Poems

The following written
by Jacob for his first
writing class at LSU.

Jacob Ryan Bankston
Stories about him,
Poems by him,
Some of his favorite songs,
Letters/Memos he has written.

Jacob Bankston
9-6-96
Discovering Topics Writing

More than anybody I miss Lauren
Gordon.

I’ll never forget the first day I met
her. It was almost the end of my eighth
grade year at Sherwood Middle
School and I rode the bus every day to
and from school. One afternoon, as I
decided to get out of the seat I had
been sitting in for about 3 years and
look around, I discovered the most
beautiful person in the world. She was
sitting toward the middle of the bus, a
definite sin for a sixth grader who
should be sitting up in the very front.

I decided to go sit down and talk
to her. I got to know her, and she
invited me to a party that Friday night.
I debated whether to go or not
because I was the big eighth grader
and I couldn’t l be seen partying with a
bunch of little sixth graders. I finally
decided to go, and to hell with my
pride. She was there when I got there,
and I sat down next to her on the big
Lazy-Boy chair. We then proceeded
to talk some more and discovered that
we had a lot in common.
The relationship that ensued was
the most fun I have ever had in a
relationship. We discovered each
other in ways that neither of us knew
possible. I remember the day I told
her that I had to have surgery like it
was yesterday. We were playing pool
when I said, ”I’ve got something I need
to tell you,” as she sank her shot.

The day came for me to go to
Alabama to have surgery, and I said
goodbye to all of my friends, including
her She was very understanding and
loving when I hugged her goodbye.
She only told me one thing as she
fought back the tears, “You come
home.” I promised her this, as I got on
my bike and pedaled away.
I wasn't able to speak to her until
about four months later, January of
1993. 1 had listened to her voice
maybe once or twice, but wasn’t able
to respond due to the fact that I couldn’
t speak because of some complications
during surgery. I was in TIRR, a
rehabilitation hospital in Houston,
Texas when I first heard her voice in 3
months, but seemed like 30 years.

I wasn't able to actually respond to
her pleadings with me until about the
beginning of January. I began
speaking, much to all of the speech
pathologist's and neurologists
amazement, about the last week of
December.
I was discharged on January
15,1993, and came back to Baton
Rouge on January 16. I was in no
means completely rehabilitated, and I
looked terrible. I couldn’t keep my
hands from moving without sitting on
them, and I couldn’t hold the muscles
in my face steady at all. But she came
over that night and hugged me, and
kissed me, and told me how great it
was to see me. She was the only
person who wasn’t too embarrassed
by the way I looked, or talked, or
walked. She continued to call me
everyday, and I would see her about
once a week.

Then, in late July, 1993, she called
me and told me that she might be
moving. She said it wasn't anything too
serious, and pressured me not to worry
about it. A week later she caged me
and told me that she was leaving for
sure. Her dad had gotten a transfer to
Jackson, Mississippi.

I remember the night she left. It
was about 11:30 PM when we said
our last goodbyes, and kissed for what
we knew wouldn’t be the last tine, but
might as well have been. She cried,
and I held her so tight and bit my lip to
keep from bawling myself. At last she
left and I sat down in our big green
Lazy-Boy chair and cried for what
seemed like hours. My parents tried to
console me to no avail.

My family and I left for Florida the
next day on one of our annual
vacations. I remember sitting out on
the beach, and looking at such a
peaceful sky and the peaceful water
and wondering, "Why can't my life be
as peaceful.” I cried for hours on this
thought. Then it occurred to me that
these peaceful waters would rise up
with all the anger and fury of Poseidon
with the only intension to destroy, and
this sky would fill with dark ominous
clouds of hate and would ram down
with the only intention to kill. But when
all of that was over, it would return to
the same calm beach and the same
calm sky that I was sitting watching at
that moment.

Lauren and I still talk over the
phone. The last time I saw her was
about a year ago. I wanted nothing
more than to kiss her all over and tell
her how much I miss her, but I had to
restrain myself. She’s got her life now,
and I’ve got mine, separate from each
other's. She’s in love with someone
else, and I am very happy for both of
them. I just hope he realizes what a
special gift he's got.

Jacob's Poem
after
their breakup

See Lauren's Story Below

“The Dance” by Garth Brooks
Looking back
On the memory of
The dance we shared
Beneath the stars above.
For a moment
All the world was right
How could I have known
That you’d ever say goodbye?
And I, I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end.
The way it all would go.
Our lives are better left to chance.
I could have missed the pain,
But I’d have had to miss the dance. . .

-Garth Brooks

“First in the Dance"
By Lauren
Gordon

“Lauren?”
It’s 2 a.m. I have school the next
morning, but I recognize the voice on the
phone and know the call must be
important.
“Hi, Jacob,” I mumble wearily.
“Did I wake you up?” he asks.
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. What’s
going on?”
Jacob begins to tell me, over the long-
distance phone line, about his latest visit
to his cardiologist. I feel like I know his
doctor personally after so many
conversations like this one. As he tells
me about this diagnosis, my mind
wanders . . . Suddenly I am captured by
a vivid memory: the day I first met Jacob.

It was a very hot afternoon, that day in May 1992. It was the last week of school
of my sixth grade year and his eighth grade year, and by some odd twist of fate, we
ended up sitting next to each other on the bus ride home from school in Baton
Rouge, Louisiana. That bus rid began something that will never ---
“and he said I have to have a transplant,” Jacob continues.
My mind snaps back to reality. What? Oh, God. Not a transplant! There’s such
fear in his voice . . .
“He says I’ve got between six months and five years to live without the surgery.”
My mind is spinning. I feel the oddly familiar emotions of the past coming back to
me: sadness, helplessness, and overwhelming fear. I must ask ---
“Is it closer to six months or five years?” I ask numbly.
“They’re just not sure,” he sadly answers.
How can they be unsure?! We’re talking about his life here! This isn’t just some
minor sickness they can get rid of easily. God knows they’ve tried . . .
Jacob was born with a heart defect. His first heart surgery was at the age of five. It
was a delicate and complex surgery replacing his mitral valve and pulmonary vavle.
They also closed two holes in his heart walls then. It was understood that Jacob
would outgrow the valves in about ten years, and they would have to replaced then.
That’s when I came into his life.
Jacob and I met in the spring of 1992, and we began a relationship that was to
mean more to me than anything else in life. We grew close very quickly, and by the
end of that summer, we were inseparable. Though we fought a lot, we shared an
inexpressible bond that can never be broken; we shared love.
I’ll never forget one night, late in the summer of 1992 when school was about to
start. Jacob had been to the cardiologist’s office all day; when he got home, he
called me and told me the news. I wasn’t surprised, since I knew his history, but I
was so scared ---
Almost as scared as he was.
We were on the phone for seven hours that night, talking, laughing, and crying.
Neither of us could sleep; I was tormented with thoughts of losing him, while he was
struggling with thoughts of death. See, what he told me was that he had to have
another open-heart surgery soon.
Over the next two months, we grew closer than ever. We were on the phone for
hours every night, trying to accept the inevitable. There were times he wanted to
just give up, but we always stayed on the phone until he was being rational again.
The most precious times during those months we those spend wrapped in each
others’ arms, holding each other. We were trying to make the most of what little
time we had left to spend together.
But finally, the day arrived when Jacob had to leave. I was at his house, spending
the last few moments with him, and suddenly my mom was there to pick me up and
I had to go. We share one final kiss, and we whispered, “I love you,” one last time,
and then I left. I looked back and saw him at the window; neither of us were
ashamed of the tears streaming down our faces.
The next morning he was gone. His mom and dad and he left on October 9, 1992
to drive to the smoky mountains in Tennessee just days before the scheduled
surgery on October 13, 1992 in Birmingham, Alabama. I went to school the next
Monday morning. All day long people kept asking, “What’s wrong, Lauren?” But I
couldn’t tell them because I would have started sobbing. Few of them really cared
anyway. It bothered me that they kept asking, so I came up with a way to stop
people from thinking I had a problem.
The next day at school, I put on a bright smile and pretended like nothing was
wrong. That was my act. All winter long, I acted like nothing was wrong at school,
then went home, locked my door, and cried all night.

I was miserable that winter mainly because I knew nothing of Jacob’s condition. At the time that he left, he didn’t know
the phone number where he would be, so he couldn’t give it to me. He was having surgery at a major cardiac surgery center
in another state, so I couldn’t exactly visit all the hospitals in a town to find him. I had no idea if he was dead or alive.
I considered suicide pretty often during those months. Perhaps the one thought that stopped me more than anything else
was that I didn’t know if Jacob was alive or not.. If he were, then of course I would have to be there for him.
If I’d had supportive people to talk to, then I probably would have been less depressed. At the time, I felt like my friends
weren’t that close and my family didn’t care. I was sinking deeper and deeper into a dark hole without any hope of light.
There were a lot of bad times that winter, but one night stands out more than any other: New Year’s Eve. It’s always been
a time of celebration and renewal, of letting go of the past and looking forward to the future. However, I couldn’t let go of the
past because that was where Jacob was. I wasn’t sure if he was also in my present.
I was invited to several parties celebrating the New Year, but I resolved to myself that if I couldn’t be with Jacob, then I
would be alone. It was a very long night, that New Year’s Eve, and I didn’t even notice when the clock struck midnight. I
was about to give up my last shred of hope of Jacob returning.
Four days later, I found out where he was. A mutual friend of ours gave me the phone number of a rehabilitation center in
Texas where Jacob was staying. He’d been gone for three and one half months by then, and I finally had a link through which
to reach him.
I called the number immediately. Jacob’s dad answered the phone, and it was so good to her his familiar voice! He said
that Jacob was too weak that day to talk, but he’d give him the message that I’d called. I thanked him and hung up the phone,
disappointed but satisfied. I didn’t get to talk to Jacob that day, but it was the first step in our finding each other again.
The next day I called again, and Jacob answered. The sound of his voice brought tears to my eyes; he sounded awful! He
was having trouble breathing and he was so week…. But I was so glad to have him back in my life! It was wonderful to be
able to tell him, “I love you,” and to realize that our bond was still as strong as ever.
The next two weeks flew by. I called Jacob almost every day, and together we counted down the days until he would be
home.
And, finally, that day came. I rushed over to his house to see him. What I found there came as a rude shock … I guess it
shouldn’t have – I’d talked to him on the phone and knew that he was weak . . . But it still shocked me. I guess my mind,
deep down, just couldn’t accept that Jacob was so badly hurt.
I could see that Jacob was shaking from across the room. I found out later that the shaking was caused by one of the
many medicines he was taking, but at the time I didn’t know that! All I could think was, “Oh, God! What’s happened to
him?!”
Jacob and I had a tearful reunion; it felt so good to be in his arms again. All winter I’d felt like a part of me was missing,
and finally that part of me was back where it belonged. But id did come back with a price…
Jacob almost died two times during that hospital stay. The first close call happened just after his second open-heart
surgery at University of Alabama hospital in Birmingham. Jacob, fourteen years old then had outgrown the valves they had
very carefully put in him just eight years earlier through his firs open-heart surgery. Just prior to this surgery, Jacob had been
given Vancomycin, a very strong antibiotic to assist in protecting him from infections. Jacob had a very strong reaction then
and it was treated quickly and noted on his chart the allergic reaction… his parents thought.
Well after this extensive surgery while lying in recovery, Jacob lost all blood pressure for almost twenty minutes. The staff
finally noticed the problem, reacted and brought Jacob back.
Jacob’s parents witnessed his loss of speech, swallowing and motor control of all his functions for the next several days.
They told me of the horrible day-by-day ordeal of the hospital not acknowledging that anything had happened to Jacob and
the lack of responsiveness the hospital showed throughout the whole matter. I guess it was just as good that I didn’t know all
this was going on. Finally, they tell me that Jacob was moved to a children’s rehab hospital in Birmingham, Alabama just ten
days after this horrible surgical accident.
Jacob’s mom and dad were sent there to learn how to take care of Jacob the rest of his life. They told me that Jacob had
a double dye cat scan that revealed the part of his brain that had been injured. It was the part that helped him speak, swallow,
and control all his voluntary muscles. Of course Jacob couldn’t walk.
After being at this hospital for a month or so, Jacob was moved to the rehabilitation hospital in Houston, Texas (TIRR).
Jacob’s dad told me that on the night Jacob was transferred into the hospital, that he just quit breathing again. Seems Jacob
was spared death another time.
Although Jacob lived, he had suffered permanent brain damage. It was noted that his IQ dropped nearly thirty points and
his basic motor skills were severely impaired. Jacob wasn’t the same person he used to be. The bright, handsome, outgoing
fourteen year old that left me that afternoon came back to me a struggling, but determined young man with obstacles he had
no idea he would ever have to deal with.
Jacob’s physical, occupational; speech and psychological therapies began to pay off. Although he was not supposed to
heal, he was healing, though he went through excruciating pain for all the progress he made. His main problem at this point
was his emotional state. He was so angry! He was furious at everyone---at the doctors for messing him up, at his friends for
deserting him, at me for staying with him, at his family for trying to help him, at God for letting it happen to him. The anger was
eating away at him, and I didn’t know what I could do about it. How could a thirteen-year-old girl know how to deal with
such huge matters? Finally I confronted him.
I told him, “Jacob, I know that you’ve been through hell, and you have the right to be angry about what’s happened to
you. But you don’t have the right to take it out on me, or your parents, or your friends. We’re trying to help you. I can’t take
any more of this! I love you, and I can’t imagine being without you, but if you continue to blame all of this on me, I’m going to
have to stop seeing you.” Ant that ultimatum started his real recovery.
From that point on, Jacob’s attitude improved. He made a real effort to be the person he was before the surgery, and he
succeeded pretty well. He was a bit more serious and mature, but Jacob was basically the same person I’d fallen in love with
the year before.
The months went by, and Jacob and I were back together; young, in love, and enjoying life. Summer began, and we saw
that only as a chance to spend more time together. We spend hours with each other every day, and life was going really well.
It seemed like my life was finally stable, and I was happy.
My world fell apart with just two little words.
“We’re moving,” my parents announced in the midsummer of 1993. I sat there, stunned, disbelieving, hoping with all of
my heart that his was some cruel joke of my parents’.
But it wasn’t. A month later, the movers arrived.
My last day in Baton Rouge was spent with Jacob, of course; it was time for another painful goodbye. We spent the day
together, talking, laughing, reminiscing, and, finally, crying. As I turned to go, he handed me a single red rose, whispered, “I
love you,” and kissed me one last time. And then, after holding him for a few more precious seconds, I left.
I arrived in Madison, Mississippi, several hours later and hundreds of miles from the person I cared about most in the
world: Jacob. The ride to Madison was a very unpleasant experience; loaded into a van with my mom and sisters, I cried until
I didn’t have any tears left. And then I began a letter.
“My Dearest Jacob,” the letter opened… and then I had to stop writing because I couldn’t see through my tears.
The next six months were very hard for me. I was trying to fit into a new place, which meant finding new friends, not an
easy thing to do in a small town where almost everyone made their friends in kindergarten.
Fitting in was a challenge on its own, but I also had to hang on to my old friends and, of course, Jacob. Mom took my
sisters and me to Baton Rouge once a month, which is much more often than most parents allow their children to visit after
they’ve moved, but it seemed like an incredibly long time to wait to see people I cared about. My phone bill was
astronomical, and I wrote a lot of letters, but nothing helped my loneliness.
Jacob and I were drifting apart, and I couldn’t figure out why. I knew part of it was distance, but other things had crept
into his life. He was driving now and doing well in the tenth grade at Christian Life Academy. Finally we broke up, but it didn’
t change how I felt about him.
Our breakup didn’t affect Jacob for a while. Finally he called me a few months later. He told me he had met a girl named
Monica. I was so glad to hear from him and to know he was ok and that he had been thinking about me.
That began our relationship as it is today. Jacob and I called each other whenever something really meaningful happened
in our lives. We didn’t talk on a regular basis, but we stayed as close as we ever were. He had been such an important
person in my life, and I know that a large part of who I am today is due to his influence. Perhaps the best way to sum up our
relationship is to say that at times we are wistful…We wonder about what might have been.
Jacob was my first love, the first person to teach me that life is a dance; their music changes, but never stops. We all
change partners many times, perhaps too often… But Jacob and I both realize that our time is past; we can never go back
and change the choices that we made. Maybe we made some wrong decisions… But it’s too late now to fix them. The music
has changed; our dance must stop.
So I’m going on with life… I’m busy with school, work, church, friends, and so on. My life has been pretty good lately…
But I don’t sleep that well at night anymore---I guess part of me is always waiting for another late-night phone call.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lauren wrote this story after she learned that Jacob needed a heart transplant. Jacob graduated seventh in his class at
Christian Life Academy and started to college at Louisiana State University (LSU). The paper he wrote was his first in
college. Linda and I only now know the importance Lauren played in Jacob’s recovery. We had Jacob eight more years after
that horrible incident in 1992 described by Lauren in her story.
Linda and I had the pleasure of visiting with Lauren after Jacob passed away in the fall of 2000. She invited us to
Washington, D.C. and we had dinner with her. We sat and talked for hours of their relationship and what she means to our
life now. We will never forget her and wish her the very best in life. What a person she is. Sincerely, Joel and Linda Bankston

GOODBYE
BY: JACOB BANKSTON

Goodbye old friend
I guess this is finally the end
I’m glad I have this chance to say
goodbye
You were dear till the end
What a friend you have been
I’ll think about you every day
I’m glad I can say
Goodbye my love
We’ve been through hell
But all’s well that ends well
Maybe this is how it had to be
Some people just can’t see
How two people so young
Can truly fall in love
This is what it all comes down to
This is where it ends
Somewhat like it began
You climbed inside my world
And left without a trace
I don’t have the strength to wipe the
tears from my face
But now we’re moving on to new things
Please, sometime take a moment
And let my telephone ring
We were so close
But now we’re so far apart
I’m going to miss you
I wish I could kiss you
I’m sorry I never got the chance to say
goodbye

Lauren flew down from Washington,
DC to see Jacob after the transplant.
After Jacob had the transplant, Lauren
would call nearly every night. She was
so worried, but always sounded so
upbeat. As the phone would ring at
about 10:30 p.m., I would answer to the
familiar "Hi, Mr. Bankston, How's Jacob"