Carmen Westberg - Dear Jeff: A Mothers Reflections and Responses Throughout a Family Tragedy

Some names and identifying characteristics of persons referenced in this book have been changed to protect their privacy.

Published by River Grove Books
Austin, TX
www.rivergrovebooks.com

Copyright 2019 Carmen Westberg

All rights reserved.

Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright law. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.

Distributed by River Grove Books

Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group
Cover design by Greenleaf Book Group

All photos graciously provided by Carmen Westberg.

Scriptures and additional materials quoted are from the Good News Bible 1994 published by the Bible Societies/HarperCollins Publishers Ltd UK, Good News Bible American Bible Society 1966, 1971, 1976, 1992. Used with permission.

Publishers Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.

Print ISBN: 978-1-63299-221-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-63299-222-2

First Edition

To Jeff.

Dont be afraid; I cant put myself in the place of God. You plotted evil against me, but God turned it into good, in order to preserve the lives of many people who are alive today because of what happened.

Genesis 50:1920, Good News Bible

There are many people who have encouraged me or provided practical help while I wrote this memoirtoo many to mention all of them individually. If you know me, you probably should be thanked, because I might have gotten just a tiny little bit over-focused on what I was doing, especially over the past year. During this project, I know my conversations were pretty well centered on my writing, and I appreciate your interest and patience with me as I worked on this book.

I also want to thank Diana Ceres, my editor. Diana provided great direction as I was writing and shared helpful information about the process of writing a memoir. Without her, this book would not exist. Early in the process, she suggested that I read some memoirs to get more familiar with the genre. I then started reading them like I was gobbling down jellybeans. And to this day, I cant stop reading them.

There are several authors who, through their books, have helped guide me through the writing process. I specifically want to mention Mary Karr, who wrote The Liars Club and The Art of Memoir; Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird; and Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. In addition to providing examples of good writing, they each made me laugh. And throughout this process, I really needed a good laugh now and again.

I want to thank Bill Mallory, who first encouraged me to write Jeffs story, and even promised that if I wrote a book, his wife, Tess Mallory, who is a published author, would give me some direction about how to navigate the world of publishing. Eight years later I contacted her, and she was very kind and helpful to me. She read my first draft, spoke kind words of encouragement, and suggested that I find an editor to help make my manuscript market ready. I am grateful to Tess for her careful review of my initial work and for introducing me to Diana.

And most importantly, I want to extend my deepest thanks to my family, who have been nothing but supportive while I disappeared into the world of writing. My husband, Larry, encouraged me daily, even though I suspect living with someone who is creating a book is not always that pleasant. Lets just say I was often unavailable, despite being physically in the same house. I also appreciate how Larry; our daughters, Amy and Pam; and our granddaughter Taylor all pitched in to help clarify certain memories for me. I also want to thank my brother, Bill, and my sisters, Linda, Janet, and Laureen, for all of the long conversations we had about past events. Thank you all for your support and patience. This story is just as much yours as it is mine.

When I announced that I had started a rewrite of a book about my son, my family and friends looked at me with concern, certain that I had finally tipped over the edge into insanity. You see, I had spent two very emotional years writing our story after my son, Jeff, died. I had never written a book. I had only published two small pieces of work. One was a magazine article about our experience buying horses for our girls. The other was an article about the benefits of owning a hot tub, published in the Home insert of a local newspaper. So, taking on a book was a major project for me, and it goes without saying that the subject was painful. But I had a compulsion to make some sense out of Jeffs lifeand a need to keep him alive in some form.

Books have been my daily companions since I first learned how to read. I knew a book would keep him alive for me, because I wear out my favorite ones by revisiting them like old friends. I frequently wander over to the Bennetts estate, where I enjoy the company of Lizzie and Jane and their bizarre sisters and parents. Major Pettigrew and his world draw me back for visits. I occasionally go down South to touch base with Scout, Jem, and Atticus. And sometimes, I go way back to the companions of my childhood to see what Heidi and her grandfather, the Alm-Uncle, are up to, or maybe pay a visit to Jo Marsh; her sisters, Meg, Amy, and Beth; and their beloved Marmie, everyones favorite mother.

So, in 2008, after I wrote Jeffs obituary, endured his funeral, and got through the immediate days and weeks after his passing, I sat down and started a book to record my memories of him. Considering that he was only with us for 14 years before his injury, I was unsure if I could offer enough content. After a lot of pacing while I stirred my brain to find a path forward, the story finally morphed into a memoir, with Jeff at the center. Often, reflecting on and reliving this difficult time proved too painful for me to continue; when that happened, I backed away for a few months before starting again. Two years later, I got to the end of Jeffs story.

And there it sat for eight years. During that time, I shared it with some family and friends. They all declared that it was very good or that they somehow hadnt finished it, but had enjoyed the part they did read. These were encouraging words, but I had to consider the source. These were people who were very close to me and who would have to sit across from me at the Thanksgiving table. I knew that I needed an objective, professional opinion. But simultaneously, I was wondering why I was even putting it out there, risking criticism, however gently it might be delivered.

I wasnt a hardened, experienced writer who had laid out her inner self before strangers many times before. I was unsure, cautious, and averse to risk. But throughout these years, I frequently had this nagging thought about getting my story out there for people to read. Maybe it could help others who might be going through a difficult time themselves. I know when I was going through this with Jeff, I had longed for something that might help me cope.

Finally, I gathered up my courage and showed my book to two professional writers. They both encouraged me to consider publishing. One of them, Tess Mallory, gave me several alternatives in going forward, but the first step had to be an editor. Tess put me in touch with an editor who specialized in memoir writing. I had mixed emotions when I emailed my book to the editor.

This editor, Diana Ceres, read my book and wrote me back, making reference to the draft of my manuscript and recommending a developmental edit to expand the content and go deeper into the story. This was not what I had wanted to hear! I wanted my relatives and friends back, telling me how wonderfully I had captured Jeffs story. I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment as I thought about the fact that I had already exhausted all of my ideas. I was empty, with no clue about how to approach a rewrite. The notion of revising what I thought was a completed work appalled me. I dreaded reliving that terrible time in my life for the long months of a rewrite that I suspected would need to occur.