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.
