store earlier today and noticing that we’re not completely sold out of toilet paper/tissue/other hard-to-find-in-this-pandemic items for the first time in forever and realizing we’re slowly headed back to ‘normal’– it hits me hard and fast because he’s not going to be there to see what the new normal is going to be.

Our new normal is going to be without him and I hate that.

It’s difficult to accept that I will not see his username sign in on Discord again. That there will be no more posts from him on Facebook. No more PMs or DMs about writing ideas, memes, or about some person who’s managed to piss us both off and our need to sit down and rage/vent to one another. No more political debates or discussions where I get to learn from him and vice versa. I will not get to meet him and his adorable wife and have him show me the ropes on lightsaber dueling in person. No more livestreams where we laugh and run commentary on video games and discuss how fucking terrifying Resident Evil’s universe is.

To watch the communities he was in come together from across the globe to mourn, to share memories, and to band together with determination to try and help his wife and family has been breath-taking and has helped a little in my own grief. There is love there, pure, raw, and unconditional. There is respect and reaching out to encourage one another to do as he would have wanted us to and to stand together and keep each other close. To remember him with love, affection, and smiles and hold that close to us.

Jacob’s life, painfully and too fucking short as it was, absolutely mattered and had an impact on everyone who met him. Even in passing. If he could see this, if he is able to look down from above and see the outpouring of love? I think he would be grateful and humbled by the displays and of just how many people whose lives he’s touched and inspired– and the ripple effect that will have going forward because of him being himself.

When he was fighting COVID last month, he updated his custom status on Discord and, this is paraphrased slightly, left us all a message that he wanted us to understand:

That if the worst would come to pass, that he wanted us not to cry and grieve for him in sorrow but to be strong in his place and keep fighting and moving forward in his place.

That’s just like him, really. Thinking of others when he’s the one in need of being thought of. A message of love and a gentle, firm reminder that we need to keep fighting as he would have if our roles had been reversed. I can’t promise not to cry or grieve in sorrow for him, because that’s been the last couple days and will be for a while. But I can promise to keep moving forward, keep fighting, and to try even putting a tiny bit of the passion he had for life into my own.

Jake… Adi… I miss you already. I’ll miss you for years to come as well. You had more of an influence and impact than I ever realized and I am sorry I never did get to tell you that. I will keep writing, as you wanted me to, and I will write that collab we planned. It won’t be the same without you, but it’ll be dedicated to you nonetheless.

You always were and always will be a hero.

Rest in Peace and in Power, my friend.

– K.A. Crittenden.