The Stumps and Zips in Our Lives

As my zero-turn mower cut over the flush stump in the side yard, I was reminded of the pull-up bar that stood there not long ago. While maneuvering ever so slowly around the yard with my 6-year-old grandson on my lap, I pointed up to a tree to show him the remnants of what used to be a zip line across the creek.

In 2018, before my son, David, joined the Army, he decided to assemble a pull-up bar in the yard. I remember coming home from work as he was putting two 4x4 posts into concrete. I recall being very upset that he hadn’t asked my permission — I didn’t want another thing to mow around. In addition to the pull-up bar, he built a zip line across our creek with the wrong kind of pulleys and cable that was too thin. Instead of being happy with my son’s projects, the perfectionist in me was frustrated. When David left for basic training, I took a chainsaw and cut down the pull-up bar at the base to simplify cutting the grass. As for the zip line, it came down all on its own after some use by the kids and their friends.

Sometimes, it is difficult not to be frustrated with life in the present, and I tend to get bent over the littlest things. It is ingrained in the human psyche to be selfish and look out for number one. We must be aware of and fight against it daily. It never crossed my mind then how crushing it would be on my son to cut down what he built up. 

Now that David is gone — killed in an auto accident in December of 2020, I choose not to dwell on my selfish act of destroying my son's project, but rather on the stump that is flush to the ground and embedded in concrete. I wish the pull-up bar and zip line were still there, but I am OK with having little reminders that recall fond memories and those I am not so proud of. 

What stumps or zip lines do you have in your life? In my conversations with grieving loved ones through the years, I have heard many different takes on memories. Some cherish and hold on to every memory of their loved ones. Others are too afraid to be confronted with memories, so they practice avoidance. I have seen this come into play with selling a house, closing a bedroom or closet, removing past friends from their lives, and more. While I am not one to give unsolicited advice these days, I would venture to express that these conversations have helped me look at the stumps in my life and evaluate if they are something that I want to keep compartmentalized in a part of my memory for easy recall, or if they are something I would prefer to store away in a deep recess and throw away the key. 

When the pull-up bar was still standing, I had to stop my mower and go around it. Even after cutting it down, I hesitated to cut over the stump for a while — like the concrete was some sort of barrier, a roadblock. Another roadblock for my wife and me is Colorado, where our son died — we haven’t been back since his death, it’s just too hard. In time, we may be able to move around the figurative concrete barrier keeping us away from Colorado, or we might simply let it be what it is. Either way, just having self-awareness about what I need to accept and work on is essential.

Take inventory of the stumps and zips in your life. Show yourself grace when needed, just like I do when I think about cutting down David’s pull-up bar. Rejoice when the synapses in your brain start firing with memories of your loved ones, and allow yourself to pause life to express love toward your loved one and their memories. When you’re ready, share your memories and your story with others — doing so might help create a sense of normalcy on your grief journey. Most of all, know that you are not alone, each one of us has stumps and zips!

Gregory T. Jacobs is the surviving father of SPC David M. Jacobs and a TAPS Peer Mentor and Care Group Leader.

Photos: Gregory Jacobs and TAPS Archives