We are grateful to Sandy Jap for sharing her story of loss and hope as we move into the holiday season. We pray her heartfelt, transparent words will be an encouragement to others who are experiencing grief that is often magnified this time of year.
My daughter, Jenny Hannah, was 19 years old and a sophomore at FSU. She was majoring in political science and was fascinated by world cultures and politics. She was born beautiful, and I say that not just because I was her mother, but the pictures of her from every year bear it out. Jenny was incredibly bright, but she was also impulsive, stubborn, and headstrong. She had a great sense of humor, was always ready for fun, and she could be incredibly helpful. In my view, she was bigger than the whole sky.
The worst thing that can happen to a mother happened to me on July 24, 2022. That’s when I learned that a neighbor had found her unresponsive after a fentanyl overdose a few days prior. I have heard it said that when mothers give birth to children, a piece of their heart is freed from their bodies and runs around her. The child has its own mind and makes its own choices, for better or worse.
Like most teenage girls, social media had left Jenny feeling inadequate and anxious. Coupled with the Covid lockdown, and a contentious divorce and custody battle in our family, she struggled with depression for many years. Like other mothers of teenagers, I thought that this would be a passing phase that we would look back together one day, grateful that it was over. When I lost her suddenly, I felt as if I was robbed of that recovery. I lost my future with her.
I have struggled to imagine a life going forward that does not include her. We had hopes and dreams and plans. She was looking forward to a year of growing independence at FSU, new beginnings, and more classes in her major. We enjoyed traveling the world together and wanted to return to Hong Kong and explore Africa and Asia. It was all ripped away.
My greatest fear is that the memory of her outsized personality and our interactions will fade as the years fly by. The first holidays were terrifying. My son and my parents changed our routine for Thanksgiving and spent it with my sister’s family in Boston. We found comfort in the company of my sister’s household, friends, and her three kids. At the Thanksgiving meal, we lit three candles, one for each person that was lost in the past year in the lives of those who were present. Lighting a candle of remembrance is a Jewish tradition that I have continued since then.
At Christmas, my son and I tested positive for Covid, as did a few other relatives. So instead of the usual household invasion from visitors, we spent the holidays quietly together, relaxing and playing games.
On what would have been Jenny’s 20th birthday, my son and I returned to a resort in the Dominican Republic that she and I had visited to celebrate her high school graduation. The weather was perfect, and our closest friends were with us. We spread some of her ashes near the dock and had a brief ceremony of remembrance.
This year, the holidays will change again, as my son spends Thanksgiving with his father’s family, and my parents and I spend it with close friends. My siblings and their families typically visit my parents and me in Atlanta over the Christmas holidays. My plan is for us to write a short note or share a memory of Jenny and put it in her stocking on my fireplace.
On Jenny’s angel day, my mother made many of her favorite foods and we remembered her together. My sister and brother, along with their families, did the same. She was a picky eater and favored desserts, and all our households’ food choices on that day reflected it.
When my son and I went on an African safari this year, we brought some of Jenny’s ashes with us, as we knew that she would have enjoyed it as much as we did. I will continue to do the same whenever I travel to a destination that I know she would have loved.
I have found that grief changes constantly over time. On some days, I don’t want to get out of bed, and at other times, I will feel stable and at peace. The triggers that lead to a breakdown change regularly and are unpredictable. The things that help—support groups and friend networks—also change over time.
The one constant source of strength has been my relationship in Christ. That’s not to say that I haven’t felt the pain of loss or struggle, but keeping my mind focused on Him through prayer, devotions, and music has helped to preserve my sanity and kept me from going off the deep end.
Thanks to a generous donation, I have established a memorial scholarship in Jenny’s name that is specifically for teenage girls who are in recovery from drug addiction. I feel like it is an opportunity that she never had, but one that could save the life of another girl with similar struggles. I have also joined the board of Breakthru House, a residential facility that helps women and their children who are recovering from addiction. These things make me feel like maybe something good can come out of my loss.
Six months after I lost Jenny, a close friend lost her 21-year-old son to suicide. We have met regularly since then to encourage each other and work through our shared losses. Knowing others who have lost their children is an invaluable source of support, as are family members who are willing to share your pain and love you unconditionally. But I look forward to the day when the club of grieving parents will be no more.
~Sandy Jap
Leave a Reply