Are they memories if you don’t remember them?
Recently, one of JB’s friends asked me to pull together photos of JB and his school friends for an upcoming fundraiser. I dreaded the task. I kept putting it off, busying myself with anything else—my house has never been cleaner. I told myself I was waiting for the right day, a day when I’d feel ready to look through snapshots of JB’s life. But that day never came. Each morning carried the same heaviness of his absence.
When I hit a rough patch, I usually try to figure out why. Lately, I’ve blamed the time of year: the anniversary of losing JB, the shift in seasons, moving Caroline back to school, all the back-to-school posts knowing JB should be starting his senior year, and the loss of another close friend to DMD. It all adds up. But grief doesn’t follow reason. There’s no timeline, no formula. A song that reminds me of JB can make me cry one day and laugh the next.
Eventually, on a Saturday morning after an especially draining day, I forced myself to do what I’d been avoiding for weeks—and I’m glad I did. Yes, there were tears, but there was also joy. I found myself smiling at things I’d completely forgotten: JB playing Jesus when I taught religious education; JB wondering why people thought it was so cool that Bill “The Spaceman” Lee was his buddy at an MDA event; a photo of JB suited up in a friend’s dad’s hockey gear with “Gulls” across the jersey—the same mascot Caroline now has at her school. I laughed to myself, wondering: are they actually memories if you don’t remember them?
That morning turned into something good. I sent photos to friends and felt renewed seeing just how much JB lived in his 15 years. From the memories I carry clearly to the ones the pictures brought back, his life was full. Our lives were busy, but I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.
Those moments are what I hold onto when the hard stretches come. They remind me that, with the support of so many of you, JB gave Caroline and me memories that keep him close still. His life was so rich and varied that he continues to send us signs, no matter where we are. Those signs give us comfort, as does knowing JB always received the very best care available at the time. We did everything we could to give him the healthiest life possible. JB’s Keys was proud to help make that care possible, and with your continued generosity, we’re grateful to carry that commitment forward for others.
The answer JB gave to the uncertainty of a life with DMD was to do everything he loved and do it as much as you can. In his last couple of years, his biggest question was: How do I live like a typical teenager? He answered that with commitment to school, friends, family, and activities. JB lived fully, and that’s what JB’s Keys is committed to: giving others with DMD the chance to live not just longer, but fuller lives. Lives with quality care, growing research, memories that last beyond a lifetime, and support for the many other needs of families affected by DMD. Your continued support makes that possible.
