Hurting During Holidays

I always post on the 15th and yet, here I am, palm to the forehead, realizing it's the 17th and the blog I have been working on, sits in the "drafts" without having been posted. When I started feeling badly for being late on the post, I immediately had to start giving myself grace. This last week has been crazier than normal. There has been so much stress in my life. All of which brings me back to grieving Matt. So it isn't like I haven't thought about him. In fact, it is the complete opposite. 

Last month I reflected on the hope in my heart. This month I feel the hurt. Being in the thick of the holidays makes missing Matt more painful. Especially while seeing the sights through the eyes of our kids. 

Olivia is loving the Christmas season. We've driven around our neighborhood countless times and looked at the same houses over and over again. Every time she sees a house with lights, she excitedly screams, "look!!" I drive slowly while she admires the lights, the big candy canes, and talks about Santa. She's at the age where the magic beams from her little body. She understands Christmas more this year. She is excited to have a birthday party for Jesus. And loved meeting Santa at the North Pole. We've talked so much about Christmas and I have seen the excitement build each day. 

Visiting the North Pole

Bundled up and ready for snow

Making a gingerbread house

This time last year I was over 6 months pregnant with Rylan. I did my best to make Christmas memorable for Olivia, myself, and our families. But it was so hard. I recently asked Val, Matt's mom, how she was feeling about the holidays. Like me, she responded "better." It's still hard. And we still miss him. But last year was so daunting. 

Every holiday and milestone, I try and incorporate Matt into the day. I try and make an extra effort to bring his personality into it. Part of it is for my own comfort. Wanting to feel his presence as much as possible. Part of it is so Rylan and Olivia are aware that Matt is always in our hearts. And a huge part of it is because I wish he was here. This holiday season has been challenging because I've been faced with many physical reminders that he isn't here. Last year, all my decorations remained boxed up at home. Living with my parents meant not buying or decorating my own tree. It meant not putting out Christmas decorations and hanging Matt's stocking. I knew this year would be hard as I pulled out the boxes of our decorations. And each item I held in my hands also held a bittersweet memory. Especially the ornaments we collected together over the years at the various places we visited. The ornaments that marked our engagement, wedding, first house, and pets. The ornaments signify memories. Memories are all I have left. 

Everyday that gets closer to Christmas gets harder and harder. I went and visited Matt yesterday. I go every week but this week was particularly difficult. It's so cold right now and the frigid wind feels like a physical reminder of how deeply the pain in my heart is. I pulled up at the cemetery and was happy to see that Matt is visited. There were ornaments in the tree by him, fresh (fake) flowers in the vase, his Seahawks flag, and the other items that are there year round. Last year Olivia and I bought a Santa and snowman yard stake for Matt. I brought them back yesterday and had to put them in the frozen ground.

Within the last few weeks, I've weaned completely off my antidepressant and anxiety medications. I've been asked how I knew I was ready to be off of them and I think there's a lot involved. But a huge contributing factor is all that I've learned in therapy. Let me emphasize that my medication was vital during this last year. I think about the early days after losing Matt and how low things got. But as time has gone on, I've felt less and less like myself and I knew the medication was part of that reasoning. Since being off of them, I FEEL again. Before being on them, I'd cry at a song, a sappy commercial, or laugh so hard that tears would stream down my face. The medication made me flat and often emotionless. I was still sad, still grieving. But the emotions didn't come and go as naturally as I was used to. It feels like I'm living again, not just surviving.

Being off these meds also means I have to be really careful of triggers. I have to be cautious of music I listen to, shows on TV, environments, and my thoughts. It's a lot more work guarding myself from panic attacks. When I was decorating our tree, I opened the box that held all our ornaments, I knew what was inside, and had to shut it and leave it for another day. Just seeing the box of memories made me cry. I knew that if tried to decorate the tree, I'd never stop crying. So, I waited a couple of days and did it after I mentally prepared myself for the difficult task. I think if I was still on my medication, I would have decorated the tree with pain in my heart but without emoting my feelings. 

The days and weeks ahead are going to be painful. I am going to push myself into new situations that I know will be difficult without Matt. Tonight, I am going to his cousin's wedding. The first wedding with his family since he's passed. I am going to start traditions with our kids that he should be part of. I am going to watch our daughter on Christmas morning as she sees that Santa has come to visit. We will attend all the holiday events and continue with our family traditions while missing Matt. Life doesn't stop. Grief doesn't stop. 

I heard this song last year around this time. It speaks perfectly to the experience of missing Matt during the holidays. I ache while trying to be strong.  
Different Kind of Christmas

Suffering With Hope

My friend Alise recently recommended a podcast to me. I listened to it yesterday and was amazed at how applicable it was to my life. It was an interview with a young woman who saw so much tragedy in her lifetime. Some of which included infertility, miscarriage, and losing her husband at a young age. But the part that struck me the most was the sound of hope she had in her voice. She knew that just because she had faced horrible times, it didn't mean she had met her quota and would never suffer again. But it also meant that she could still have hope.

During this last month I have, again, learned so much in therapy. One of the biggest happened when I sat down at therapy one morning and couldn't stop crying. "I just don't feel like myself," I said. My therapist quickly started asking me questions. Are you helpless, hopeless, do you ignore your baby when he's crying in the other room, do you think about killing yourself, do you get out of bed, do you do your laundry and go grocery shopping? She knew the answers to all the questions. But hearing me answer them aloud told us both something. I am not depressed. Since losing Matt I have been treated for depression when really I need to be working on tools on how to cope with anxiety. Am I sad? Absolutely. Are there days when I spent the majority of the time crying? For sure. But I am not depressed. I have hope for my future. I have laughter and bright moments. I deal with a great amount of anxiety but I am learning how to control it from spiraling out of control. Coming to this realization has lifted a small weight I was carrying. I think the medication I have been on was necessary to keep me level while pregnant with Rylan. But knowing I am in control, that the medication isn't needed, makes me feel so much more capable. 

During periods of isolation, I have wondered how I will ever put myself out in the world again. With family, friends, and even relationships. I have hated hearing "oh, I hate telling you about my problems because you have it so much worse than I do." The reality is that we all carry struggles. We all have problems. Losing my husband is horrible and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But so is infertility. So are drugs. So are troubled relationships with your family or your spouse. Maybe your struggle is that your child has special needs. Or maybe you're carrying the financial load for your family. The point is, I know I am unique being widowed at 29. But I can empathize knowing that everyone I talk to has something they carry too. 

Next week is Thanksgiving. I have thought so much about Matt the last few days knowing the holidays are fast approaching. Matt's favorite day at work was the Turkey Fry. Everyone brings food and they deep-fry turkeys in the parking lot. He loved the traditions, the food, and the time spent with family. This year the fog has lifted a little and I hope I can keep the old traditions while making new ones. I hope that I can share with Olivia and Rylan about their daddy more clearly and feel his presence as we reflect on all that we are thankful for. 

I am certainly suffering but I also have so much hope. A year ago, I couldn't have said that. 

It's Been A Year

It's been a year. 365 days. Matt's uncle said it best. It's been the longest, shortest year of my life. I remember every painful detail. I can still feel the fear. I can smell the hospital and I can hear the noises. I can see myself and our families sitting in a dark waiting room for over 14 hours while Matt was having surgery. I can hear the phone ring when the nurses called from the OR to give us an update. I can see the look in his doctor's eyes telling us to prepare ourselves and that it would take a miracle to heal Matt. I remember the hours I spent with Matt touching him and talking to him. Begging him to stay. I remember every moment of hope believing he would be alright. I remember the horrible conversations with his doctor when we realized he wouldn't. I remember leaving the hospital without Matt. And I remember standing in the shower at my mom and dad's letting the water wash over me and praying it was all a dream. 

I can feel the endless hugs of love and compassion while feeling completely empty and hollow inside. I can see the buzz of visitors at my mom and dad's to offer a brief distraction. And then the pit in my stomach when the house grew empty and dark at the end of each day. I can feel my anxiety and feet shaking every night as I laid on my parent's couch. I can feel the rain falling on me, the wind across my face, and the mud on my pants when I sat with Matt on Halloween while I screamed and cried. 

I hit rock bottom and it wasn't the day Matt passed. It was about 2 weeks later. I reached my lowest point. I was pregnant, heartbroken, and hurting in every imaginable way. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get off the couch to care for Olivia. I had such horrendous anxiety that I had diarrhea and was vomiting. My skin was pale and the circles under my eyes were dark. 

I didn't want to live. I laid in my mom and dad's bed at one point thinking about killing myself. I knew it wasn't an option. I knew I'd never go through with it. But I also knew I didn't want to live when life was so horrible. And then I'd hear Olivia. Or I'd feel Rylan move in my belly. Or I would imagine our families being faced with more heart-wrenching anguish. I knew my only choice was to dig myself out of the deepest, darkest valley that I would ever be in. I knew I had to find a way to fight against what this world has put me through. 

For the last couple weeks, I've felt as if I am reliving last year. A text from my friend, Noelle, recently said, "this week and this month and this season are re-opening some of the toughest wounds you've been trying to heal." I went to my mom and dad's recently and the wet leaves on the ground felt familiar. I went in their room and despite having slept there for 10 months, it felt as painful as the day we got ready for Matt's memorial service. The tears that never stopped flowing, the sick feeling in my stomach, it all felt like it did a year ago. I've wondered if I made any progress. I questioned whether or not I had the strength to feel the pain again. But then I remembered the days after losing Matt. I remembered that hopeless feeling and wondered how I would ever function again. And somehow, someway, I did. I managed to ride with my grief following parallel beside me. I learned that there are times of sweet and happy moments and in an instant the tears can come. 

My anger has surfaced again. Anger at God. I see the reminders on Facebook everyday of what happened a year ago. I see how many  times my updates were shared. Meaning thousands were praying and believing Matt would be alright. Did God not hear us? And if He did, why didn't Matt survive? I don't think I'll ever make sense of it. 

One year. I didn't think I'd make it here. It's a hard day to face. But I've had to find a way to get through today. A year ago the life I knew ended. But that doesn't mean I stop living. Matt wouldn't want that for me. He would want me to face this new life. It's scary, unfamiliar, and so hard. There's days when all I can do is lay on my bed and think about the nightmare I'm living. And then there are moments of hope. There are days that show me that I choose how to live my life. 

In the last year I've learned so much about grief, love, and what rock bottom means. I've recently read this quote: 

The breaking of you will be the making of you. A new you. A stronger you. -Lysa Terkeurst

If I had the choice, it wouldn't be to rebuild myself. I was happy before. Really, really happy. I've been given life I wasn't expecting. I can't bring Matt back-I wish I could. With his passing, I have been broken. And not just once. Many, many times. I know piece by piece, my heart is being put back together despite the gaping hole that will forever remain. My choice now is what type of person I want to be. What my new life looks like and how I want to use this loss in a positive way. I won't let this turn me bitter and cold. 

I won't let Matt's kids live without knowing their dad. Despite how painful it is for me, I will talk about him and look at his pictures and watch his videos. I will take them places he loved. I will make sure Olivia and Rylan know where he came from through his family and his friends. I will let them see me cry so they know sadness doesn't mean weakness. 

Even though today and the past week have pushed me down, I know I'll get back up. Because I know riding out the lows is my only option. 

Fall Is Here

Fall is here. I woke up one day and summer had ended. I drove to therapy and saw the leaves have changed colors. The sun still shines but there is a crispness in the air. It happened overnight. 

I used to love fall. I looked forward to it every year. After a busy summer and constantly on the go, fall usually meant some peace and solitude. It meant snuggling up with Matt watching football, it meant weekend walks in the rain with coffee, comfort food, and listening to the rain at night. I loved that it meant our family had to slow down a little bit. I mentioned before how losing Matt has meant losing every part of my life that I once knew. Even seasons changing brings new heartache. Finding enjoyment in my favorite season is gone now. Fall now brings me pain. It brings the beginning of another year without Matt. It means seeing reminders on my Facebook of the days and weeks following Matt's passing and feeling it all over again. 

I wish I could hide. I wish I could take the kids somewhere and escape what's coming. Unfortunately, the anniversary of Matt's passing isn't the only day that will bring sadness. It's the days leading up to it and the memories in the hospital. It's the days following and remembering the moments at my mom and dad's, wearing Matt's clothes for days, the inability to function yet somehow still planning his Memorial Service and writing his obituary. It's remembering the day of his service and the celebration we had. It's the following day when we had to bury him in the pouring down rain. It's not just one day. 

My depression has been low lately. I know what's coming. I see the reminders everywhere. As recently as yesterday, I experienced another panic attack. This hasn't happened in a very long time. But with my depression feeling heavy, my anxieties are higher. I had a dentist appointment and had to have two fillings replaced. While there, I was informed of a new type of bite block they would be using. It enables your mouth to stay open and also suctions at the same time. Great theory. However, when they started up the suction, the sound instantly brought me back to sitting in CVICU with Matt. It reminded me so much of the sound of his respirator. I started crying. Unable to talk, feeling trapped in the dentist chair, I laid there and cried. Doctor finished with half of his work, took everything out of my mouth, and let me explain that I wasn't crying because of anything he was doing. I had to tell him about Matt and why the sound was a trigger. We took a moment to regroup, and then he proceeded to finish the work. I thought after taking a breather I would feel better, but the moment the machine started again, the flashbacks came with it. I was having physical signs of anxiety; shaking, sweating, blurred vision. I tried taking my mind elsewhere but it always went right back to Matt. 

I think it's important to be able to recognize the lows. Over the last 11 months, I'm learning that grief is lifelong. And with that comes phases of lows. Usually, after a period of feeling really, really down, the light will shine a little bit again. I know that over the next month I can expect to feel down. I know I'll feel like I'm drowning beneath the waves of sadness and grief. But I also know it won't last forever. I know that today feels really heavy but tomorrow might feel a little less burdensome. 

Finding Strength

Every month at the gym there is a large chalkboard with a goal it. This month it is about strength. I like this goal because it has given me a chance to reflect on all the reasons I am strong. Countless people have told me they believe I am strong but seeing it for myself is something I am striving to see.

The chalkboard at Vie

During the last 10 months, I have been consumed with grief. I have thought about it and lived it each and every second since losing Matt. I have talked openly and honestly about what it feels like and how it impacts every moment of my days. I have talked about how painful it is to live without my best friend. And I have tried to look at my life and what I have gained from such a tragic loss.

I think this last month has given me the opportunity to sit back and realize all I have accomplished and all the reasons I can say I am proud of myself. It is hard for most of us to be complimentary of ourselves. I know for me, I am often picking myself apart. Looking at my flaws and failures instead of all that I should be proud of.

One of the tools my therapist has asked me to implement into my life is writing down my successes each and everyday. This isn't something I have stuck to daily but it is something I try and do often. She suggests doing this so that a year from now, maybe even a week from now, I can look back and see how I didn't just stay stuck in my grief. She wants me to realize all the ways I have made steps forward in life. She wants me to see that I am doing this and that I am capable. Sometimes my successes are simple. Maybe all I did in a day was feed my kids or get out of bed. Sometimes my successes are huge like facing Matt's birthday or moving into my new house. Regardless of how big or small, they should be noted and celebrated.

I think July and August have been some of the busiest and most accomplished months I have had since losing Matt. July and August have required strength from deep within. Strength I didn't think I had. At the beginning of the month, there was the 4th of July. A holiday that for the last 14 years has been spent with Matt's family. We changed our plans this year and spent it together, but at a different location-my mom and dad's. Then came a trip to Chicago and Iowa City. My first time traveling with both kids (which I couldn't have done without the help from my mom, aunt, and uncle). This likely wasn't a vacation that Matt would have been able to attend because of work. But it did hold a lot of hard moments-moments that I know he would have loved. A Cubs game at Wrigley Field, a wedding, and time spent with family that I haven't seen in a long time.

July also meant celebrating Matt's birthday. I was dreading his birthday. Part of our plans was having a birthday party at the cemetery. As I drove there, I told my parents I didn't want to do it. I envisioned it going similarly to how some of our visits had before. Trying our best to put on a brave face while laughing through tears. But on Matt's birthday, we celebrated him. We sat in the grass, drinking his favorite beers, laughed, cried a little, and felt him through the warm sunshine. Afterwards, we had dinner with the rest of the Larimore family, we swam in Matt's childhood pool, and we sang Happy Birthday to him. When the night was finally over, I was able to sit back and be really proud of how the day went. We wanted his day to be about the life he lived. The laughter he shared with all of us. And the celebration he was having in Heaven.

Olivia, Rylan, Matt, and me. Drinking his one of favorite beers.

Matt's birthday also happened to bring me a gift. I got the keys to our new house. While I didn't actually move in on his birthday, the significance of getting the keys was huge. We spent an entire Saturday moving everything out of storage and into my house. And while it was a huge mess, and actually still is, I'm just so happy that everything is accessible and not stacked and shoved into storage units. The process of unpacking has been tiring and fulfilling all at once. I have had to look at Matt's things again. I have boxes and bags of his clothes that I can't touch yet. I have pictures hidden away because I am not ready to look at them. And my entire upstairs is a huge disaster because I can't sort through the baskets that hold everything from Matt's high school papers to his memorial service. But I go to bed every night feeling accomplished. I am creating a home for our babies. Rylan's room has order, Olivia's room is painted, I have reupholstered an ottoman (while putting a staple into the palm of my hand), I have hung things on the walls, put in dimmer switches, and have even cooked! I have gotten up in the night with the kids and fallen back to sleep without having a panic attack from being alone. I am learning I can be independent and that being alone, and being lonely, isn't always a bad thing.

Getting keys!

A little overwhelmed with the mess

So thankful the help from my family

My kitchen-my favorite place in the house

Most recently, I have been a bridesmaid in my best friend's wedding. When Ryan proposed to Brittney, it was shortly after Matt had passed. Her emotions were mixed. As my best friend, she was concerned with my feelings but also so happy for this next phase in her life. I was thrilled for her. And honored to stand beside her as her bridesmaid. But I also knew that her wedding would be a challenge for me. I knew that it was a day Matt would have loved to be a part of. During the ceremony, the officiant talked about my friendship with Brittney and how we are more than just friends. He talked about how Ryan knew he wanted to propose to Brittney and that when the tragedy of losing Matt happened, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. Life is short. Moments are precious. And sometimes waiting can't happen anymore.

When I got home from Brittney and Ryan's wedding, the weight of missing Matt was strong. But I was also extremely proud of myself for how I handled the day. I laughed, danced, cried, and had a wonderful time celebrating their new life together. I was overcome with happiness for them. And I was incredibly touched that they included Matt in their special moment. 

Marissa, me, Brittney, Liz

My stunning best friend

Brittney, you are good for my soul

When Matt was passing, I laid with my face on his. I cried over him for many hours. I made promises to him that I will keep forever. But I also asked that he leave me with some of his strength. He is one of the strongest people I have ever known and I knew I would need his help making it without him here. I am thankful for this month's goal at the gym. It has really helped me focus on my successes. So when Vie asks "what makes you feel strong?" I won't answer with "pull-ups or cleans." I will answer with-LIFE. Life makes me feel strong. Because it is hard. And sometimes it REALLY sucks. But deep within is a drive that is bigger than I ever knew I had.

Changes and Challenges

I'm days away from moving into our new house. I'm incredibly excited to get the keys. But there's also a ton of other emotions to go along with this change. 

I never looked at any other house when buying this one. I knew it was where my family needed to be. And I knew Matt was alongside me and guiding me to this place. The weekend before Matt went to the hospital, we were looking at this neighborhood. He wanted to simplify life by shortening his commute, downsizing our yard and house, and lowering our bills. He liked the neighborhood and said to me, "I can see us here." Something that day told me it's where I'd be living. Little did I know what would unfold just days later. 

I consider myself to be quite organized. I like all my things to have a place. Over the last 9 months, my stuff hasn't really belonged anywhere. Everything I own is in storage or piled up around my childhood home. I look forward to unpacking and putting everything in a place that makes sense. 

But I also realize that unpacking means facing a lot of heartache. Everything I unpack will have Matt written all over it. I haven't had to use our coffee maker or our TV. I haven't had to look at Matt's clothes hanging in my closest. I haven't had to see his pictures around the house or have his lawn mower in the garage. I also haven't had to make a nursery for our son that he never had the chance to meet. 

I'll never be able to repay my mom and dad for all they've done over these last 9 months. It was never an issue that I move in with them. And they've never once made me feel like I'm imposing on their space. In fact, quite often, they comment about how much they'll miss the kids, myself, and Maci once we move out even though we will only be 3 minutes away. 

We have literally encroached on every square inch of their house. My dad, being a neat-freak, has given up control and learned to "let it be" when it comes to the toys strewn around the house and the handprints on the windows. He's given up his bed so I can sleep in a room with a TV and next to my mom so she's there to comfort me when my anxiety is high or when Rylan is restless. He's walked and thrown the ball for Maci nearly everyday, played with Olivia for endless hours, and told me everyday how proud he is of me for "making it through another day."

My mom has done our laundry, cooked meals for a family of 5, done our grocery shopping, taken over when Olivia has pushed my limits, and poured me wine before I even ask. She's stayed up late with me and listened to me cry, we've laughed our way out of stress, and she's helped me navigate the tricky road of bills, probate, and finances. 

In the next couple weeks, I also face a hard day. Matt's 34th birthday. I haven't yet talked in depth with my therapist about what that looks like. But I do want to celebrate Matt. He lived a life that I am striving for. He soaked up the sun. He laughed with his whole heart. He loved fiercely. He let the laundry go so we could go play. And he showed me how to let go of the little things. I anticipate his birthday to be one of the harder occasions that our families face. We never planned on his life ending at only 33. I often find myself wondering what kind of grandpa he would've been. I imagine his face when seeing Olivia on her wedding day. Or watching Rylan's first sporting event. I think about all the moments we were supposed to share that we won't have. But I also think about all the moments he did have. He had 33 years. And while it's much too short, Matt handled those years with passion, grace, joy, and love. That's something we can celebrate. 

Anger

Anger. It's something that's hard to talk about. At least it is for me. But it is a huge part of my life. I'm angry. Everyday. But I also suppress my anger because it's ugly and makes me feel weak. 

I'm angry that this is my life. I'm angry at Matt. I'm angry at the woman in the car next to me driving with her husband. I'm angry with the hospital. I'm angry that we had a big yard that Matt was mowing when this started. I'm angry at myself for not being home when it happened. I'm angry at the people on TV that portray life that is without heartache. I'm angry for my children. That Olivia and Rylan don't get to be raised by their dad. But really, I'm angry at God. Like, really really angry. And it's not fair to take out my anger on anyone else because no one had control over this. But I'm grasping at anything and everything to place blame. 

It's hard to open up about my faith right now. But I know I need to. I need to so that my friends and family who are believers know how to pray. I need to for the people in my life who are on the fence or non-believers. I need them to know that despite the immense pain, my faith is strong. And that I believe God is good. Beneath my anger and beneath my resentment towards God, I do believe that He loves me and that He is faithful. 

I've always been able to pray. I've gone to God with concerns, for healing, with gratitude. I've talked to Him and trusted Him. But since losing Matt, I have a very hard time praying. The Bible says, "This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us" (1 John 5:14) and it says "Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours."(James 5:16)  What I don't understand is why. Why did, literally, thousands of people, from all around the world, pray for God to save Matt and He didn't? If God is the Ultimate Healer, why didn't He heal Matt? Why didn't He hear me? I spent 4 days in the hospital where all I did was pray. Over and over I prayed. Believing that what I asked for in prayer would be heard.  

I recently thought I could handle an overnight away from my mom and dad's. I thought I could get out of my comfort zone and have a fun night away with my mom, Olivia, and Rylan. But as the day went on, my anxiety heightened. A day that should have had nothing to do with Matt, suddenly had everything to do with Matt. As I drove us home late that night, my anger was high. My whole life was taken from me. When I lost Matt, I also lost everything I was capable of. The things I used to be able to do easily, now take a tremendous amount of forethought and work. And the things that were tough before are now impossible. 

I don't know how to rid the horrible feelings I carry and how to turn back to God. I guess it's why I diligently attend therapy every week. It is why I love the gym I am a part of. Because it is a safe, healthy place for me to vent my anger. It's why I write this blog. It's why I'm open and honest about all this. This journey, this life, is far bigger than me. I can't do it alone. And now, when I can't turn to God, I know I have my village to help me. I know God is big enough to handle my anger. And I know that He knows my heart. He knows that despite my anger, I'm still a strong believer. And while I have hundreds of questions that may never get answered, I know God is where I'll find my peace. 

I also know that God has blessed my life in many ways. And I see those blessings everyday since losing Matt. I see it in the eyes of my children. I see the blessings of my parents for taking in the craziness of two kids, myself, and a dog. For allowing us to take over their home with tons of toys, clothes, diapers, smudged windows, and overflowing furniture. I see it in mine and Matt's families. In our friends. I see the blessing of Matt. How hard he worked to provide for our family. I know he is continuing to provide. I see it every time I look at the YouCaring website. I see it on the days when it is sunny and warm because it helps me remember that Matt loves the outdoors. I see it when it rains because it helps me to slow down and process my grief. I see the blessings all around me. But the blessings also hurt because I am not sharing them with Matt. 

Missing the Ordinary

Here it is, 7 months since Matt passed. I've kind of dreaded this point. It means I am that much closer to facing the one year mark. I also feel Iike the more time that passes, the more expectations I have. Expectations that I should be healing more and doing better. I know they aren't real and no one expects anything of me and that there's no timeline for any of this. 

I've admitted avoidance before. It's been easier for me to hide away and not admit that the world still moves while I sit here feeling stuck. But I know this isn't healthy and that I can't avoid people and places forever. Aside from avoiding situations and isolating myself from family and friends, I've also been avoiding thinking in depth about Matt. There's so much pain when I think about him and that's the last feeling I want to feel when I think of Matt. It seems like I allow myself an hour a week to really be sad and that happens at therapy. During this time, my therapist has told me how damaging it can be to avoid my grief and this process. She recognizes how hard it is to be lonely and sad but also taught me how it's so important to feel everything that goes along with this. She recommended I allow myself a scheduled timeframe everyday to really think about Matt and his passing. The rest of the times he comes to mind, I need to think about the joy he brought to my life and the specifics on how and when. She said with time, those will be the memories I go to first before thinking of all the details of his passing. 

I recently took Olivia and Rylan up to Matt's brother's house to see him and his wife. This was a big step for me. Not only did I go to Justin and Allison's house without Matt, it was my first big outing with both kids and without the help of my mom or dad. This also meant driving without an another adult, leaving a lot of time with just my thoughts. I used this time as my therapist recommended and allowed myself to go to the dark places I've been avoiding. It left my heart physically aching which is exactly the reason I haven't been thinking about Matt as much as I want to. It just hurts too much. 

Since Matt passed, the majority of the things I've dreaded have been big holidays, celebrations, or events. During my drive to Justin and Allison's I realized the everyday and ordinary days are the ones I miss the most. 

I miss being able to ask Matt sports questions and knowing he would have an answer for all of them. 


I miss knowing everyday at lunch he would call me and check on how my day was going. 

I miss him texting me everyday as he left work saying "rolling Bean. Need anything?" 

When my feet were cold at night, I'd slide them over to his side of the bed, find his legs, and tuck my feet under them to warm up. I miss that.

I miss seeing his beard clippings in the bathroom sink and the tissue paper in our bed during allergy season. 

The inside jokes, sayings, and stories aren't shared with him anymore and instead they're just my memories. 

I miss the way he told stories. He was the best at telling a story and making everyone around him feel as though they were there. 

I miss that he made sure I always went to bed laughing. Almost every night I'd find his socks under my pillow. He knew it made me smile and annoyed me. And he would laugh every night knowing he accomplished both.

I miss Saturday mornings. Making pancakes together. His messy hair and seeing him in sweatpants. I miss him asking me for a hug. I'd give anything to hug him. 

I miss watching TV with him. 

I miss driving with him. Anytime we would go somewhere, when we got to our destination, he would roll down the windows. I'd laugh because it was so sweet. He said it was so he could get a feel for where we were.

I miss the sound of his laugh. 

It might sound silly but Matt was my favorite person. It's exhausting being sad all the time. It's exhausting never being able to escape from my own thoughts. Even when I sleep, my subconscious is thinking about Matt which means I often dream about him. Sometimes they're really good, sometimes they're horrible. But I always dream he's alive making mornings really hard. 

Being out in public and seeing people live their life and do the "ordinary" makes missing Matt that much deeper. I try not to compare what I see around me. I know everyone carries their own stories. But I see other families and couples and want it so much. I want to be going to the zoo as a family, I want to be at Home Depot and buying new plants for our yard, I want to be doing his laundry and folding his socks. I want to have my life back and I want to tell everyone to appreciate the ordinary. Because the ordinary can be gone in an instant

Half a year has passed...

I didn't realize that my life had a rhythm until Rylan was born. Now that he's here, I realize we are starting over, again, at how to "do life" without Matt here. 

Rylan's arrival was nothing like I ever expected. I decided to have him induced on March 20th. There are several reasons why: needing to have some control in my life, I was insanely uncomfortable, and the stress and anxiety about being in the hospital were just a few reasons. Also, my doctor was on call that weekend and if Rylan wouldn't have been born before 5:00 PM on the 21st, I risked my doctor not being there. 

I went in around 7:00 AM that Sunday. I was having contractions every 3-5 minutes, I was dilated to 5cm, and I was 90% effaced. Rylan was coming that day even without being induced. Around 8:30 that morning, I was given Pitocin to move things along. My mom, sister, Matt's mom, and my sister-in-law were in the room with me as we waited for Rylan to come. My nurse told us Rylan would be coming "that afternoon." Around 10:30 AM, my doctor came in and broke my water as the nurse turned down the Piton knowing that my water breaking could intensify the contractions. I started having intense contractions very soon after my water was broken. They were so painful that I quickly asked for an epidural, thinking I was only at 5cm and I couldn't imagine them getting any worse. The nurse gave me Fentanyl to prepare for the epidural. Within minutes, I was groaning and writhing in pain, and needing to push. My nurse checked where I was at-already 9.5cm. The room turned to chaos as the nurse hurried to find my doctor, more nurses, and a "receiver" for Rylan. I kept saying I couldn't do it and that I needed the epidural. I heard my sister tell me she could see Rylan and he was coming fast. Without time for an epidural, and after 2 more pushes, Rylan was born at 10:56AM. He came so quickly. The nurses laid Rylan on my chest where I noticed that he was blue. In my daze, I asked if he was ok and then he was that quickly taken from me. 

During labor, every contraction was literally a painful reminder that I didn't have Matt there with me. I remember when I had Olivia and how I was so surprised that despite the immense pain, I never cried. But with Rylan, the tears came quickly because of the heartache I carry with me. I had my family there. I had great support. But it wasn't Matt. It wasn't Rylan's daddy. 

It wasn't long after Rylan was born that the nurses told me he was going to go to the "Special Care Nursery." I was clueless as to what was going on but felt confident that he would be ok. He was full term, 7lbs 11oz, and a healthy baby. It didn't take much time for me to realize that the "nursery" was really the NICU. I was quickly faced with the reality that Rylan being in the NICU reminded me too much of Matt in the hospital. There were too many similarities-his oxygen, the smell of the tape, watching the monitors, having to visit him in a different room, sleepless nights, and constant watch by nurses. I blamed myself for Rylan being in there. I kept believing that I shouldn't have been induced. I told myself it was my fault for wanting the epidural. Or that it was because he was going through withdrawals from my antidepressants. 

Rylan had fluid in his lungs from not being pushed very long to squeeze it out. The nurses believe he was also a little dopey from the Fentanyl and he never made a big cry. He had to be on oxygen and IV during our time there. I was told by his nurse when I could hold him, feed him, and visit him. Most of the time we were there, my motherly instinct told me that Rylan was totally fine. But it was also terrifying to hear his nurse say "he's in there" (neurologically) after a day of sleeping the majority of the time. Hearing her say this to me, I wondered how I could leave the hospital without him. I even wondered how I could face more heartache and loss or how I'd bury my husband and son within 6 months of each other. 

After three days we were blessed with a night nurse who changed everything. She saw this healthy baby who needed to go home. She heard my self-blame and reassured me that it was NOTHING I did, and she told me over and over that Rylan was going to be perfectly fine. She sent me back to my room to sleep. She didn't want me waking up to pump or to worry about feeding him. By the next morning, Rylan was unhooked from all his machines, out of his isolette, and ready to nurse. 

I was so happy to leave the hospital that night with my baby. I couldn't wait to get home and squeeze Olivia and introduce her to her brother. And as happy as I was about my babies, I was overcome with grief as I watched mine and Matt's parents hold Rylan for the first time. I sat, watching them, and cried uncontrollably. In the same moment, I loved and hated my life. I didn't want to live but couldn't imagine missing a second of it. 

Since Rylan was born, my emotions have run extremely high but also extremely low. I avoided Matt's passing because it was hurting me too much. Anytime Matt came to mind, I'd force myself to think of something else. I was becoming incredibly angry at Matt. After talking to my therapist, I learned that my body was trying to protect itself with anger. After all, it's easier to be angry because it hurts a little less. But she also taught me that biologically, my emotions are running on the extreme. She's educated me that in order to connect with Rylan, my hormones have changed and shifted making everything surface. My grief has been intensified. My heart aches so much. 

I often find myself looking at Olivia and Rylan and I see Matt like I have never seen him before. I notice the blessings they are and recognize that they wouldn't be here if it weren't for Matt. While this brings me a lot of happiness, it also brings pain. Because my wounds are so fresh, when I think of Matt I often visualize the last few days with him when we were at the hospital. The memory of that time will stay with me forever. I don't want to forget it but I also want to remember so much more about Matt. We had 13 years of memories together before he passed. I want my mind to go to those moments before remembering the hospital. With therapy and time, I am reassured it will happen. 

I am in awe of the last 6 months. Half a year has gone by since Matt passed and the pain is still as fresh and deep as before. Some days it hurts more than I can imagine, and other days I can see growth. Losing your other half means having to put yourself back together again. I may never be whole again. But I do know that Matt is helping me and showing me he loves me. 

The dark thoughts of grief

Grief, and Satan, have a way of placing really awful things in one's mind. Lately I've been thinking about all the negative things it has put in my head. I know a lot of it is Satan. A lot adds to my anxiety. And almost all isn't true. This is a deep and tough place to write from. But because of my belief in honesty and transparency, I feel it necessary. 

I have doubted myself as a wife and companion to Matt many times. I have questioned myself and who I was to Matt. And I have often felt like I wasn't good enough for him. I think this self-doubt stems from the fact that I don't have Matt here to reassure me. It's been 5 months now since Matt passed. And I haven't had his daily compliments for that long. I sometimes think that Matt left because of me. I think to myself that he stopped fighting because he didn't believe in the love I have for him. I doubt myself and wonder if I complimented him enough. Praised him enough for who he was. Expressed my love for him enough. I wonder if he got tired of me teasing him-even though that's what we did. How could he know how much I loved him when even I'm surprised how deep that love is? I think that maybe it's because he knew I'd be tired, get big, and be worn out from being pregnant. I wonder if he left because I wasn't a good enough wife or because I complained about housework. 

While these thoughts seem ridiculous even to me as I write them, they are thoughts that have come to mind since my wonderful husband passed away. There are things I know for certain. First, I know that Matt fought until the very end to stay here. I saw it in him. He's been  competitive his entire life, even up until the very end. I also know that I was a great wife to Matt. It's hard to praise myself but I am certain that Matt knew my heart was his. And I also know he adored me. He also loved watching me grow when I was pregnant with Olivia. He told me often how he thought I glowed and how he never found me more attractive as he did when I became a mom. I have a text saved from Matt from when I was pregnant with Olivia that says, "I honestly think you're more beautiful than ever right now. You're glowing. I don't know. Tough to explain." I know he would love to see me grow with Rylan and he would be SO happy about having a boy. 

These are things I have talked in depth with about to my therapist. I've learned that it's ok to let my mind go there and try and find a way to place blame. However, I have to stop these thoughts before they cycle negatively to panic and anxiety. I've learned that I have to pull apart my thoughts and focus on if they are opinion or fact. If they're just my opinion, I have to focus on what the facts are. And the fact is, Matt would be here, with me, with all of us, if he could be. 

During this month, I've sold our house and our rental house. Jen, my realtor, is someone Matt went to high school with and was great friends with. Because of his passing, Matt's friends have stepped up for me but because of Matt. She got me to this point with my houses. She's grieved with me and reassured me that I'm making the right decision. I'm so thankful for our friendship. 

I've faced so many difficult days since I lost Matt. Staying in our house was a challenge. But moving everything into storage was debilitating. I asked Matt's best friend, Eli, if he would mind getting some guys together to help me out with moving. I expected 3 or 4 to show up and help. But close to 10 guys gave up their Saturday and helped me. I drove to my house that morning and was humbled knowing these guys would be there. And I was, again, proud of Matt. He was true and loyal to so many. And in turn, these wonderful people are now my support. 

Moving day started out being manageable. I do better when there's a task in front of me. Everyone worked so hard. After taking the first truckload to storage, I came back to our house, and walked in to seeing it empty for the first time. I was so overwhelmed with memories. I sat on the floor in our empty great room and cried as I remembered the day we got keys to our house, I remembered the Christmas trees, snuggling on the couch with Matt, watching the Seahawks win the Super Bowl, remembered when Matt's entire plate of spaghetti slipped off his plate onto the coffee table and I laughed so hard. I remember bringing Maci home and wanting to strangle her as a puppy. I thought about when we brought Olivia home from the hospital and us watching her take her first steps. It's hard to focus on the fact that I'll always have those memories when I'm leaving behind such a monumental piece of Matt and me. The rest of the day I cried silent tears. I questioned whether or not I was making the right decision. And my heart felt as though it was breaking leaving our house. 

On our way back to my mom and dad's house, a few of us stopped at the new house to check out the construction progress. We walked through the beginning stage of framing and I was thankful for the timing of selling our house and building the new one. I stood in the master bedroom with great sadness but also peace knowing Matt would be happy with my decision. The smaller house, yard, and being closer to our parents is what I will need. I also know I'd feel isolated being 20-30 minutes from our families and Matt. He's laid to rest in Puyallup and the move will make visiting him so much easier. 

Many ask how they can pray for us. As of today, right now, we need prayers for health. My mom is sick and we are worried about her being around Rylan when he's born. She sees the doctor today so hopefully she starts feeling better soon. And I ask for prayers that Rylan GETS OUT! It is such a tough place of wanting Rylan here so desperately and also wanting to hold onto this pregnancy for as long as possible since I won’t have another baby with Matt. 

Valentine's Day and Spring

This time of year is usually a time I enjoy. Actually, any time the seasons change, I find happiness. But leading up to spring is a particular time of year that I love. It means that the flowers will bloom, the tress will be vibrant, the days get longer, there's Easter, my birthday, and our anniversary. This year brings a much different feeling.

Matt left us 4 months ago. Leading up to this point, I have felt even more worn out than I have in the previous months. I also knew Valentine's Day would come and the next day I would be facing this-4 months since Matt passed. 

Valentine's Day has never been a big deal in our relationship. Matt was really good about making me feel special and loved day to day. I never felt like I needed a holiday to know how he felt. However, this year, I found myself anxious and angry about Valentine's Day. I wanted to avoid it. My dad offered to take my mom and I out to a nice dinner. And I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home with Olivia and pretend like it was any other day. I woke up with my heart feeling heavier than most days. I went and got Matt some flowers and a balloon. I sat next to him at the cemetery on a cardboard box and had a donut and coffee. In previous years, that's something we would do. We would get up, grab some coffee and some pastries, and go on a walk or a drive together. As I sat at the cemetery, I felt the immense loneliness. 

During my time with Matt yesterday, I talked to him about some our past Valentine's Days. The year Olivia was born, we made a nice dinner at home. We had lobster tails, steaks, wine, the works. I set the table with candles in our dining room and we ate off our China. The best part was that we were both in our pajamas admiring our one month old daughter. Matt looked at Olivia at one point and said, "eewwww! What's in her nose?!? Dani! Get it!" I looked at her to see the biggest booger coming out of her nose and we both laughed hysterically. 

In the last month, my mental capacity has reached its limit. I was brutally faced with the fact that I couldn't add one more thing to my plate. And yet, everyday seemed to bring something new. I experienced my first panic attack at MOPS in front of a large group of women. While I was extremely embarrassed, I also knew these women are there to support me. They want to love me and pray for me. They quickly stepped up and helped clean our rental house and current house because I can't do it. I've learned coping tools through therapy for how to stop a panic attack but also find myself coming close to them often. I'm learning that I can't solve everyone's problems and that its ok to say no. I've learned I can't be in public alone. I need someone there to be my buffer and protection. I've gone out alone only a couple times and I can feel my anxiety rise quickly. 

I have learned that grief is also a time of self-discovery. It's painful and awful and really hard. But I'm learning about myself things I never knew before. I am learning because I know I can't sit stagnant in life. I have to try and make the steps that are necessary to move forward. To me, it's meant selling both our houses, buying a new one, and trying to move ahead. By no means does this mean I am forgetting Matt. In fact, every decision I make, I think of how he would approach it. Matt was never one to just sit around and let life pass him by. He did things. Matt's life involved fairness, productivity, and motivation. I am trying to carry those characteristics out so that Olivia and Rylan can see and feel what their dad is like. 

One of the many things I loved about Matt was his ambition and zest to live life. We've all heard people say "life is short," "live each day like it's your last," and so on. I catch myself telling people those things. And I truly mean them. Matt had dreams. He had a bucket list which I recently found while packing our house. It seems like there can always be an excuse for not marking those items off that list. He would often tell me that we only get one chance at life. Enjoy it. Live it. I will say, Matt did live fully in his short 33 years. He experienced things and didn't forget the big moments or the little ones. 

Matt also knew that the minor stresses in life don't matter. I called Matt many times just to get his perspective. One time in particular, while planning our wedding, I had received the paper to make our invitations. When I opened the package, the nice pink I was expecting turned out to be highlighter pink. So bright. I crashed under the stress of planning a wedding and called Matt, crying. I can see him sitting at his desk at work, with a smirk on his face as I explained to him what was going on. He simply said "can you order more paper?" To which I said I could. And he said, "ok then, order more paper."

He had this approach about many, many situations. When the laundry was overflowing, when I got a speeding ticket, when Maci came running through the house with muddy paws...Matt always pointed out that life is too short. "Let's do the laundry together while we watch TV tonight"..."I believe you that you weren't speeding. Not a big deal. It's not worth being upset"..."she's a dog. She gets muddy. We can always have the carpets cleaned." I have been trying to adopt this approach, especially with Olivia. Life is too short to get upset over little things. 

I've found myself pulling back from the world. I notice that I am isolating. I become worried that I am upsetting and frustrating my family and friends. There's a reason, in my head, that I do this. I am broken. I feel like no one can relate to me. Matt's passing is always on my mind. I can carry on conversations and not talk about him. But it hurts so badly when he's not mentioned. I've heard people say they're afraid to talk about Matt to me. I know there's a fear of making it worse. Or causing more pain. I'll be the first to tell you, the pain can't get worse. I want to and need to know he's still thought of.

I've appreciated so much that people continue to reach out. I often feel overcome with loneliness. Everyone's lives continue to move forward. While I am doing my best to take steps to finding a way to live without Matt, it is incredibly hard. Everywhere I go and everything I do, brings a memory to my mind about Matt.

Grief Never Ends

I can't imagine all the new things I'll have learned during my life because of this experience. In just 3 months, I've already learned a tremendous amount. Some of it is shaping me into a different person. And some of it I hate that I've had to learn. All of it, I wish wasn't my life. 

Prior to losing Matt, I thought grief was just a phase. I thought you'd be sad for a while, that you'd go through the stages of grief, but eventually you'd find a way to move on. While some of this may be true, I've learned that the grief I am experiencing now will be carried with me for the remainder of my life. People don't just "get over" loss. Big and small, it remains with us forever.

One of the biggest challenges with my grief is the mixture of emotions that I am often faced with. I find that the excitement and deep pain and the happiness and the sadness are often happening at the same time. It's hard to manage one emotion while my world has been transformed. But dealing with the multiude of feelings is sometimes impossible. 

I'm in the process of buying a new home. While this seems like a quick change, it wasn't a terribly difficult decision. The weekend before Matt passed, we were driving around looking at new homes. He was getting burnt out from his long commute and managing the size of our yard and house. We sat in a park having donuts with Olivia. He told me "I can see us here." Something that day told me that neighborhood would be where our new home is. I've placed on offer on a lot/house I want. And it should be really exciting. I feel Matt in that neighborhood. I feel like he's guiding me and helping me. But it's also incredibly sad to be living out dreams alone that we had together. 

Leaving our house in Graham won't be easy. It wouldn't be easy even if he was here. That's the house we built together. We brought home a puppy, a baby, did lots of projects and made it our home. I have been home a few times now. Most days it's manageable. But recently, it has become really tough. 

I decided to have Olivia's 2nd birthday at our house. I knew it would be a tough day. At one point during the day, there were friends and family outside enjoying Matt's handiwork. Standing around the fire pit that he worked so hard to make, ice skating on our "pond," throwing his football, and listening to some of his favorite music on the deck we've been dreaming of since buying our house. I walked outside to give my dad something and was overwhelmed by what I saw, heard, and smelled. I couldn't even get down the deck stairs before having to sit down from crying. I sat there thinking how all of Matt's favorite people were enjoying all the things Matt loved. And how it's so unfair that he's gone.

When I was getting ready to leave the house that night, I ran upstairs to shut some windows I'd opened. I stood in our bedroom, having not been in there in the dark since he passed, and just sobbed. He will never be beside me in our bed again. As I walked downstairs of our empty house, I was so overcome by physical grief that I didn't know if I'd make it down the stairs. 

Some days I feel like I'm making steps and getting stronger. And other days are as painful as the day I held his hand and watched him die. These are the moments, in our house, that confirm in making the right decision to move. It will never, ever feel the same without him in it. I'm angry and bitter at home. I feel like all I had in Graham was my home, my baby, Maci, and my amazing husband. And without choice or warning, everything was taken from me. I know I could find a way to make it work to stay in our house, but I feel as though I'll never had what I had before. I'm angry to be packing up our home without Matt. I'm angry that I'm moving out and that he's not on this journey with me. But I know that he's coming with me wherever I go. His stuff is coming with me. And his presence will always be with me. 

I saw my therapist this week and we spoke about Matt and my kids and how this loss will affect them. It hit me that Olivia and Rylan will never know Matt. They will not have memories of their dad. And their norm will be completely different than most of their friends. I was heartbroken by this reality. The one person I want my kids to know, learn from, and look up to is Matt. And I'm angry and bitter that they won't have that chance. 

I've learned how I prefer my grief to be handled. Everyone deals with loss differently. But for me, I feel isolated when people don't ask me about how things are going. A while ago, I shared an article about loss (below) which I found to be exactly how I feel. Talking about Matt keeps him alive. I find that I'm in a fog of grief and it's hard to remember things. And I don't ever want to forget about him. So I like when people ask me what Matt was like. Or when they say "tell me when you saw Matt at his strongest moment" or they tell me a story about him. These are the things I need to share and hear about him. Olivia and Rylan need it too. I think prior to all this, I would've been afraid to ask someone about their situation like this. But I think of Matt every second of everyday so talking about him isn't hard. It's not talking about him that hurts more. 

The grief I'm experiencing is very lonely. I have the most amazing support system I could ever ask for. But no one can directly relate to this. Even Matt's parents and brother are experiencing it differently because they had different types of relationships with him. When Matt was hospitalized, the Chaplin asked me how I deal with stress or hard situations. I told him, "I call and lean on Matt." And now that he's gone, I have to find a new way to deal with things. That's a tough reality.

Someone told me recently and very casually, "this is your new norm." I understood her point and what she meant. But nothing about this is normal. And I don't forsee this ever being normal. I  think normal is complaining that your husband leaves his socks all over the house. Or that his workbench is an unorganized mess. Normal is scheduling date night because life with two kids makes alone time near impossible. Normal is looking forward to holidays and anniversaries instead of dreading them. Holding your husband in your arms while he dies, picking out caskets and memorial markers, going to therapy every week, hiring a probate lawyer, giving birth without your spouse...none of that is normal especially at 29. 

I've always felt like I am a capable person and that I could do most things on my own. Matt would shake his head and laugh when he would come home and see his tools around the house because I'd been using them. Or he would tell me to always make sure I knew where the laser light was when using his table saw. But lately, I've learned that even though I am capable of a lot, there's still stuff I can't do alone-especially while pregnant. Things have gone wrong at the house (our Wifi, furnace, and dishwasher all had minor problems). Normally, Matt would help fix these issues and instead I had to call on our dads and my neighbor for help. I stood at the thermostat crying because I didn't know what to do. I tried putting crib rails on Olivia's bed and I couldn't figure it out. I'm trying to sell homes and it's all foreign to me. These moments freeze me with sadness and frustration. I appreciate so much that I can call on so many people to help me out. But I hate that the one person I want to call, the one person I should be able to call, isn't here. One small reality that I can't just have Matt help me. And trying to accept that I will always need help isn't easy. 

Hard to believe where I was 3 months ago. Even harder to believe all that's changed and transpired during that time. But one thing that has remained constant is my love for Matt. 

http://www.scribblesandcrumbs.com/2015/12/02/i-talk-about-him/